Guardians Watch

by Eric T Knight

  Quyloc stood in the middle, turning constantly, trying to keep them all in sight. He could summon the Veil. Even then, he could picture it in his mind. It needed only a touch of his will to bring it to him. But he knew that the moment he dropped his guard, they would swarm him. He wouldn’t make it through before at least one got to him. Even if he did, one or more would probably make it through the opening before it sealed shut, like the snake did. He needed breathing room.

  He feinted toward the one opposite the badly wounded one. It fell back a step and then he whirled and charged the other way. The badly wounded one threw up one arm and Quyloc chopped down through it. The tooth cut easily through its arm and slashed its face deeply.

  It screamed and toppled sideways and he jumped over it and ran.

  He tore through the jungle, the others in close pursuit. They were faster than he was, but he was smaller and more agile. He didn’t run in a straight line, but ducked and dodged through trees and bushes.

  He heard one right behind him, felt its attack before it came, and threw himself hard to the right, behind a tree trunk.

  The thing swung, hit nothing and, before it could recover, he’d sheared most of its jaw away. It was amazing how well the spear blade cut, as if with a supernatural sharpness, but there was no time to wonder at it.

  The other two were close behind. The trailing one altered its course to go around the tree the other way, as the first one swung wide to avoid his attack.

  The smart thing to do then would have been to run and wait for his next opportunity to further cut the odds, but Quyloc could feel himself tiring and furthermore, he was suddenly sick of running, sick of being hunted down.

  All this passed through his mind in an instant and then he charged the leading creature, the spear a blur in his hands. The thing swung at him and he shifted his weight to one side, leaning away from the blow, and cut its hand off.

  Before it could really respond to the wound, he stabbed it through the throat, then ripped the spear to one side, tearing out most of its throat as he did so. It fell to the ground, dead instantly.

  Quyloc spun and ran at the lone survivor. The thing tried to turn and run, but it was too late for that. Quyloc swung and its head fell from its shoulders.

  Quyloc stood there panting, staring down at their bodies. He heard other noises in the distance and he summoned the Veil, and left.

  Thirteen

  Perganon took off his glasses and settled himself in the comfortable chair. In his lap was a book dating to the time of the Kaetrian Empire. He and Rome were in a small room of the palace for one of their informal history lessons. On the table was a large map of Atria. Rome had brought along a bottle of tiare, the peppery liquor made in Karthije. While Rome was pouring the liquor Perganon took the opportunity to look out the window. It had been a few days, but there was still a cloud hanging low over the Landsend Plateau. He wondered again what had happened up there. The city buzzed with wild rumors, but no one really knew. He accepted the glass of liquor from Rome and nodded his thanks.

  “As you’ll recall from our last meeting, after the siege of Durag’otal remnants of the army that had stood with Xochitl and the rest of the Eight founded a new city on the banks of a river less than a day’s ride away. That city would become the capital of the Kaetrian Empire. At that time there was no hint of the desert that would become the Gur al Krin, only a broad scar on the earth that marked the place where Durag’otal had stood.”

  “I remember,” Rome replied. “You said the first sand dune appeared hundreds of years after the founding of Kaetria and it was centuries more before the dunes grew to the point where they threatened to swallow the capital.” He took a drink of the liquor and set his glass down. “But you said nothing about where the sand dunes came from.”

  “That’s because I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does.”

  “Maybe you’ll find the answer in those books the workmen found when they broke down that wall.” Recently Perganon had asked for permission to expand the library into some adjoining, unused rooms. When the workers tore out the wall between the library and the rooms, they found a cache of books that had been hidden in the wall.

  “I haven’t had time to read any of them yet,” Perganon said, aware that he was grinning like a child but seemingly unable to help himself. The idea of a whole treasure trove of new books excited him more than anything he could think of. Who knew what secrets they held? “But several of the ones I’ve looked at date to the time of the Empire and at least one appears to have been written by an early Tender.”

  “Look at you,” Rome said, “grinning like a boy who’s gotten a hold of his first teat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were excited about those books.”

  “You could say that,” Perganon said, sipping the liquor, “and you wouldn’t be wrong.”

  “Any idea why those books were there? Who would go to all that trouble just to hide a bunch of books?”

  “Someone who feared their destruction, I suppose. Often those in power are threatened by books.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Who would be frightened by a book?”

  “Rulers like to write their own history, Macht Rome, a history that paints them in a favorable light and their enemies in an unfavorable one. In essence, they want the only surviving narrative of events to be one that they approve. The existence of old books that refute that narrative can only be viewed as a threat.”

  “It seems to me any ruler who’s afraid of a few pieces of paper with words on them isn’t much of a ruler.”

  “And yet the annals of history are filled with such rulers.” Perganon blinked and looked at the liquor in his hand. Had he drunk that much already, to be saying such things to the macht? He genuinely liked Wulf Rome, but he hadn’t survived this long by being anything but circumspect.

  “I’ll never be one of those,” Rome said, tossing back the rest of his glass and reaching for the bottle. “I want only the truth laid down.”

  “Truly, Macht?”

