Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  He looked out over the broad plain in front of the city, toward the twin towers of the Kupar Bridge and suddenly had an idea.

  “Sneak a squad of twenty of my finest archers out the hidden door in the south wall. Give them a triple portion of arrows, and tell them to run as fast as they can to the Kupar Bridge.”

  The lieutenant frowned and shook his head. “What good are twenty men against that many horsemen?”

  “The river is flooded. The bridge is the only way to cross. Twenty good archers can turn the bridge into a bloodbath.”

  “And when they run out of arrows?” The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.

  “Draw swords and fight to the death.”

  “As you command.” The lieutenant bowed and then turned to leave. He stopped and turned around. “And what of the people trapped outside the wall?” The lieutenant pointed to the hundreds of people pounding at the gates.

  “If we’re lucky, they’ll absorb of few Scythian arrows,” Bal-eeb scoffed.

  ***

  Captain Bal-eeb stood among a line of archers along the wall and watched the dust cloud grow. He’d fought the horsemen enough times to know the tell-tale signs of a mounted force, though he never thought they’d mount an attack on the city itself.

  “They approach the Kupar Bridge. It must be the entire Scythian nation,” a young archer said in astonishment. “Why do they attack? Surely they know they cannot breach the wall?”

  “Who knows what goes through the heads of those filthy animals,” Bal-eeb said, and motioned to the sky. “Perhaps they’ve seen the omens as a sign we are weak. They will feel our arrows and think differently.”

  Bal-eeb felt much better. This was something he understood. The heavens may be falling, but battle against a flesh and blood enemy was real. Here he would earn his glory. While Hecktar played about with the mob, Bal-eeb would save the city. His only regret was he wished he had a larger force deployed at the bridge.

  With the river so flooded, Bal-eeb felt confident the archers could slow the horde long enough for the Commander to reinforce the wall.

  The stump farmers began to arrive, exhausted and screaming of the doom approaching from the west.

  “Captain!” his lieutenant pointed to the growing cloud. “The dust turns black and moves against the wind.”

  Bal-eeb saw it, too, though he couldn’t understand what his eyes told him.

  ***

  The east and west approaches to the Kupar Bridge were almost underwater by the time the archers arrived, exhausted and out of breath. Only narrow strips of dry land about fifty feet wide provided access to the mighty bridge. The swift, black river was almost over the cliffs, which were beginning to crumble into the current.

  The young squad leader gave them a quick moment to guzzle some water before he deployed them. He positioned ten archers far enough down the bridge to kill anyone approaching the western ramp. The next ten were placed in a line adjacent to the eastern guard shack.

  Giant sheets of ice raced downstream and occasionally slammed into the bridge’s pillars. The bridge shuddered, but didn’t yield. With each impact the archers nervously looked about. The river, the falling stars, the Scythians... it was overwhelming, but the young warriors didn’t falter. They had little loyalty to the captain, but they loved their squad leader and knew their city counted on them. Here they would make their stand.

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  The men in the first line wiped the sweat streaming from under their helmets, the approaching thunder of hooves hurting their ears. They discerned enormous shapes emerging from the dust beyond the bridge.

  The Kupar Bridge stood for over a century, patiently waiting for its purpose to be fulfilled. Now, that time had come as the first invaders reached the eastern ramp.

  With a deafening buzz, a black mass of flying insects erupted from above the dust. Shocked, the archers watched as the living cloud ebbed around the bridge’s cables and towers above them, pausing only for a moment before descending.

  Millions of flies, bees and hornets attacked the men, ruthlessly biting and stinging every exposed inch of flesh. The first line of men fled screaming, swatting at the air and covering their faces. Insects filled their noses and mouths and crawled into every nook and cranny of their armor. To the last man they jumped into the water to their death.

  The second line of archers dropped their bows and fled across the fields. The insects did not pursue, but ascended into the sky toward the city. They were quickly followed by an enormous, screeching flock of birds of every feather. The birds and insects were not long gone when the first hoof set foot on the bridge.

