Sounds came from behind the prisoners.
The guards on the platform, those who could, leapt from the platform, fleeing into the panicked crowd. Three lay bloody on the platform.
Otto sensed a figure near him, one clambered up from behind to the height of the platform, and then felt a knife move against the ropes which bound his wrists. Another stroke freed him of the coffle loop.
“Vandar!” said Otto.
“My king!” said Vandar.
Vandar was he who had first, long ago, on Tangara, pledged himself to Otto, first to accept liege meat from the Hero’s Portion claimed by Otto, that in the Hall of the King Naming.
Ulrich, a second liegeman from Tangara, pressed a sword into Otto’s hand.
“Good,” said Otto. “Now we may laugh with steel!”
The Otungs from the nearby countryside, who had slipped into the city and infiltrated the crowd, began to free the other prisoners.
“Not that one, not the one in the tunic of a slave,” said Otto, indicating Corelius, who had risen to his feet.
“Your majesty!” protested Corelius.
“Back on your knees,” said Otto.
Otto then strode to the front of the platform, sword in hand.
Those in the crowd near the platform began to turn, and pull away, in consternation.
Then came another blast on the Otung war horn, much closer.
“There!” said Vandar, pointing to his right.
Waves of horsemen stormed into the square, seemingly small and far off.
The crowd ceased to be one and, at its edge, broke into its thousands of scattered, running, buffeting, screaming, stumbling, falling, terrified bits. The larger portion of the crowd, inert and puzzled, had not yet realized what was occurring.
“They will be trampled like filchen!” said Vandar.
One could see the horses slowed, half arrested in the throng, their riders forcing them forward, as though pressing through flood waters or breasting drifts of snow.
“Unfortunate,” said Ulrich. “It is too dense for lance work.”
Lances were grasped in the left hand, the butts of the lances in the stirrup sheathes.
“No matter,” said Vandar. “See the riders, leaning down in their saddles, wielding the threshing sabers!”
“It is the scarlet harvesting,” said Ulrich.
“The crowd will soon break,” said Vandar. “It will then be easy to pick and spit targets.”
“Hunting the wild boar is better sport,” said Ulrich. “It is swift, it changes speeds and directions, its dartings are hard to anticipate, its tusks are like knives, it can turn, abruptly, and charge the hunter. Horses can be disemboweled, dismounted hunters torn to pieces.”
“Now,” said Vandar, “I think the crowd has some sense of its danger.”
“Yes,” said Ulrich.
This was doubtless true, for what had been packed and massive, excited, gleeful, and righteous in its hate, hungering for blood, greedy for death, competing for positions to witness murder, became fugitives, prey, flight, and quarry.
“Now,” said Ulrich, “the square begins to clear.”
“Riders couch lances,” said Vandar.
“There are many fallen bodies,” said Ulrich.
“Many, in their attempt to escape, were trodden to death by their fellows,” said Vandar.
Portions of the crowd had retreated up Palace Street; most it had fled before the charge of the horsemen, running to the left, seeking refuge in the side streets and houses near the square. Some had died at portals on which they had hammered, begging admittance; some had sped to take refuge on the steps of the palace, or those at the house of the senate, but horsemen had urged their mounts up the steps and, as they could, left bodies on the porches and steps.
“Citherix commands, does he not?” asked Otto.
“No other,” said Vandar.
“He must regroup,” said Otto. “There will be resistance. He must not divide his forces in the streets. One cannot fight from house to house on horseback.”
There were four notes winded on the battle horn.
“He regroups,” said Vandar.
“I have seen carnage, slaughter,” said Iaachus.
“It is the way of war,” said Otto.
“Were the enemy in position to do so,” said Julian, “we would have been treated as roundly or worse.”
“Worse,” said Titus Gelinus.
While the events just recounted were ensuing, Captain Harst had lain half-conscious at the foot of the steps to the platform, shaken by his injuries and fall. Now he grasped much of what must have occurred. He moved his body, bit by bit, imperceptibly, to the lowest step.
“I fear,” said Otto, “the enemy is in a position to do so.” He pointed to the left.
Otto, the blood on his back now cold, from the beating he had withstood, thrust his sword into the belt of his tunic, its tatters loose about his waist, and raised his hand, hailing a rider.
Captain Harst remained completely still, at the foot of the stairs, seemingly no more than another lifeless body.
“My king,” said Citherix, riding to the platform. His lance and saber were stained. The legs and chest of his horse were bloody.
“Leave the square,” said Otto. “There is little time.”
Citherix wheeled his mount about.
“Why do you think there is little time?” said Julian.
“Because,” said Otto, “I do not wish to lose a hundred or more men and horses.”
“I do not understand,” said Julian.
“Your pistol, confiscated at the senate house when we surrendered,” said Otto, “contained two cartridges.”
“Look, toward the senate house,” said Iaachus, shading his eyes.
“I see,” said Otto.
“Hundreds, armed, with bows, spears, swords, knives, pikes, axes,” said Titus Gelinus.
