Howl of Blades

by J Glenn Bauer

  “Up!” His blunt fingers clutched a handful of her hair and dragged her off her knees.

  Her hand closed around the throat of the spear, just behind the broad leaf of its blade, and as she stood, she used the blade to open his inner thigh from knee to groin. She spat into his wide-eyed face and found his member and sack with her left hand. With a single motion, she sawed them free and as his mouth opened to scream, shoved the bloody package between his ragged teeth.

  Hands grab her shoulders from behind. Rough fingers clawed at her thighs, tore her tunic from her back. Her eyes remained fixed on her husband’s killer as he choked and bled. He fell across her man’s body even as she was hurled to the ground and a bulky stinking warrior pinned her.

  Beyond that thrusting weight, spearing into her, sat the rider in the dark tunic, his face blank as he wiped his blade clean on the chiton of a dead girl. Her daughter.

  Caros led the way, his spear held away from his body, his shield on his left arm, his eyes filled with battle heat.

  The village was not distant; beyond the next rise in land and through a thin forest long husbanded by the villagers.

  His companions galloped grimly at his shoulders. Neugen, on his right, jaw bunching with anger. Maleric single mindedly, his face a death mask, his knuckles white about his sword handle.

  Rappo held three light spears in his throwing hand and clutched a handful more in his other, guiding his pony with his knees.

  Their mounts thundered over the rise and they glimpsed walls and thatch through the forest. Smoke bellowed thickly above the trees and a roar, like a mountain waterfall, almost drowned the hoofbeats of their horses.

  Weaving through the trees, they broke onto a hill overlooking the village and at once Caros caught sight of a cluster of small bodies part way down the slope.

  He looked past the slaughtered boys to the thatched roofs of the beehive dwellings burning furiously.

  Figures lay strewn between buildings, clothing smoldering and skin blistered.

  The villagers were beyond help. Even the pigs lay gutted and the dogs hung by their necks from the gates.

  Caros hissed with anger, tightening his grip on his spear, his eyes growing red.

  “Their!” Rappo called, pointing at a distant line of riders and a solitary wagon disappearing east.

  Maleric cursed.

  “Too many!”

  Neugen rode ahead and howled threats at them before turning back to the others, panting.

  “We should go to Tagilit. Fetch more warriors and gut every one of these bastards.”

  Caros danced his horse in a tight circle, reins held tight and eyes on the faraway column.

  “Do as you wish. As for me? I am going hunting vengeance!”

  He pulled roughly on the reins and his mount snorted and whinnied. Raking his heels across its flanks, he set off down the hillside, pebbles rolling and turf spraying from beneath the horse’s hooves.

  The others watched, faces grim. As one, they lifted their blades and with war cries sounding, sped after Caros.

  Chapter 7

  Hooves drummed rapidly along the road and in moments the riders came into view around a thicket. The mounts bore lather in ringlets about their necks and their flanks were sweat soaked. The riders crouched low over their withers, the afternoon sun lighting their iron helmets and naked blades. They galloped in a tight knot, each warrior wearing a fearsome expression, eyes pinched beneath lowered eyebrows and teeth bared between snarling lips.

  Their quarry numbered four times their own and were spread out along the road, some riding ahead of the tax collector’s wagon, most trailing in loose groups at its rear. Many of them were slumbering as they rode, their mounts plodding sedately. A few of the riders nursed amphorae of ale from which they swigged as they relived the bloodletting of that morning. Many carried light wounds. The Bastetani villagers had fought to the last and with all the ferocity of corned beasts. The warriors had not expected such fierce resistance and their over-confidence had cost them six of their number. Two more were dying even has they clung to the manes of their horses, blood soaked their dressings and ran down their legs to drip steadily from their toes.

  The balding warrior bringing up the rear of the column, nursed a swollen elbow, the result of a crazed woman clubbing him as she fled bloodied from his fellows. He grinned at the memory of arrows sprouting from her back as she galloped from the village. He could still hear the beat of hooves and the thudding of the shafts plunging into her body as she sped away.

