by Paul Kidd
Keketál drove his men back through the trees, pushing his units on their way before joining the rearguard. The Guardsmen skirmished frantically through the trees, somehow trying to draw the bitch-queen on into the swamps.
The Black Empress herself appeared through the smoke. She glared towards the Guards and raised her fist, blasting power straight at Keketál, who dodged aside as lightning cut down a dozen men. Keketál’s rearguard turned tail and fled, drawing the hordes of rainbow warriors in pursuit.
Sweet Mother Rain! Keketál stared across his shoulder as enemy warriors blackened out sky. An advanced guard of savages flew hot on Keketál’s tail, and he wrenched his men around to make a stand.
“Come about! We’re attacking them! Come about and follow Keketál!”
The frightened soldiers dragged themselves to a halt, and Keketál wheezed as a stitch ripped through his old wound.
“We-we have to hold them back to let the others get away! Go for the ones carrying heads - for Rain’s sake kill them!”
Keketál watched a hundred savages raging straight towards his devastated team of twenty men. He tried to straighten up his back and slowly raised his hand.
One hundred yards - eighty - fifty…
“Ready!”
“Ready, fire!”
A musical female voice ripped through the air, and the sky turned black with slingstones. Savages jerked and screamed inside the storm. The enemy sorcerers were driven slowly backwards as the slingers threw up a dense barrage of fire.
“Second squad, cover the wounded! Namïlii, I want those enemy officers dead!”
Harïsh led her shepherds girls forward through the trees. The slingers fired with uncanny accuracy, tumbling savages to the ground. Harïsh fell back and searched through the boughs until she found her husband.
“What in Poison’s name are you doing here, man? Get back! Get back to the army.”
Keketál gazed at her in shock.
“Not you! Harïsh not to stay here!”
“Get away you stupid husband! Leave this to the girls! Get back to the army and take command!”
She was right; the girls were the best choice for keeping the enemy in play. A thousand female slingers came boiling through the trees. The enemy vanguard went to ground as the battle raged in earnest. Keketál staggered back, his eyes still fixed upon a plainsman corpse.
“Harïsh, split the skulls of all our dead! Kill the seriously wounded. Don’t let their souls fall into the demons’ hands!”
“I hear! Now go! Go back. I love you!”
Keketál climbed aloft and left his wife to fight. His strategy was working perfectly; the Black-Bitch was coming to his killing ground.
He need only live long enough to direct his victory.
Hours of combat had passed like a heavy dream. The women fired and flew, fired and flew, drawing the enemy onwards into ambush. Each thrust and feint was met in kind as the maidens bought their army’s security with their lives.
Finally the cover thinned. Nothing lay at Harïsh’s back except the open swamps.
Keketál rose up in the grass and watched his wife’s troops retreat. Vast clouds of slingers shot past and dove into the reeds. Harïsh spied Keketál and swooped low overhead.
“They’re coming! They’re all yours!”
The ïsha pulsed and trembled as the enemy drew near. The rumble and the power of it sounded like thunder in the mountains. Keketál deliberately turned his back upon the enemy and greeted his nervous warriors with his fine lop-sided smile.
“Iss time now! Time to be killing savages. We hit them hard and then give ground, then retreat back to mud flats on other side of river. Our hidden troops will then charge in from the flanks. This Demon-queen, we fix her up for good!”
Thirty thousand men were waiting down inside the creek. The Guards and tribal levies ceased listening to the distant enemy as Keketál ambled back and forth across the banks.
“Not’ing to be afraid of. We kill yesterday, and now we shall kill some more. Savages die just like anybody else. Sorcery iss no matter. You shoot a sorcerer before he shoots you, and who iss smarter?”
Someone laughed. Another man grinned. A voice hooted in from the background.
“Half of them are only women! If we can’t beat women then what are we?”
Keketál held up his finger and let his voice carry out across the men. “We got girls too! Real girls! Not some savages from the trees. Girls with smarts!”