“City guardsmen,” said Iaachus, “troops, regular and raised, adventurers, mercenaries, belligerents, without uniforms, zealots.”
“Doubtless temple guards, as well,” said Julian.
“The city is far from ours,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“They approach, they spread out, they cast a wide net,” said Julian.
“We had best withdraw,” said Otto, “or we are lost.”
At the foot of the stairs, Captain Harst stiffened. Within the death gloves, formed from the severed paws of a black vi-cat, with the poison-filled claws, his hands tensed.
“I do not think so, my mighty and beloved king,” said Vandar, smiling.
“How so?” said Otto.
To the left the extended ranks of advancing men were suddenly halted, and men turned about, startled, and crying out, for, sweeping down upon them from a side street, now spilling into the square, were ranks of riders, staggered, so spaced, that lines of bow fire, one rank behind another, were open, and following these came a column, in rows of ten abreast, with slender lances couched.
“What cavalry is this?” said Iaachus.
“Come from the dock district, circled about the square, through the city, to take the enemy by surprise, unexpectedly, suddenly, without warning, from behind,” said Vandar.
“They are dark riders, in their clouds,” said Titus Gelinus, shading his eyes.
“Who are they? What are they?” said Iaachus.
“They are no strangers to Otungs,” said Ulrich.
Iaachus viewed the bloody square, and the dark, surgent riders. Then he turned to Otto. “These riders,” he said, “was this part of your plan?”
“Yes,” said Otto.
“How so?” asked Iaachus.
“Many have speculated, from my mien and such,” said Otto, “that I am the son of a former leader of the Otungen, a great champion, a warrior king,
Genserix.”
“Is it true?” asked Iaachus.
“I would suppose not,” said Otto.
“But you do not know?” said Iaachus.
“No,” said Otto.
“But this figured in your plan?”
“Yes,” said Otto, “given how Heruls think.”
“I understand little of this,” said Iaachus.
“The lancers draw back,” said Ulrich. “New bows leave the bow cases. The riders no longer close. The enemy, in its terror, gathers together, naturally, but unwisely. The riders continue to urge their mounts, never still. How fix on such a target? They now turn, approach, and withdraw. They now hang at the edges of the square.”
“The horn bow has great striking power,” said Vandar.
“Its range exceeds that of the smaller, wooden bows of the enemy,” said Vandar.
“It is butchery,” said Iaachus.
“See,” said Julian, “the enemy casts down its weapons, it disarms itself, it begs to surrender!”
“One does not turn one’s throat to the wolf,” said Vandar.
“An enemy dead needs not be fought again,” said Ulrich.
“Behold,” said Tuvo Ausonius, dismayed, “the victors give no quarter.”
“It is not their way,” said Vandar.
“The enemy is male,” said Ulrich. “There are no females to be caught and sold.”
“Remnants scatter,” said Julian. “Some will escape, into the streets.”
“I fear, few,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“What riders, what demons, are these?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“Riders approach,” said Aesilesius, “one in the forefront.”
A rider, his tentacled appendage grasping a lance, from which standard streamed tatters of fur, brought his mount, snorting and squealing, to the platform, and jerked it up short, its clawed forelegs pawing at the sky.
Captain Harst, at the lowest step, did not move.
The rider’s mount was hard to control. Its lathered body trembled, its nostrils flared. Such beasts are stimulated by exertion, by the chase, the hunt, the smell of blood. At the sides of the saddle tied in place by the hair, there were four heads, two on each side.
“You know me?” inquired the rider.
“I do know you,” said Otto.
“Your father, Genserix,” said the rider, “was our greatest foe. How wonderful it was to do battle with him. It was long ago. How is it then that we would not honor his son?”
“I am a peasant, from the festung village of Sim Giadini, at the foot of the heights of Barrionuevo, on the provincial world of Tangara,” said Otto. “I knew neither my mother nor my father. I was called ‘Dog’, having purportedly been suckled by a dog. I chose the name ‘Otto’ later, for my body and features resembled those of the Otungen.”
“You are the son of Genserix,” said the rider. “I found you in the snow, newly born, freezing, soiled with blood and the fluids of a drained womb. I cut away your cord and bound it. With you was the medallion and chain of the Vandalii. I knew you by this artifact to be the son of Genserix. I delivered you to the salamanderine brother, Brother Benjamin, of the festung of Sim Giadini.”
“He was as a father to me,” said Otto.
“I suspect there are more to hunt and kill,” said the rider, turning his mount abruptly about. “Come, Mujinn. Our lances are still thirsty.” The rider then, followed by several others, departed, in the direction of the house of the senate.
“Who is that?” asked Iaachus.
“His name,” said Otto, “is Hunlaki.”
“He seems quite old,” said Iaachus.
“He is quite old,” said Otto, “for a Herul.”
“You have known him from before?” asked Julian.
“At least from the time I was run naked in the snow, on Tangara, for the dogs,” said Otto.
“I gather that few survive such an experience,” said Iaachus.