  He frowned as the sound of the recollected hoofbeats merged into a rolling thunder from behind. Up ahead, men were turning their faces his way, some yelling words lost in the approaching din. He turned slowly, wincing at a fresh bolt of agony in his elbow and his heart stood still.

  Almost upon him, a bare-toothed warrior, trained a war spear on him. He tried and failed to kick his horse into motion, knowing was already a corpse. The rider’s spear took him low in the back, bursting his abdomen like an over-ripe fig.

  Caros roared an incoherent torrent of curses at the warrior as he plunged his spear into the man’s back and drove it through his side, opening his liver and showering the road with bright blood.

  Neugen went past him and swung his spear like a long-handled axe into the neck of a man lolling almost lifeless on his horse. The man dropped soundlessly to the road.

  The column was turning to meet them, warriors cursing one another as they fouled one another’s paths, long spears tangling and horses biting at each other.

  A warrior broke free and began to whoop his war cry which was cut abruptly short as a light spear took him in the throat, knocking him head over heels from his mount to sprawl lifeless on the road.

  Rappo, ululating like a desert djinn, loosed a second and third spear, each felling a bewildered rider.

  Caros’ mount crashed into the enemy mounts, long teeth flashing as it bit at horse and man. A lantern-jawed warrior was suddenly in his face, spear flashing to gut him. He beat the spear away with his round shield, feeling the cold of the spearhead slap across his thigh. He thrust his spear, taking lantern-jaw in the groin and cutting through the man’s leg and sack. The blade pierced through into the rider’s horse which bucked him from its back with a scream.

  Then the enemy were all around him and he was batting away spears while struggling to bring his to bear on any of them. Cursing as a blade rang off his helmet, he stuck his spear into the closest horse and dragged his sword from its sheath, rejoicing at the killing weight of it. The eyes of the butchers pressing him grew wide at the sight of the falcata. The blade of a champion.

  “I am Caros the Claw! Bastetani!” He bellowed, swinging the blade’s heavy chopping edge in an arc that met a thrusting spear arm, severing it the haft both with barely a jolt.

  Neugen was there beside him, blood dripping from a gash beneath his ear, but grinning like a rabid hound, striking and thrusting at the enemy with his sword.

  Rappo’s long ululations were still rising from the fringe of the melee as he kept his distance and loosed his throwing spears with deadly accuracy.

  Two warriors dismounted and grabbed at Neugen. One took a blade across the cheek and fell away only to return with a savage yell. The other fastened onto Neugen’s leg and began to haul him from the mount. Men on foot were closing on Caros too, while others still astride their mounts, slashed at him.

  Caros wielded the falcata like an axe, chopping down on an iron helmet and feeling the blade tear the iron and bite deep into the skull beneath. He pulled his horse around to avoid the men clutching at his legs to unseat him while taking a swipe at the man that almost had Neugen off his horse.

  A spear thrust found his mount’s cheek. It screamed and rose on its hind legs, blood and lather spraying high above the tramping hooves and blood coated warriors.

  Caros jumped free, knowing he could not stay astride. He turned, swinging his blade at the nearest warriors, but knew it would be mere heartbeats before they g
ot a spear past his blade and shield and into him.

  He bellowed his challenge and charged the enemy, hacking at spears, shattering hafts and sending blades and splinters spinning.

  He knocked an incoming spear down, but it went between his legs, tripping him to his knees with leering killers hemming him in.

  The roar that sounded was followed by a scream as Maleric struck. The least skilled rider, he had lost ground and fallen behind when his mount had stumbled, almost unseating him. Now he had arrived and his spear burst from the chest of a rider. In the blink of a bloody red eye, he drew his sword and opened the back of a second warrior from shoulder to hip. His ferocious assault cracked the vice of spears surrounding Caros and Neugen and as they rallied, back to back, the riders fell away, leaving a dozen men dead or bleeding on the ground.

  Maleric slipped from his mount to stand alongside Caros and Neugen, his expression thunderous.

