Now I return with an army.
The armada sailed on through the night, heading north toward the fires of war.
* * * * *
They stood outside the pyramid gates, hundreds of feet above the marshlands, watching the enemy close in like a noose.
"Daenor is fallen," Lord Kee'an whispered, eyes damp. "The swamps are lost."
Standing beside him, Neekeya snarled and clutched her sword. "Not as I still breathe. Not as I still wield steel."
They stood on a stone ledge outside the throne room. Behind them rose the archway that led into the pyramid's crest. Before them a staircase trailed down the pyramid's southern facade, leading to the swamp. A hundred soldiers of Eetek Pyramid stood upon this staircase, guarding the passage to the throne room, but Neekeya knew they were but ants facing a herd of buffaloes. Her eyes stung to gaze at the lands around her.
The swamps shook and wept as the Radian forces poured in.
From the east came those enemies Neekeya had failed to stop in the mountains. Nayan elephants waded through the marshlands, archers upon their backs, and many Nayan warriors, their beards and hair flaming red, walked behind them, leading leashed tigers. Magerians walked there too, their steel plates tinted black, and mages moved among them, their dark horses walking knee-deep through the water. The enemy covered the land like a swarm of insects, and as they moved, they destroyed—cutting down trees, burning the huts and gardens of farmers, crushing fruit groves.
When Neekeya turned to look south, she saw more enemies arrive. Here marched Eseerians, warriors of the southern desert realms. Thousands of years ago, Eseerians and Daenorians were said to have been one people, a tribe of mountain dwellers; still many of their words were the same, and even their gods shared kins of family. Yet the Daenorians had migrated north into the marshlands, the Eseerians south to the desert, and now these warriors, clad in white robes and bearing scimitars, advanced north to crush their cousins, and they too bore the Radian banners, sworn to Serin.
Neekeya stepped to the edge of the platform, climbed onto a statue of the god Cetela, and stared around the pyramid's crest toward the north. There too she saw an enemy, and these forces chilled her most of all. Fellow Daenorians swarmed from there, her northern kin who dwelled in the open plains, their skin lighter, their clothes, castles, and customs mimicking those found east of the mountains in the realms of fallen Riyona. For many years, the North Daenorians had turned against the old ways of their southern kin, building castles instead of pyramids, donning wool instead of crocodile skin, dining upon fine pastries instead of frog legs and chestnut stews.
They forgot who they are, Neekeya thought, staring at the advancing soldiers. They're ashamed of the crocodile banner, and so now they raise the Radian eclipse upon their flags, and they seek to crush us southerners.
She climbed off the statue and rejoined those upon the ledge: her father, thirty soldiers in steel, and her husband.
"Nations from across Timandra have joined the Radian Order," she said. "Even our own kin from the north have betrayed us. But I will never join Serin." She drew her sword with a hiss. "We are perhaps the last free land in sunlight. And now is our last stand."
Tam's eyes lit with fire, and he drew his new sword, a reptilian sword of the marshes. "A last stand for freedom. I will die here if I must."
All across the horizons, the marshlands trembled. Trees collapsed. Villages burned. Birds fled across the sky, abandoning the crumbling land. And everywhere the enemy advanced, and their drums beat, and their horns blared, and their chants rose, praising Serin and the Radian Empire. Everywhere flew the Radian standards, a thousand suns hiding the moon.
The forces reached the smaller pyramids first, the twelve lesser halls of the marshes, sisters to Eetek Pyramid. The Radian hosts charged up the staircases along their flanks, firing arrows, thrusting spears. The pyramid guards fought back, tall men in crocodile armor, their swords wide, their arrows swift. Thousands of corpses slid down the pyramids' facades. Neekeya watched as her brothers in arms slew hundreds, perhaps thousands of enemies.
Yet the Radians kept swarming. One pyramid—the smallest one, the ancient Se'antak, Tail of the Crocodile—fell first. The Radians—these ones were Magerians, lords of the new empire—reached its crest and knocked down its statues. The eclipse banner rose there, replacing the old standards of Daenor. Another pyramid—the lofty Te'anta, the Hall of the Marsh Light—fell next, its last defenders slain. Nayan troops crushed the statues on its crest, dug out gems from stone, and raised their banners. One by one, the ancient halls of the swamps fell.