  “I mean it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it so I guess now is as good a time as any. I want you to write a book about what’s happening now.”

  “My Lord?” Perganon asked, shocked. He had considered the idea, of course, but discarded it. Surviving around kings required avoiding such unnecessary risks.

  “Don’t act dumb. I know you’ve thought about it. You’re a historian at heart, just like the men who wrote those books you’re always reading to me from. I bet you’d love putting this all down on paper and why not? The story of how Melekath escaped from his prison and the brave soldiers who defeated him? It’s the greatest tale since the creation of the prison. Who wouldn’t want to tell it?”

  “Well, I must admit—”

  “That’s assuming anyone’s still alive afterward to read it,” Rome added. “If we lose, it’s just a waste of what little time you have left.”

  “If you’re serious, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “Then do it. If you need more money for parchment or whatever, let me know.”

  “Thank you, Macht.” Perganon could hardly believe his good luck. The thought of leaving his mark, of historians centuries from now reading his words, well, he could think of nothing he would rather have. He’d never married; he had no children. This would be his legacy. “If I’m not too bold, Macht, why?” As soon as he asked the question he kicked himself. It was best not to ask kings their reasons, all of which always came back to themselves.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Rome said. “You’re thinking I want you to write some big story that will make me look good, like those songs of heroes they sing in the taverns.”

  Against his better judgment, Perganon nodded.

  “But that’s not it, not at all. I’ve been thinking. We’ve spent some time together by now, Perganon, you teaching me the old histories. And I’d like to think that it’s helped me, made me better at this whole ruling thing. I’ve learned some things. Well, I’d
like to pass it on. Maybe some of what we’re going through here could help others someday. Probably not, but it could be. That’s why I’m ordering you right here and now to write it all down as close to exactly as you can. The bad and the good both. The victories and the losses. It has to be the truth or it won’t help anyone, don’t you think?”

  Perganon was stunned. At first he couldn’t say anything. He realized he was going to have to completely reevaluate his estimation of Macht Rome. As much as he liked the man and respected his natural charisma, he’d always considered him a bit simple. But to hear this, right out of nowhere, well, clearly he’d underestimated Rome.

  In that moment he realized that probably a good many of Rome’s foes over the years had made the same mistake. Fortunately for him, it wouldn’t cost him his life.

  “I agree completely, Macht Rome,” he said. “You have my word I will do just that.”

  “Great,” Rome said, with a huge smile. He leaned forward with the bottle and refilled Perganon’s glass. “Now let’s get on with the lesson.”

  “In the beginning of the eighth century of its existence, the Empire was only peripherally aware of the Sertithian horsemen to the north. There was no reason for the Empire to turn its gaze that way. The Alon Mountains were a formidable barrier between the Empire and the Sertithian highlands, so the Empire did not much fear invasion from them, especially since there was only one decent pass through the mountains and it could be easily held by a small force of soldiers. Besides, the Sertithians were barbarians, with nothing actually resembling a city to their name. There was no reason to conquer them. Their lands were too cold and thin for proper agriculture. Throw in a decidedly hostile population showing no interest in trade and seemingly possessing nothing worth trading for, and there was no real reason to expand in that direction. Not when the west was so rich and fertile, bursting with diverse peoples and bustling cities. The fact that the Sertithians had never shown any interest in pursuing hostilities against their large southern neighbor further left the Kaetrians unprepared.

  “But all that changed one day, and before you ask why, I don’t know. No one does except the Sertithians. Perhaps they sought a challenge. Perhaps someone in the Empire offended them in some way. Whatever the reason, when the Sertithians came, they came in a wave, tens of thousands of horsemen that covered the land like locusts. The pitifully undermanned garrison at the pass through the Alon Mountains was quickly swept away. From there the invaders drove like a dagger into the Empire.” Perganon bent over the table and pointed to Karthije on the map.

  “There was a legion based in Karthije and had their commander had the sense to hole up behind their formidable walls, he likely could have held off the invaders until the Empire could relieve him. After all, horses the Sertithians had in plenty, but siege engines they had not at all and no force takes Karthije without siege engines.” He coughed into his hand and smiled wryly. “Unless one has an axe like you do, of course. Which the Sertithians did not. Fortunately for them—and unfortunately for the Empire—the commander at Karthije was a vain man who resented being relegated to what he saw as a meaningless post and he sent his full strength into the field, confident that the Kaetrian army, better trained and equipped than any other, could crush the upstarts. Perhaps the promotion he felt he so richly deserved would result.” Perganon shook his head, marveling at the foolishness of man.

  “Instead the Sertithians swept through the legion like a scythe through wheat and barely paused on their charge south.” He peered at the parchment. “No word on what became of the foolish commander, but the Emperor at the time, Cherlin, was not a man known for his patience. For the commander’s sake we should probably hope he was killed in the battle. As I was saying, the legion barely slowed the Sertithian charge, and a charge it was. The Sertithian invaders were, one and all, mounted. They had no wagons, no foot soldiers, no camp followers to hold them back. Their horses were rangy, powerful beasts who could cover frightening distances every day without seeming to tire. They caught another legion at Managil, coming up on the city so fast that its commander was unprepared. He had received a warning from the commander of Karthije—indeed, most of the Empire was already aware of the threat—but he did not expect them so soon and his forces were also crushed.”