  The wagon was no more than fifty paces from them beyond the stunned and bloodied warriors set to guard it and the tax collector. If he could bury his blade in that bastard, Caros would consider losing his life a price well paid.

  He bared a bloody grin and charged the enemy. Those warriors that had dismounted scrambled away from him to leave a score of paces between him and their shields.

  A rider appeared between the others, dark helmet set over a square face, his leather and armour as black as the mount he rode.

  Here was the leader of the column. The others sidled up to the flanks of his mount, glancing at him as nervously as they looked at Caros and his companions.

  Their leader took his time eyeing the carnage before turning dark eyes on Caros. He drew his oversized blade and pointed it at him.

  “You did well, young champion. Your ancestors will be glad to embrace your shade.”

  In that moment Rappo, who had all this time been dodging a trio of horsemen intent on riding him down, struck. He held just one throwing spear, all that remained of his quiver of twelve. Rising to his knees on his mount’s back, he twisted her neatly between the cursing Iberians and galloped her straight at the undefended wagon and the quaking tax collector who crouched low between the mounds of plundered possessions.

  The tax collector screamed when Rappo vault from his pony onto the wagon. The Masulian batted aside a sack thrown at him by the Turdetani and lunged. The Turdetani was larger than Rappo, but his heart was a coward’s and his knees would not hold his weight. The throwing spear opened the man’s arm, sliding through the underside of his forearm and flaying the flesh up to the man’s armpit.

  Blood erupted in a geyser, covering the tax collector’s chest and spraying across the wagon. Rappo ducked away from the crimson gore. The wagon driver swung a club at him and he snarled, twisting aside as the heavy weapon splintered a wooden chest. In the blink of an eye, he slapped the spear end of his weapon across the man’s face. The wagon driver dropped the club and clutched at his face, blinded by blood and one eye just a streaming wound.

  Caros elbowed Maleric and caught Neugen’s eye. The warriors were half turned, eyes on the bloody fight on the wagon. Taking a deep breath, Caros launched himself forward, his shield up, his heavy blade held level behind his helmet. The leader of the butchers, more alert than his men, shouted a warning and pushed his big mount at Caros, his blade up and ready to rend.

  Caros went straight for the mount’s broad chest while Neugen and Maleric went for its flanks. The rider realized his warriors had not followed him and pulled up with a curse. Caros swung his blade, ruthlessly aiming to hack it into the head of the mount and send it rearing. The rider in black hauled at the reins, wrenching the beast’s head around and saving it from a painful injury.

  Neugen blocked from his attack, fell back, sword up as the mount kicked out at him.

  Maleric leaped off a dead man’s chest with an unearthly roar and hacked the rider’s knee. His sword struck only iron as the rider twisted and shielded with his huge blade.

  Another scream sounded from the wagon and the tax collector went over the side. The man landed hard, his head twisting unnaturally as his body crashed down. The snap of his spine was an audible crack that signaled the end of the fight.

  With a curse, the rider spat at Caros, keeping his mount moving. His men began to back up, their eyes on the wagon and the plunder there, just one of their attackers to fend them off and weaponless at that.

  “Rappo ride away!” Caros shouted, seeing three riders fanning out to trap the youngster between them and the rest of the warriors.

  Rappo whistled, bringing his pony galloping. Without hesitation, he sprang onto his mount’s back and was away, his familiar ululations taunting the riders. None gave pursuit though. The tax collector lay dead, leaving a wagon full of plunder to be shared among them.

  Maleric glanced at Caros, his chest pumping and cheek twitching.

  “They might not have fought bravely for the dead bastard there, but I think they will die a lot harder for whatever is on that wagon.”

  The surviving warriors wore hard expressions as they surrounded the wagon, spears up and ready to fend off Caros and his companions. Their leader was at their front, eyes icy.

  “I would gut you, Bastetani, but you can see where my men’s priorities are.” He shrugged a bitter smile. “The blame for the death and loss of these taxes, will be on your name.”

  Caros glared at the rider.