There was a roar as Pachetta leapt up and gave a bow. Her tail flipped up to tickle a soldier’s grinning face; the man slapped Pachetta’s rump and gave a roar of joy.
“A soldier’s duty is to guard his leader’s rear!”
The laughter spread, bringing the release that Keketál had prayed for. The fear had broken in a sudden wave of mirth. The warriors rose up to their feet and shook their weapons to the sky. Plainsmen spilled up onto the open ground and chanted as they charged, driving themselves forwards as the rhythm slowly grew. Shepherd girls danced at their head as the army hurtled itself into the sky.
The barbarians’ chant crashed like thunder all across the trees. The Confederation army made an awe inspiring sight; somewhere they had managed to salvage close onto thirty thousand men. Zhukora stood with arms folded, watching in admiration as the enemy came on. Damn but they looked fine! The prey did Zhukora honour. She laughed at their audacity even as she ordered their destruction.
The enemy general pointed his oita at Zhukora’s lines, and a roar swelled as thirty thousand plainsmen shot forwards like a raging tide of death. They foamed and exploded through the trees, speed blurring them into a formless, churning mass.
The alpine lines held still as Daimïru’s voice pealed clearly out across the kneeling troops.
“Attack at speed! Meet them head on! Crush the barbarians into the ground!
“Onwards for The Dream!”
The army drove up into the air as one, and Daimïru screamed out with the surging joy of combat. The two waves of Kashra hurtled themselves at one another like mighty walls of flesh. They met with a thunderous crash, blasting the swamp to its very roots. Leaves split from the trees while ïsha roared; the air became a boiling mass of shapes as spear and oita battled for the mastery of the sky.
The blue barbarians knew how to die! They fought back tooth and claw, reaping alpine warriors like sheaves of grain. Even so, the power of Zhukora’s warriors was overwhelming. Daimïru shrieked in laughing madness as she hacked at a plainsman’s wings. As her units tired, Zhukora sent more men in from the rear. They surged forwards, ramming the barbarians back across the swamp.
Daimïru howled as she felt the enemy give way before her. A horn blew, sending the plainsmen tumbling back across the water. Daimïru dove through a paltry rain of slingstones to lead her warriors in pursuit. The whole army advanced behind her, catching her foaming rage like a disease. The girl screamed for the glory of it as she hurtled Zhukora’s army into the final kill.
A shudder ran through the alpine ranks as two massive hammer blows fell on either flank. Daimïru ignored it all, lost inside a blood-red haze of lust. The enemies in front of her had turned to fight once more; weird creatures dyed and painted like screaming imps. Daimïru flung herself into the enemy, dragging a barbarian to the ground. Her soldiers followed suit, snarling as the battle compacted into a savage brawl.
“What’s she doing? Can’t she see it? Damn it, why didn’t any of them see it?”
Zhukora raged and screamed in fury. A tree exploded as she lashed out her fists, and her officers ducked, keeping their eyes riveted on the fight.
“Why? Why didn’t she see it?”
“Leader, she is engaged in the melee! Perhaps she…”
The only answer came as another scream of anger, and more trees erupted into flames. The army was being enveloped from the flanks, and still Daimïru’s troops ploughed on into the trap. Slingbullets made the air turn black as the plainsmen reaped revenge.
In
their blood-rage the alpine troops were far past caring about mere manoeuvre. Zhukora whirled and signalled for her reserves.
“Rooshïkii! Take the Skull-Wings and drive off their left flank. You have command of the entire reserve!”
The little girl looked up in shock, her eyes filling up with pride.
“Yes leader!”
“Go.”
The little girl danced into the air and shouted for her officers. Formations cracked about her as the Skull-Wings thundered into action. Zhukora watched her smallest warrior go and fumed in irritation, her tail switching as she felt victory teetering in her grasp.
Savages gave ground as the battle slowly turned. The demon’s flanks ground inward, giving the savages no room to fly. Keketál’s tactics began to tell as the savages gave way.
Daimïru ripped both her blades free from a corpse and looked around for prey. She panted wildly, her slim body trembling with need.
