Coming out of the forest to find the river road, Rakam announced, “We have gone far enough and need rest. This looks like a good place to make camp.”
* * *
After they had feasted and many warriors had gone to sleep, Bantu motioned to one of his men, saying, “Tibben, bring more wood for the fire. I feel a frost coming.”
“But the katabo, it will be drawn to the fire,” the man said in fear.
“Of the katabo, I have seen no recent sign in this place, and Rakam and I have things to talk about. We will watch. Do not worry. All will be well.”
When they had gone through the weapon a dozen times, Rakam said, “Bantu, why are you helping me?”
“To best serve our people, of course.”
“What about Timbo?”
“Timbo is a good man, a mighty leader. He has wisdom beyond his years, like an angel whispers in his ear, telling him the will of the Almighty.” Bantu added thoughtfully, “If I thought I could join with him again, I would do so. But the course we now follow is what my destiny has brought, and I will not turn away from it. Have no fear; I will not abandon you to the creatures of the wild or to the Shaitani army.”
“What if I told you Timbo is under the power of a Jinn?”
Angrily, Bantu said, “No, I will not believe it. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it is the same Jinn that came to me in the desert when I lay upon the threshold of death. I refused its temptations, knowing that by accepting what it offered, I would enslave our people to a far worse enemy than these MaShaitani.”
“But how can such a creature have power over a Kasisi?”
“By allowing it to, by listening to it, by accepting the gifts it offers. Kasisi or no, believe me, Timbo no longer wholly commands his own mind. Think of these angel whisperings, the use of the poison flower. Do you not see it?”
“The same could be said of you, with your stories of Mabetu come to rescue you from the Mulak though he is countless fathoms away.”
“You are right to be suspicious. Mabetu has only just left us.” Bantu looked about nervously, like the old man might still be within hearing distance. Rakam took Bantu into his gaze, telling him, “And, as you point out, the same could be said of me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Bantu replied slowly. “Are you testing me?”
“No, a man’s actions are the ultimate test. Yours speak all that is needed.”
“Then, I have been a fool?”
“No, deluded in some part and perhaps influenced beyond your will, but by no fault of your own. The Jinn is a tricky enemy. So you, Bantu, are in a spot where no warrior should find himself. If I take you into battle with me, you must know the whole of my travels and experience, everything I have to say about the Jinn and my time in the heathen lands. You have a difficult decision to make, and by my speech the decision will not be made any easier for you. If you think me unworthy of your protection, leave me at the far side of the river and be on your way. But if you walk with me into hazard, do so with your eyes open.”
“It seems, perhaps, we will have no sleep at all for ourselves. Let me gather food and drink, and we will finish our conversation.”
Chapter 29
On the outskirts of the capital, Smith and his team settled into hiding. They had circled around the low country of the river into the mountains, coming to the backside of the city. Soon they would be making their assault on the rear tower, scaling the walls if all went according to plan. Their job was to make mischief when the main offensive began, creating mayhem and confusion, attacking the enemy from within.
For now, they waited for Jones, and it was as frustrating as any time Smith could remember before a battle. There was no satellite, no plan of the facilities, not even a good estimate of the number of hostiles they could expect. It was like walking in blind. They had been reduced to the most basic of weapons in their arsenal, which only worked because of the blessing of infallible chemistry.
Checking the safety catch of his rifle to make sure it had been released for the third time in what must have been five minutes and knowing his chronometer was useless, Smith realized with some amusement he was nervous. After all the battles and his years of training, he was as giddy as a recruit. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. It was, then, he heard a noise. At first he thought it was his own men. He had sent a squad, against orders, to protect Crenshaw. They were told to stay clear of the road and go through the jungle. They had probably gotten lost, though they would pay hell for it if they did.
A few moments of held breath and intent listening, however, brought a crashing, scuttling, sometimes violent noise that could not be any of his people. One of the men touched the Captain on the shoulder, thinking he needed waking. Smith did not. He was wide awake, all nervousness falling away now that danger threatened. A group of natives were on patrol, walking somewhat hurriedly on the cliff road between their position and the capital.
The savages seemed more concerned with scaring away wild beasts than going unnoticed which if the stories the scouts told about the jungle phantom were true, might show some good sense on their part. They stomped along, whacking the trees with the ends of their spears and kicking dirt clods as they went, sounding like fifty men, though Smith counted only ten.
Remaining silent, Smith watched the savages come nearer, step by step. They stuck mostly to the road, but the hiding place Smith and his men had found was not as good as it could have been. They had taken local vegetation to blend within their surroundings as well as they could, but it was nothing like the stealth capabilities when the battle dress was fully operational.