"Thus does Daenor fall," said Lord Kee'an, voice low. The old warrior held a shield in one hand, its rim bristly with crocodile teeth, and in the other he held a great curved sword. "But not without a fight. In many ages to come, people will speak of Daenor's Last Stand, of the blood that we spilled here. They will speak in whispers in the halls of an enduring Radian Empire, or they will sing of honor in free lands. Whether we are painted as vanquished foes or fallen heroes, we will be remembered for eternity."
A gust of wind blew, scented of fire. Smoke rose from a dozen villages across the land, and the groves of bobwoods burned. The last banners of Daenor fluttered above Neekeya, displaying a green crocodile upon a golden field. Below the staircase, the first of the enemy's elephants reached the pyramid of Eetek. The first warriors—Magerians in dark steel—began to climb the stairs.
Tam, seemingly by instinct, stepped closer to the staircase, shielding Neekeya with his body. She moved forward too, coming to stand again at his side.
"We will fight bravely together, Tam," she said.
When he looked at her, his eyes narrowed with pain. "I don't fear death, but I fear losing you, Neekeya."
She held both bow and arrow, and she could not hold his hand, but she moved closer to him, and their bodies touched. She stared into his eyes. "I married you, my love, only turns ago, and I found joy in life. If I must die, let it be here and now, weapons in my hands, the banner of my people rising above me, side by side with my husband. I will take this end over old age under the banners of a tyrant."
The clash of steel rang below. She looked back down the staircase and saw the last soldiers of South Daenor dueling the climbing enemies. All around the pyramid, more Radian troops arrived—oaring boats, wading through the water, or riding beasts. They began to swarm up the pyramid, climbing the stairs, climbing the sloping walls, rising like ants over a tasty morsel.
Neekeya, Tam, and the other soldiers upon the platform fired their bows. Their arrows, tipped with the poison of golden frogs, sent enemies crashing down the pyramid's flanks. But too many soldiers were climbing; new men replaced all those who fell, an endless supply. Neekeya kept firing, taking down man by man. As they fell, they crashed into the soldiers climbing below them. Corpses tumbled down into the marshes. The pyramid's defenders rolled down logs bristly with metal spikes, sending Radians crashing down. And still the enemy attacked, more emerging from the swamps every breath, swallowing the land, climbing higher and higher.
Soon the last Daenorians upon the staircase had fallen to the swords of the enemy. That enemy climbed all four of the pyramid's facades, ascending foot by foot.
For my home, Neekeya thought. For my husband. For my father. For Madori and Jitomi and all lost friends.
The enemy reached the top of the staircase. Neekeya screamed and swung her sword.
She fought in a fury, screaming, knocking men down. Tam, her father, and her fellow soldiers fought around her, their swords forming a ring of steel, cutting into the climbers. Magerians tumbled down the pyramid, slamming into their fellow soldiers. Blood poured like lava spilling down a volcano. And still the enemies climbed.
One Daenorian soldier, a beefy man with a bald head, fell at Neekeya's side, impaled by a spear. Another warrior, a woman with braided hair and fierce eyes, screamed and tumbled, her chest pierced with a crossbow bolt. Enemy arrows clattered around Neekeya. One slammed into her arm
or. Another arrow whistled and cut into Tam's shoulder, and his blood spurted. A third Daenorian fell. Several Magerians leaped onto the platform, and Neekeya howled and raced toward them, cut them down, and sent their corpses tumbling. More kept climbing.
"Fall back!" Kee'an shouted. He thrust a spear into a Radian soldier, piercing the man's neck. "Into the pyramid—fall back!"
Neekeya swung her sword, parried an enemy's attack, then drove her blade into the man's armpit and out of his throat. She tugged her sword back with a shower of blood, looked at her father, and nodded. Swords flashing, the last defenders of Eetek—no more than a score—raced off the platform, under an archway, and into the triangular throne room. Grunting, men slammed the pyramid doors shut.