  “Wait,” Rome interjected. “If this army was moving so fast, how did the commander at Managil know it was coming?”

  Perganon nodded. “I’m glad you asked. This was due to the advanced system of signal towers used by the Kaetrians. They had a series of towers on top of mountain peaks throughout the Empire and a complex system of sending messages using mirrors in the daytime and fires at night. It really was quite an ingenious code they devised. I spent some time learning it when I was younger and…” He trailed off as he noticed the look on his macht’s face. Rome wanted to learn history, but he didn’t have much patience with details that didn’t interest him.

  “As I was saying, with the defeat of the legion at Managil the soft underbelly of the Empire was exposed. The legions normally based in Qarath were far in the west, battling an uprising beyond Fanethrin.” He pointed to the western edge of the map. “Panic struck the Kaetrian emperor as he realized there were no sizable forces close enough to intercept the Sertithians before they got to the capital city.” He leaned forward and took off his glasses. “No forces except for the Takare, that is.” He gestured to the map again. “Not that the emperor thought they could do any good, as they were all at Ankha del’Ath, which you can see is far to the west. No way a force could cover that much ground quickly enough to intercept a mounted army moving fast. There weren’t that many of them, either, probably not as many in their entire city as the Sertithians had in their invading army. On top of that, the emperor had no reason to believe they would even respond to his summons. They were part of the Empire, it was true, but in name only. None of their people fought in the endless struggles that the Empire engaged in. Only rarely did Takare even venture out of their territory. They were involved in the endless quest for personal perfection and self-control and not interested in wealth and power, the vices that drive so much of human behavior.” He chuckled. “You can see why the emperor was panicking.

  “But there was no one else and so the appeal went out. Save us.”

  “The Takare had a signal mirror too?” Rome asked.

  Perganon shook his head. “No. As we talked about before, they just weren’t interested in the goings-on of the Empire. But there was a garrison nearby, sort of an embassy—the Takare wouldn’t let outsiders live in Ankha del’Ath, so the embassy was a few miles away—and they had a signal tower that the Takare had let them put up in the mountains.

  “No one knows why, but for some reason the Takare responded. And that was when their legend was born.” Perganon leaned over the map again. “They caught the Sertithians on the southern edge of the Plains of Dem, which is remarkable when you look at how far they had to go. Even with horses it would have been terribly difficult and the Takare were not horse warriors. According to the histories—which are often only slightly more accurate than rumors and tall tales—the Takare could run night and day for days on end without resting and with barely any food or water.” He shrugged. “Evidently they were capable of that, because there’s really no other way they could have gotten there in time. They caught the Sertithians in a broad flat valley that forms the outwash for a series of sharp hills. One of my contacts told me years ago that there are still the remains of a stone monument there, but I’ve never seen it. At first glance it was a terrible place to oppose a mounted force, in that the Sertithians would have unhampered mobility, a somewhat important factor when a foot army faces a mounted one.”

  Perganon opened the book in his lap, a cracked, leather-bound volume. “This is an account written by Selenus, an Empire historian, some decades later. He claims to have it from an eye witness, a boy who was herding goats in the area. It is probably somewhat exaggerated, but it is quite interesting.”

 
; It started out a day like any other for Culin, a boy just approaching his twelfth summer. He was herding the family goats just like he did every day. It was midday and he was sitting under a tree on a low hill west of the village where he’d lived his entire life. Culin liked this tree. Not because it was such a great tree, but because it was the only sizable tree for a couple miles. Which meant it was the only place to find shade on a hot day. Furthermore, it was on a low hill and hills were as hard to find as trees here on the plains. The hill was a good vantage point from which to watch the goats.

  Culin was sitting under the tree, leaning against the trunk, day-dreaming, when he realized he was no longer alone. To the north, in the distance, some horsemen appeared out of the haze. That was unusual. Culin almost never saw anyone out here except other herders. Certainly not horsemen.

  He got to his feet, rubbing his eyes, and to his surprise saw that it was more than a handful of horsemen. Far more. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. They just kept coming and coming, heading south at a fast trot. It looked like they would pass right by his little hill.

  That’s when Culin started to get worried. They were clearly warriors. Even from a distance he could see the long spears and bows they carried. He looked around nervously, thinking to flee.

  But where could he go, really? The land was so flat. They were close now so there was no way they wouldn’t see him. It would be simple for them to run him down and skewer him like a piglet with one of those long spears. They might even do it for sport.

  Then he saw something even more surprising.

  To his left, and directly in the horsemen’s path, some people appeared out of nowhere. He rubbed his eyes again, briefly wondering if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming.

  Where did they come from? They must have been hiding in the tall grasses, but how did he not see them before?

  There were quite a few of them, though not nearly as many as there were horsemen. He guessed about five hundred. They were dressed in simple, knee-length, belted shifts. They wore no armor and carried no weapons except for long sticks. Not only that, but a lot of them were women.