  A pair of woolly rhinoceroses, both massive bulls, galloped across the bridge. They slammed through the empty guard shacks on both ends, shattering them into tiny splinters, and continued at a full gallop toward the city.

  The elephants followed several minutes later, flanked by hundreds of other animals bunched into a thick mass, cramming onto the bridge. Antelope, horses, deer, bison, sheep, bears, wolves, lions, pigs, foxes...the creatures of the marsh, steppe, and mountain filed across the Kupar Bridge. The din of their hooves carried all the way to the city gate.

  Cables tightened, boards creaked, supports groaned. From below, the river began to rise at a visible pace. Ice slammed relentlessly into the structure, sending shockwaves throughout the bridge. Still, it withstood the assault from below and the tremendous weight from above.

  The weight began to abate as the larger animals cleared the eastern ramp. The scampering creatures crossed last. The final pair, two fat beavers, scurried across just as the rushing water washed away the western access.

  Ice, driftwood, logs and flotsam steadily built up against the bridge supports, adding their weight to the flood’s already crushing force.

  The beavers touched dry land and waddled up the eastern bank just as the access washed away. Now isolated and surrounded by rapidly rising water approaching the level of the road, the tops of the bridge’s support towers trembled. Suddenly, a sharp crack, quickly followed by a peeling, tearing noise filled the air. The span began a slow, sickening counter-clockwise lurch, like a boat trying to turn about in a narrow channel. Cables snapped and fell limp into the water.

  As if knowing its purpose fulfilled, the mighty Kupar Bridge surrendered to the flood. With a series of wet snapping pops, it aligned with the current for a moment, before the mighty twin support towers fell inward on top of one another. With a crash the span snapped in two. The structure disintegrated into a pall of dust swirling over the river.

  The herd pressed towards Hur-ar.

  ***

  The mob at the gates turned toward the thunder and saw the bridge collapse. A sickening silence followed.

  The warriors rubbed their eyes and blinked in disbelief. A foundation of their lives, something as solid and permanent as the mountains themselves, suddenly vanished.

  “The bridge,” the lieutenant whispered. “It has fallen.”

  “The two towers have fallen!” another warrior screamed.

  A wail went up from the mob, “The towers have fallen! The bridge is gone! The bridge is gone!”

  Freeman and slave, man and women, pressed against the gates with renewed energy. Those in the front were crushed by the weight of those behind. Arms and hands stretched upward in supplication, begging for entry. Dead bodies began to pile up against the gates, which became step stools for those trying to climb up.

  Those at the rear of the mob heard the deep bass concussions of approaching hooves and slowly turned.

  “Riders!” the lookout on the north tower shouted. Across the plain, well ahead of the main dust cloud, two smaller dust trails approached at a full gallop.

  Scouts?

  Bal-eeb discerned two large shapes, but they didn’t run like horses. They trundled, mighty shoulders lurching up and forward like unstoppable boulders rolling down a mountainside. As they drew nearer, it became obvious the two hulking beasts were riderless. At fir
st he didn’t recognize the monsters. Even as they drew closer his mind refused to acknowledge what his eyes told him.

  “This cannot be,” Bal-eeb whispered to himself.

  Almost seven feet at the shoulder and seven thousand pounds, one woolly rhino galloped well ahead of the other. White foam spewed from its nostrils as its mighty heart approached the breaking point. An invisible force pushed it onward. It didn’t know why it ran; only that it must.

  The rest of the mob turned around to see what the sentries along the wall pointed at, but it was too late. The beast plowed into the mass of human flesh, swinging its thick head and tossing bodies high into the air. Bones cracked underneath its stocky legs as it cleared an opening all the way to the gate. The survivors parted and fled screaming in both directions along the length of the wall.

  “Archers, FIRE!” Bal-eeb commanded. Hundreds of arrows rained down on the rhino. It turned and trotted off, dozens of shafts protruding from its thick hide.