"Tam, help me!" Neekeya shouted. Together they lifted and dropped an oaken beam into the doors' brackets. Already Magerians were slamming at the doors from outside, and when Neekeya raced toward the archways lining the hall, she saw more Magerians climbing the craggy facades; they would reach these side entrances within moments and swarm the hall, and no doors had been built to block these passageways.
Kee'an turned toward his men and gave them a silent stare and nod. The soldiers nodded back, approached the great wooden throne of Eetek, and shoved the seat. Their muscles bulged and the throne scratched along the floor, revealing a trapdoor.
"Daughter," Kee'an said, turning toward her. "Now is the time to flee." Men opened the trap door, revealing a tunnel. "The passageway leads deep into the pyramids and below them the mines. The tunnels run deep and exit in the western hills. That is your path now."
Neekeya paused. The doors rattled and cracked. One Magerian soldier reached an archway on the eastern wall, and Neekeya fired an arrow, slaying him. She spun back toward her father.
"I vowed to fight until death!"
Kee'an's shoulders stooped, and his eyes seemed so sad to her, so old. "Will you have me die seeing my heiress perish?" He stepped toward her and clasped her arm. "Do not let my line die here, daughter. The line of Eetek must survive, if not in our halls or marshlands, then in exile. Flee with Tam! Seek his father, whom men say still fights in the north." Tears streamed from the old warrior's eyes. "Live, Neekeya. Live to bear a child, to carry on our line. Please."
Tam fired an arrow at another Magerian who reached the hall. He turned toward Neekeya and held her hand. "If your father commands it, I will see you to safety."
"I command it," said Kee'an. "Take my daughter to the halls of your parents, Tam—to King Camlin and Queen Linee, if they still live—or to whatever free land you can still find." His tears fell. "Let me die knowing that my line does not perish with my kingdom."
The door cracked and shattered. Magerians stormed into the hall, shouting and brandishing their swords.
Kee'an stared at Neekeya one last time.
"Go," he whispered. "I'll hold them off. Run, my daughter! I love you always."
With that, the old warrior howled. With his last few soldiers, a mere dozen men, he raced toward the shattered doors and the swarming enemies.
Neekeya stood, bloody sword raised, torn.
Tam grabbed her arm. "Come, Neekeya! Into the mines."
She stared at her father, tears in her eyes. He was roaring, swinging his sword, cutting down the enemy. His men fell around him. More Magerians entered through the archways, racing into the hall.
"Neekeya!" Tam shouted.
She wept.
Goodbye, Father. Goodbye.
She let Tam drag her into the tunnel. They plunged into darkness.
Fires blazed above, men laughed, and a single cry rang out: "Run, Neekeya! Run and live!"
She ran, tears in her eyes, into shadow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
IRON MINE NUMBER ONE
"Dig!" the overseer shouted. "Dig or more will die."
Overseer Nafar was a towering man, nearly seven feet tall and thin as a blade. A patch covered one of his eyes, and he was missing his left hand. Instead of a wooden hand or even a hook, a whip was attached onto the stump. Standing in the mine, he swung his arm and cracked the whip. The lash landed against an old Elorian woman, cutting the skin.
"Dig or die, nightcrawlers." The overseer licked his lips. "Faster!"
The old woman, back bleeding, swung her pickaxe with shaky hands. The sharp iron head barely chipped the canyon wall.
Koyee's limbs shook, and rage simmered inside her. Her fists trembled around the shaft of her own pickaxe. She wanted to charge at the guards, to climb the canyon walls, to attack and slay them.
There are hundreds of us! she thought, looking around the canyon. All with sharp pickaxes. We can attack, we can—
"Dig, worm!" Overseer Nafar marched toward Koyee, and his whip cracked against her shoulders. She yelped. "Dig or I'll kill another one as you watch."
Koyee spun around, back bleeding, and stared at the Timandrian. Nafar was a brutish thing, a giant of a man, missing a hand and eye but still strong, still deadly. Other Magerians stood around him, all in armor, all armed with whips and swords.
I can slay at least one or two, Koyee thought. I can swing my pick into Nafar's face, even as I'm weak, even as—
Nafar snorted. "Very well." He approached an old Elorian man with a long white beard. He held a dagger to the elder's throat. "Dig now or he dies. His blood will be upon you. Just like the last one."