The savages were close now, close enough to be more than just shadows amongst the mottled landscape. They wore long shirts bound with metal plates, faintly shining in the scant light of the clouded moons and gently clanking like chimes. The leader had a necklace of teeth white as pearls and a mantel of black fur upon his shoulders. His bow was in his hand with an arrow set to the string. The other savages were equally prepared for battle, if not as wary in step and progress as their commander. If Smith were any judge, he thought them young and inexperienced, learning the arts of battle the hard way.
Knowing their eyes would be upon him, Captain Smith signaled his men to hold their positions. They would be nervous, quick to react, perhaps without thinking first. Discovery would foil all their plans. Shots would be heard all the way to the capital. Doubtless the savages would recognize the sounds of an attack, even if they had heard nothing of its like before.
The leader stopped suddenly. Crouching defensively, he made a few noises with the clicking of his tongue that must have been words, for the others stopped also, their weapons ready. Taking cover behind the trunk of an ancient tree, the leader looked in the direction Smith and his men lay.
Barely breathing, Smith eased his knife from its sheath, trusting in the protection of the armor he wore. When his knife was out and the leader of the savages still hadn’t changed position, Smith signaled to his men. The attack would be swift and silent, hopefully overwhelming the savages before they could raise the alarm.
With more clicking sounds, the leader showed two of his men the direction he feared the enemy to be. The others attended to their duty seriously; but after only a few moments, they began laughing, slapping their leader on the back and continuing down the road. With a gesture of frustration, the leader followed, disappearing behind them.
* * *
The skies lit with fire. Colors as fierce and bright as the truant sun arose in a burning tumult, stretching across the blackness of the heavens above. Dust and ruined stone rained down upon the broken world in a sudden torrent, making the men shelter themselves with their hands. The air was fouled by chemicals and ashes, making their eyes sting and their lungs burn.
“Holy shit,” Jones said with delight, laughing as he coughed. “That’ll give them assholes something to think about. Let’s see one of those witchdoctors make fi
re like that!”
The explosive experts had picked their target well. A weakness in the construction of the wall had been exploited, causing a modest hole to widen, crumbling the structure under the weight of a poorly situated guardhouse. It opened an area wide enough for five men to go shoulder to shoulder and still be able to fight.
“Go, go, go,” Jones shouted, regaining his composure after the blast, sending the first assault into the breach.
The outer defenses of the capital city had been taken quickly. The network of canals and rolling hills that would have been a sufficient defense against any other enemy was overwhelmed without a single lost soldier. The natives had been forced back into their stronghold in less than an hour, the explosives set in ten minutes, and now it looked like the city would be conquered just as quickly.
“Look at that,” Jones said with pleasure. “At this rate we’ll be done by lunch.”
Dropping ladders over the canals to aid their passing, the squads methodically, but quickly, made their way forward. Jones watched in satisfaction as they went. Now he would have his chance for plunder and be compensated for all the hardships he and his men had suffered through the debacle Crenshaw had made of the entire operation.
One of the men stumbled as he passed over the ladder, taking two others with him, all three falling with a splash into the water-filled canal below. As two of the men scrambled out the far side, the third screamed.
Something large and black grabbed the soldier in its maw, taking him deeply into the murky waters. Those nearby tried to come to the man’s aid, but the beast was unaffected by their weapons. Neither the alien nor its victim arose. The creature had probably taken the poor lost soul back to some dark place to have him for a meal.
“One less beastie to slow us down,” Jones said to Lieutenant Caldwell.
The Lieutenant laughed in agreement saying, “Serves him right for being so stupid, a good example to the others.”
The first squad reached the breech in the wall, establishing cover for the next group, sending every defender that dare give them a target to his death. The following squads surged forward, making a wall of men as they entered the city, the rapid firing of their weapons deafening.
“Blow the gate,” Jones said, his command being answered by an explosion as terrible as the first. The gates were ripped apart, the ascending archway and tower above caving in, making a pile of rubble on the ground. “Well, that’ll get the job done,” he said brusquely, “not so pretty as the first, but it’ll do.”
At a word, the second and larger force was on the move. Following the first, they surged forward, practiced in their business, deadly in their work, making their way inside the walled city as if nothing could stop them.
“Lieutenant Caldwell, I believe you have some special business to take care of,” Jones said smugly. “Ready to get at it?”
“Yes, sir,” Caldwell said. Smiling, he nodded his head at two men.