“I think he suspected I would,” said Otto.
“Look,” said Aesilesius, pointing across the square, now empty of riders, desolate and bare, but littered with bodies, “three men, one a herald, approach, two bearing green flags, the flags of peace and truce!”
“Beware,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“It is too early for Sidonicus to sue for peace, and Ingeld would not do so,” said Julian.
“Stop!” called Otto. “Stay where you are! Approach no more closely!”
“Civilitas!” called the herald.
“He says civilitas,” said Aesilesius.
“Stay where you are,” called Otto.
“Do you know the herald?” asked Iaachus of Titus Gelinus.
“I do not recognize him,” said Gelinus. “I do not think he is of the senate.”
“He is not in the garb of the temple,” said Julian.
“He may be a zealot, an expendable dupe,” said Gelinus.
“Civilitas!” called the herald, once more.
“You cannot refuse an authentic petition to parley,” said Aesilesius. “It would be an unconscionable act of barbarity. On all worlds of the empire the significance of the green flag is respected.”
“Why do you move to the side of the platform?” asked Tuvo Ausonius of Otto.
“Do not stand near to me,” said Otto. “Be ready to depart the platform.”
“We are prepared to yield the city,” called the herald, taking a step forward. “Let the ravages of war be done. You will find us practical men, not bereft of reason. The day is yours. Let us speak. Let us recover our dead. Let us negotiate a fair and civilized capitulation. Let us speak of forgiveness, amnesty, tolerance, and reconciliation. Do not hold the city responsible for the unauthorized acts of lawless, unbridled, repellant mobs. We stand as aghast as you at their actions. Let deeds of mercy be done.”
“Stay where you are!” said Otto.
As the herald spoke, he and his fellows, little by little, almost imperceptibly, had been advancing toward the platform.
“The location of the two missing cartridges,” said Otto, “is now clear.”
“Soon they will be unable to miss,” said Julian.
“I do not understand,” said young Aesilesius. “Can you not see? They lift the flag of life and peace.”
“Had I a bow!” growled Otto. “Do not stand close to me!”
“Let us shield you,” whispered Tuvo Ausonius.
“There is no shield,” said Otto. “A cartridge could take out a wall.”
“In the name of civilitas, beloved to us all,” said the herald, “let concord flourish.”
Otto waited only an instant, that instant which was required by the herald to remove the weapon from beneath his cloak, lift, level, and train it. Then in the moment between settling the aim and pulling the trigger, Otto hurled his body down and to the side. A torrent of fire burned away the side of the platform where Otto had stood but a moment before. Burning boards reeled behind the platform, some bending end over end. One could hear running feet approaching the platform. “They will have another cartridge,” said Otto. “They will fire at point-blank range.” “We are lost,” said Julian.
But there was then a flash of fire and a scattering of dust and debris from yards before the platform, and, almost simultaneously, another roar of fire, one which burned an erratic, meaningless path to the right of the platform, blackening stones, expending itself at last in a swirling torch of smoke and light before the steps of the palace. Following this, almost immediately, there were three more bursts of fire, these placed muchly where the first had struck.
Otto rose to his feet, standing on the uneven, half collapsed surface of the platform. Boards were charred to his right, and, in places, there was a running trickle of fire. The others, with the exception of Corelius, who had not been given permission to rise, rose to
their feet.
“The herald and his fellows are no more,” said Iaachus.
Three bodies or the remains of bodies, burned flesh, blackened, scorched bones, a skull, darkened, free of flesh, lay some fifteen to twenty yards, before the platform. Two of the bodies, or parts, a torso and shoulder, had been melded together.
“You need not look,” said Otto to Aesilesius.
“Barbaritas,” said Iaachus.
“Suitably so,” said Otto.
“I do not understand this,” said Aesilesius. “They bore the sign of truce, the green flag.”
“You have read books,” said Otto. “You have not yet learned to read men.”
“One who would hold the throne,” said Iaachus, “must learn that skill.”
“One discharge,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “was erratic, wild, that wide of the platform, that exhausted near the palace steps.”
“It was not aimed,” said Otto. “The herald, running toward us, had his finger on the trigger when engulfed with flame.”
“That would be the second, and last, of the two cartridges,” said Julian.
The pistol of the herald lay to one side, an almost unrecognizable lump of metal. There was no sign of the green flags. A portion of a staff on which one might have been mounted, lay among the bodies.
“There were four independent explosions, destroying the herald and his fellows,” said Iaachus. “Who possesses such might, such riches?”
These four explosions had been recorded on the pavement of the square by four elongated, seared ellipses.
“Look,” said Otto, pointing.
“There is no mistaking that size, that frame and form,” said Julian.
Some fifty yards away, gazing toward the platform, in garb which was not that of Telnar, were two large men.
“Who is that with him?” asked Aesilesius.
“His eldest son, Ortog,” said Otto, “prince of the Drisriaks, king of the secessionist tribe, the Ortungen.”
“He is reloading his pistol,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“We may be his next target,” said Julian.
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