Koyee narrowed her eyes. She could see the blood of the overseer's last victims on his arms.
Slowly, she turned back toward the canyon wall. She swung her pick. She chipped into the stone.
"Good," said the overseer. "Good. But this old man is useless anyway."
A gurgling scream tore through the air. Koyee spun around to see the overseer pull his knife free from the elder's throat, then kick the corpse aside.
"You said you—" Koyee began.
Nafar lashed his whip, hitting her cheek.
"Dig or I'll kill a hundred others! And not just old men. We got children here too. Back to work, nightcrawler."
"Please," whispered the young woman who worked beside Koyee. "Please, Koyee, my son is here. He's only ten. Please dig. Please don't cause trouble."
Her innards trembling and her teeth grinding, Koyee returned to digging. Blood dripped down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She swung her pick against the canyon wall with all the strength she had.
Hundreds of other prisoners worked around her—Elorians captured in Oshy and other villages across Western Qaelin. Fishermen. Mushroom farmers. Captive soldiers. They were all the same now, all prisoners of the Radian Empire. Like her, they worked with chained ankles. Like her, their heads were shaved, the scalps nicked and encrusted with dry blood. Like her, they wore burlap rags. Like her, their shoulders were branded with the Radian eclipse. Koyee's brand still blazed every time she swung her arms, and she winced to remember the hot iron pressing against her only turns ago, forever marking her a slave to the Radian Empire.
Have we really been here for only a few turns? she thought. It felt like years.
She looked around the canyon at the poor souls, her fellow prisoners. Dust from their digging rose in clouds, hiding the stars and moon. Koyee had never seen such a wretched lot. Not only were they bald and branded and bruised, they were famished. At first, their Radian masters had fed them scraps—vegetable peels, thin broth, a few apple cores—and even these scraps had stopped coming two turns ago. Koyee had not eaten since. Her body, like the bodies of her fellow slaves, was fading away.
They do not truly care for iron ore, she thought, swinging her pickaxe into the stone again. They want to torture us, to work and starve us to death, and to laugh as we dwindle down to bones.
Indeed, a hundred Magerian troops stood atop the canyon, staring down at the Elorians who worked below as if watching a show. They drank from wine skins, ate salted meat and bread, and laughed as they watched the prisoners work.
"Faster!" shouted Overseer Nafar. The whip that sprouted from his arm swung, hitting a young
boy. "Dig, nightcrawler." The whip swung again, splattering blood across the child's back.
Koyee raced forward, chains rattling. "Stop it! He's only a boy."
The one-eyed, one-handed Magerian laughed. "I told you to dig, nightcrawler. Now I will have to kill another one."
The whip flew again and again, slamming into the screaming child. Koyee screamed too. She couldn't resist the rage anymore. She leaped toward the overseer, but two other Magerians caught her arms and tugged her back. She watched, shouting, as Nafar beat the child, cutting the frail boy over and over.
"Please!" Koyee begged. "Stop!"
Nafar turned toward her, cheeks red, grinning. "Return to digging like a good nightcrawler, and I will stab the boy's heart." The overseer laughed. "Keep screaming like a pig, and I'll keep whipping. It can take him hours to die this way."
Too weak to fight, famished and wounded and feverish, Koyee still tried to lunge forward, to attack. But the Magerians held her back, and she only lowered her head and nodded. She returned to the canyon wall, and she dug again. She heard the child's last gasp, and she smelled the blood.
Be at peace now, she thought, tears in her eyes. The rest of us will soon envy you, child.
The prisoners kept swinging their pickaxes, digging out clumps of iron ore. Deeper in the canyon, great smelters sat upon fires, melting the rocks to extract the iron. Molten metal bubbled in cauldrons, and smiths forged fresh blades, helmets, and arrowheads.
With our blood and tears, Koyee thought, we're building the weapons of our enemies.
After what seemed like turns of digging, the overseer finally blew a horn, and the Elorians shuffled in their chains toward a chamber cut into the canyon wall. They entered the crude cave, a shelter for a few hours of rest.
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