  “You do not know me.”

  His enemy barked a laugh from under his helmet.

  “I know you. The champion who could not save his woman from the fires of Sagunt. Even after I had led you to her, Caros the Claw.”

  His mouth went dry and a cold sensation wormed through his gut.

  “You!” His chest struggled to fill with air. “Berenger.”

  “Greetings, Caros the Claw. Run now for soon I will bring down the wrath of the Carthaginians on you.”

  “They will never believe…”

  “What I tell them? I think they will. Even your own people will hunt you when I have told them of how you butchered a village.”

  Caros howled and charged, his mind a burning lance of hate and fury. Revenge for Ilimic and for the dead boys on a lonely hillside. Justice for the burned corpses on the streets of an unnamed village. Vengeance for the ravaged body of a woman, a mother of murdered children.

  Maleric and Neugen were white-lipped, their eyes burning embers sunk deep beneath their brows. Even so, with their hearts set on killing, they knew this was a lost fight. As one, they leapt on Caros, dragging him back, taking blows until finally Maleric pinned his arms.

  Caros cursed until his vision clouded and he had to breathe, drinking in the copper tainted air.

  “Spread your lies. Your two eyes will never shut together again, for if they do, know I will be there when they open.”

  Caros’ words were softly spoken, but heavy with conviction and threat. He shrugged off Maleric.

  Berenger ordered one of his remaining warriors to take up the traces and get the oxen moving. He looked at the bloodied bodies lying on the road and sprawled in the grass.

  “Your days are numbered Bastetani, use them wisely. Flee now for when I return, I will be bringing true warriors.”

  Caros nodded to his companions who backed up, ready to defend themselves if Berenger or his warriors felt the stirrings of courage over vice.

  Rappo had gathered their horses, and they quickly mounted.

  Caros held his mount steady as the others rode away, his face devoid of emotion as he watched Berenger turn and follow his band of killers and the wagon. His thoughts were in a turmoil. If Berenger brought those false accusations against him, would the Carthaginians credit them? He considered it possible. His conversation with Ahirom could be said to have been a threat of a Bastetani uprising. His condemnation of the terms the Carthaginians had offered the elders might be seen as further evidence of his rebelliousness. Berenger’s accusations could tip the scales and Caros knew well how ruthless the Barcas could b
e when dealing with rebels. He had no wish to end his days hanging from a beam, iron spikes nailed through his limbs, gasping for air.

  The others sat waiting beneath a cliff face, their expressions grave.

  Caros halted before them. “Well fought. Between us we killed more than half their number.”

  Even as he said it, he realized how hopelessly outnumbered they had been and that their bodies should be laying pierced through and staring stone eyed at sky. An easy meal for the ravens and buzzards.

  “It was a worthy fight and Rappo here did the greater share of killing.”

  Rappo dipped his chin, a smile curling his lip at Maleric’s compliment.

  “Of that, there is no doubt. You each fought well and those that still live will be wondering how they are still breathing.”

  Neugen stood and flexed his leg, wincing as the scabbed wound stretched.

  “What of that bastard’s claim? Blame us for killing the villagers? The tax collector?”

  Maleric clapped Rappo’s shoulder and offered a proud smile.

  “He should have died a slower death, but again it was Rappo that killed him.”

  “I did not. Their leader ordered one of his men to kill him.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence among the companions at Rappo’s revelation ad then every man started speaking.

  Caros held his hand up, silencing the others. With a furrowed brow, he shook his head slowly.

  “Berenger saw an opportunity to seize the taxes collected the moment we attacked.” He smiled grimly at the others. “Which means he will tell the Carthaginians exactly what he said he would.”

  “Then we had better get to Tagilit and let them know what really happened.” Neugen spat off into the grass. “The sooner that bastard is nailed to a beam the better. I want to watch him die slowly.”

  Maleric grunted and passed a rough hand through his trimmed beard.

  “You expect them to believe us? This man Berenger, he was in charge of the warriors escorting the tax collector and the taxes, it will be his word against ours.”