There!
The girl went stiff as green winged barbarian strode forward through the fight. Daimïru stared at his face and bared her thirsting fangs.
“Kotaru!”
He turned and looked into her eyes, and the battle seemed to freeze.
Daimïru felt the lust begin to burn. Twice he had escaped her! He had dared to defy Zhukora’s Dream. She stripped aside her mask and gazed into the soul of her enemy.
“You! Kotaru! This time I’ll finish it! I’ll bring Zhukora your severed head as my gift of love!”
Daimïru hissed and sidled forward in a crouch. Keketál simply stared at her, his oita falling slowly to his side.
Kotaru?
Suddenly he remembered trees! There had been soft green shadows and a world of soaring ferns. And eyes; eyes as green as pools and as deep as haunted dreams. Lovemaking while the distant rain hammered on the leaves… The fear and glory of that one first precious time.
Kotaru. His name was Kotaru!
Steel ripped towards his face. Kotaru hurtled himself away and felt her dao rip past his wing. He launched a kick and shoved the girl aside. Kotaru staggered back and stared in shock, his whole world wrenched apart by memories.
Daimïru ripped herself out of the mud and flew into the attack. Blonde hair streamed like fire as she howled out for his blood.
“Keketál!”
A sling bullet snapped the air, and Daimïru rolled and dodged aside. Harïsh leapt into the way and ripped her war club from her belt. Kotaru stared up at his wife, loving her, needing her, appalled by the images in his dream…
Harïsh uncoiled a weighted line tied to the hilt of her club while Daimïru purred and swirled her knives. Harïsh moved slowly forward to her prey, keeping between Daimïru and her husband.
“Keketál, Go! The flank attack is failing. The black demons have attacked. The men need you!”
“But…”
“She’s mine! I’ll take her. Go! Go now!”
His wife began to swing her weighted line. The two women faced each other like snarling cats. Kotaru snatched up his oita and made to join the fight until Harïsh moved in his way.
“Go! Back off! She’s mine! She’s mine!”
“Keketál loves you!”
Kotaru reeled back and headed for his reserves. Harïsh felt him go, then set her fangs and stared at the eyes of pure insanity. Daimïru gazed into Harïsh’s face, craving for her blood, her tail lifting as she trembled in arousal. Harïsh shifted her club and moved into the attack.
“He’s mine! I don’t know what you are and I don’t know what he was. But he’s mine now.
“He’s mine and I’ll kill you to keep him…”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Harïsh whipped her snare line through the air; Daimïru snarled and rolled aside, the stone weight chipping lacquer from her helmet. She made a lunge towards Harïsh’s face, screaming out for blood. Harïsh leapt overhead and turned a somersault. She landed spinning, scything with the weighted cord. The savage parried, making the cord whirl madly as it wrapped about her blades. Harïsh gave a shout of triumph as she ripped back on the line, and the steel knives suddenly jerked from Daimïru’s hands.
Harïsh hefted her war club for the kill, but Daimïru’s mad eyes smiled. The woman slowly held aloft a severed head, and her aura blazed with sickly light.
Harïsh was smashed back by a terrific blow, and then another and another. Blood flew from her mouth, and then an unseen fist exploded against her groin.
The egg!
Harïsh sobbed in panic, realising just how much she had put at risk. With a wild shriek of hate Daimïru kicked the girl into the mud, then snatched up a rock and tried to smash Harïsh’s teeth. The plainsgirl hunched and took the blow on her helmet crest, and sparks flew in her eyes. Daimïru gibbered as she tried to smash Harïsh’s brains.
Harïsh desperately groped out for a weapon, ripping her sling from about her helmet’s brow. She whipped the weapon into Daimïru’s face, and the savage screeched and tumbled back, shielding her eyes.
Harïsh rolled and found her club, while Daimïru cartwheeled to one side and ripped out her hunting knife. The two women started forward, when suddenly the whole world filled with light…
Harïsh’s club slowly spilled down from her hand. A new sunrise flooded through the swamplands, ruffling fur like a gentle breeze. Battle cries slowly drifted into silence; warriors slowly came to a halt as something soft and beautiful stole across the field.