  A clear path to the gate awaited the second rhino, more massive than the first. It didn’t slow, nor did it swing its head, or flinch as dozens of arrows found their mark. With full force, eight thousand pounds of flesh rammed head first into the wooden gate.

  The gates convulsed and shuddered inward as a shock wave of dust flew up from the wall. The stone under Bal-eeb’s feet quaked. The gates buckled but held as the rhino retreated. Stunned and bristling with arrows, it slowly staggered away.

  The men began to back away from the parapets.

  “These are devils!” one of the men shouted and bolted. He ran past Bal-eeb, who hooked him with his arm and ran him through with his sword.

  “This is Scythian witchcraft, nothing more! Return to your posts.” Bal-eeb shouted, and let the warrior’s body fall to the stone.

  The first rhino returned and slammed into the gate. The thick wood released a deeper, more alarming cracking sound.

  Desperate to rally his men, Bal-eeb snatched the dead warriors bow. “Come, men! You’ve been doing nothing for the last week except belly aching about the lack of meat. Well, here’s your meat!” He laughed and loosed an arrow into one of the beasts. His men found courage and resumed pelting the rhino with arrows.

  After one more assault, which was nothing more than a bump, the smaller rhino stumbled to the side, blood pouring from a thousand punctures. Its eyes rolled into the back of its head, and it collapsed dead in the tall grass.

  Just out of bowshot, the larger rhino huffed and pawed at the dirt. It panted heavily with wet, ragged snorts as it tried to catch its breath. Bloody flecks of foam shot from its nostrils and mouth. The rhino’s beady eyes locked on the gate as it summoned the last of its strength.

  Bal-eeb knew the gate wouldn’t take another assault. “Hold your fire until it’s in range, and then direct all your fire on the beast!” Bal-eeb’s blood raced. He didn’t understand what was happening, but it stirred his battle lust.

  As if in response to Bal-eeb’s challenge, the rhino charged. Like black rain, a cloud of arrows flew out to meet it.

  Bal-eeb heard the arrows snapping off its trunk-like legs, only to be replaced by new shafts. Still, it thundered forward.

  “Stop it!” he screamed. It’s going to hit. Bal-eeb braced himself against the wall for the impact he knew would shatter the gate. The beast emerged from the rain of arrows and slammed into the gates.

  The impact almost knocked Bal-eeb down. The rhino stumbled back, fell over and died amongst the bloody bodies of the field peasants.

  “The gate holds!” someone shouted from behind the wall. A cry of victory went up amongst the men.

  It will not hold for long if we don’t reinforce it. Bal-eeb turned to give orders to brace the gate when he saw the elephants emerge from the dust cloud. Thousands of animals trundled down the road toward the gate.

  There are not enough arrows in the world to stop this army.

  Behind the soft rumble of hooves came a new sound, a sound beyond thunder, beyond the shaking of the earth in the worst of earthquakes. Bal-eeb peered out to the distant west.

  Enormous waterfalls breeched the western ridge and spilled into the valley.

  His men dropped their weapons and fled all along the wall. This time Bal-eeb didn’t stop them.

  There would be no victory today. There would be no glory. No bribe could turn back this enemy. This was the hand of an unseen god rising up against them. Hur-ar and her people were cursed.

  He looked about and found himself alone, abandoned by warriors who neither owed him loyalty nor respect.

  Bal-eeb took a deep breath and raised his bow toward the pair of approaching elephants.

  Here I will fight. Here I will die.

  In that last moment, Bal-eeb found the man he could have been. But it was too late, for both him and the city. Against the backdrop of the falling stars, the buzzing black cloud of insects descended on Bal-eeb. Screaming, he tore at his clothes and armor until he fell ingloriously from the wall.

  Bal-eeb, Son of Ashtoreth and Captain of the Gate of Hur-ar, died. In the end, his blood was not made of gold, but flowed as red as any mortal’s. It ran across the ground toward the wall, only to be soaked up by the dusty earth.

  ***

  Overhead, the insects and birds flew over the wall and descended into the city, clearing the terrified mobs from the main streets and cutting a path from the city gates to the Cliff Road.

  The elephants passed the bodies of the two rhinos and pressed their broad foreheads against the weakened gate. The gates bowed and split along the fractures inflicted by the rhinos and fell inward. Lions and wolves rushed by the elephants and raced far ahead into the city.

  As the animals pressed into the city, people fled to the alleys and into the houses and shops. Some watched from windows as the procession moved swiftly down the main avenue and into the market.

  The elephants crashed through the stalls and tents of the market place, plowing a straight path for the rest of the animals to follow. They paused briefly under the enormous statue of the Black Dragon. Both elephants pressed their heads against the base of the statue and sent it toppling into a thousand pieces against the market wall.

  The first waves splashed against the city wall just as the last of the animals cleared the market. The water washed over the bodies in front of the gate and then poured into the city.

  ***

  Shellbaz led the mob of thousands up the Cliff Road. The horde carried torches, bundles of sticks and jars of oil. Shellbaz carried a prophesy of death.

  In the secret places of the temple, in visions fueled by blood and lust, Ba’al showed him the fate of the world. There would be no escape, but there could still be redemption.

  The Narim have cursed the city and the world of men. The master’s voice hissed through the flames as Shellbaz poured sacrificial blood into the fire. The Narim must perish with the rest of the world. Do this and live forever in a place I have prepared for you. The Black Gate and the fortress within must burn!

  Shellbaz hurried ahead, his heavy black robes weighing him down and slowing him from his purpose. Wild eyed, he looked back at the mob and its meager escort of warriors.

  “Hurry!” he shouted back at them. “We are almost there.”

  Just then screams went up from the crowd. Everyone turned to see the water flood into the city below, filling the maze of avenues and alleys. The western ridge was now a chain of waterfalls as the Hur Valley had joined the new sea. The will of the mob began to falter.

  Shellbaz had to think fast. “We will be safe high on the cliff! The Narim know this. We must take their sanctuary for ourselves.”

  Cries of “Take the Black Fortress!” went up in response. Even the warriors seemed energized and began prodding the people forward.

  The rabble hurried up the road again until fresh screams came from far to the rear of the column.

  Shellbaz looked back, confused as to what transpired below.

  The shrill cries grew louder and louder as
people began leaping off the cliff to their deaths.

  The warriors turned about trying to lower their spears through the crush of people. A brown blur leapt up and took one of them down.

  A lion roared.

  No!

  Shellbaz snatched a torch, a bundle of sticks, and a jar of oil from the nearest man and fled up the road. The Black Gate loomed just ahead. The Black Dragon promised it would take very little to set it ablaze.

  My reward awaits.

  Behind him the crowd parted as lions and wolves ripped into human flesh. Those who did not leap were torn apart. The warriors could not wield their spears effectively among the masses and also fell under tooth and claw.

  The Black Fortress filled Shellbaz’s vision as oil sloshed over his robes and he tried to light the faggot of sticks. He dared a glance over his shoulder in time to see a burly black wolf hard on his heels.

  A few more paces!

  The wolf snapped at his robes, sending Shellbaz sprawling into the gravel. The torch and jar flew out ahead of him.

  The wolf leapt over him, but didn’t attack. It crouched uphill beyond the torch, which burned on its side next to the shattered clay jar. The wolf cocked its head to the side and considered the Priest of Ba’al, as if waiting for something. Shellbaz strained to reach the torch, but not before the stream of oil did. The oil erupted, sending flaming globs splattering onto his robe. Shellbaz leapt up, screaming and trying to extinguish the fire with his hands. It only served to hasten his transformation into a living torch.

  The wolf stood as sentry between Shellbaz and the Black Gate, as the priest briefly stumbled in a dance of death before falling to the city below. He plummeted like a falling star, mimicking those streaking in the heavens above.

  The enormous flock of birds circled the Black Gate.