The radiance washed the armies with a dream of peace, rushing across the floodlands like a powerful, silent dawn. At its heart there stood a naked girl with eyes of shining green. Where she passed, she left the precious memories of love. It was like smelling fresh made bread upon a rainy afternoon; it was laughter on a summer’s night, or the smell of rain on grass. Men’s weapons fell as images of beauty came flooding back into their minds.
These were the precious things of life. Not war, not pain and death. The Silent Lady wept, and the warriors were filled with shame.
Rooshïkii stood in Shadarii’s way, a severed head hanging in her hand. The young girl sobbed as Shadarii touched her face. The Silent Lady gently eased the trophy from her grasp and forced the girl to meet its gaze. Rooshïkii gagged and wept, then pressed herself back against a tree, her chest heaving as she tried to shrink away.
“I didn’t know! It was only a barbarian! Please! Please, I didn’t think…”
The girl clutched Shadarii’s legs, pleading through her tears.
“You don’t understand. He raped me! I had to do it! He raped me. The Dream makes all the pain go away!
“Help me!”
Rooshïkii slowly came into the Silent Lady’s arms. Shadarii kissed her on the eyes, folding her against her heart. She took Rooshïkii’s pain away and left her clean and new.
Alpine warriors slowly looked down at the heads dangling from their belts, then quickly cast the things away. Men folded up and retched while others tried to wash their hands in grief. Shadarii closed her eyes and reached down into her power. With a sudden blaze of light the dead skulls split, and Ka shot up into the ïsha like ten thousand streaming stars. Shadarii slowly drew them down into her presence and calmed them with her peace.
Kïtashii and Tingtraka walked in Shadarii’s wake. There was Mrrimïmei and Totoru, the sea peoples and pilgrims. Where Shadarii passed, the wounded healed and rose; dead souls swirled up to dance with her in joy. The warriors stared at her innocence and were ashamed. Combatants drew apart and stared at the ground in silence.
Shadarii passed between them all, tears streaming from her eyes. The soldiers slowly followed her; savages and shepherds, commoners and kings all rose up to reach into the Silent Lady’s light.
“What! What is it?”
Zhukora whirled upon her guards in fury. The men were staring at the skull masks on one another’s faces. One man slowly peeled away his helmet, looking down in wonder at the hideous thing he had been wearing with such pride. Zhukora stared at the man in shock, one hand reaching up to clu
tch her breast.
“What are you doing? Pick that up!”
“It-it’s only a mask.” The man looked down at the painted wood. “Only a mask…”
“Only a mask?” Zhukora’s antennae jerked in amazement. “The Skull-Mask is our symbol. You are the chosen! You live only for The Dream. You have already sacrificed your lives to our cause!”
The bodyguards walked towards a strange glow out on the field, letting their weapons fall behind them. Men smiled and let the brightness shine into their eyes, hate and fury draining from their minds. Zhukora felt her power slip like water through her hands.
“Serpent! Serpent what’s happening? Do something! Stop them!”
*It’s HER. It’s Starshine! She’s stealing thy power for her own!*
Suddenly a long forgotten presence flooded though Zhukora’s mind. The woman gave a scream of rage, snatched up her spear and exploded through the air upon a shaft of flame. With a wild howl of fury, she flung herself across the sky.
Shadarii!
The crippled bitch had come to steal The Dream! Zhukora streaked onwards to make a sister’s death.
Harïsh arched in release as something healed inside her. The pain went away, and her fury eased. The girl found herself surrounded by a sea of people; savages and plainsmen standing side by side. The girl blinked up at the mingled armies and felt her spirits soar.
A naked woman gazed down into her eyes. The Silent Lady! Harïsh panted and laid one trembling hand across her womb. The egg still lay safe inside her. Harïsh babbled incoherent words of thanks as she saw the Silent Lady smile.