“Remember to go through the forest. Come around the back side of the hut. Make no mistake; Crenshaw will be expecting you.”
“Not going to matter much,” said Caldwell, “I was able to save a little of them explosives, figure that’ll do the job all right.”
Jones nodded, “Good thinking. I knew I could count on you.”
* * *
Everything was going wrong. The savages had turned. No longer did Captain Smith and his men find easy targets. The tower had been little defended and taking it had been a simple prospect. The few guards posted there had beaten a drum when the attack began, but then did little more to defend what had seemed to be such a key position. A few arrows had been loosed at his men when the climbing began; but after one of the savages was killed, the others fled, leaving the tower undefended, allowing Smith and his men to enter the city unmolested.
Since advancing into the capital, all that had changed. They had a real battle on their hands now. In the streets, the cart paths and tight alleyways, the savages mounted guerilla warfare as keen as any Smith had ever encountered. What buildings that weren’t defended had been secured with wood and stone while shops and storehouses had been made into small fortresses.
Success gave the natives spirit--the attacks growing in ferocity as Smith and his men went deeper into the city. The savages seemed to have figured out what the battle dress was. Seeming to appear from thin air, the natives would come bursting out from some hidden place, every action purposeful, intended to inflict the most damage before quickly disappearing into the shadows once again. There were no wasted efforts at the chest or extremities. The clear aim was to trip up their opponents, always saving the killing blow for the vulnerable spot at the neck.
Though it was he who had begun the attack, Smith was beginning to feel like he was being ambushed, the weak defense of the tower a ploy to lure them in. He had lost half a dozen men already. Thinking to find high ground and establish a defensible position, using their weapons to the maximum effect, he led his men to what he thought to be a temple.
But the steep sides of the building had been fortified. The witchdoctors used their magic fire, killing another two of his men. The defenders of the temple were as fervent as any Smith had ever encountered. Perhaps they carried the favor of their heathen gods with them, for they had put Smith and his men on the run. Now Smith was trying to find a safe place to wait for reinforcements to arrive.
“Find me some shelter,” Smith shouted to his new Lieutenant. “I think we’ve hit the lion’s share of their defenses. The best we can do is hold out until Jones gets here.”
“That building over there might do the trick,” the Lieutenant replied, pointing to what looked to be a tradesman’s shop of some sort. The building was of stone, with the workshops on the lower level and dwellings above. “It looks like there’s a clear sightline to the street with defensible positions at those windows on the second level.”
“We’ll hold them here while you check it out,” Smith said, wary that such a prime location had been abandoned. The savages were smarter than that. There was bound to be a surprise or two.
The natives advanced while the Lieutenant made his inspection of the tradesman’s house, but the offenses were nothing Smith and the remaining members of his band couldn’t handle. They were able to keep the natives at a distance, using their rifles to their best advantage.
“Looks good, sir,” the new Lieutenant said, returning. “It’s a coppersmith’s shop. The owner must have money. The place is built like a fort. The second story’s not much to look at, must be for the apprentices.”
“Thanks for the history lesson,” said Smith, chuckling. “It’ll do. Any port in a storm. You have a good look? Sure there are no surprises?”
“I had a quick look, but it checks out. It looks like they planned to stay then changed their minds. The doors and windows were locked, but that was pretty much it. I even found a quiver of arrows.”
“Okay, we’ll take it. Let’s go.”
Captain Smith and his men quickly made their way to the coppersmith’s shop, sweeping for enemies and taking up a position on the main floor before proceeding to the upper level. The second man up the stair kicked a large basket down from the landing as he made his way in the darkness.
When the basket hit the floor, the top came off, rolling into a corner. A soft, scraping sound followed, like the rasping of a hundred tiny files upon stone. The few men nearby thought nothing of it until the nearest felt something crawl up his leg.
Soon they were all screaming, covered with black insects that tore at their flesh with stabbing feet and stinging pincers. The men fell to the ground desperately slapping at the bugs; the others stunned, watching dumbstruck as their friends were consumed.
“Help them,” Smith yelled, coming away from his place at the doorway, realizing what was happening. The men were shocked into action, advancing wearily, tentatively stamping the bugs into the floor. But the insects wasted no time. They moved with purpose, leaving the dead men to face this new threat.
Retrieving one of the few remaining flares from his pack, Smith lit the precious thing and used it to fend off the carnivorous insects, burning them or squashing them with his boot. Another man was attacked and overwhelmed, screaming as he fell to the floor. Taking the example, the rest lit flares or torches. Then everyone was burning insects or stamping them into the floor, making a deadly dance, going at them as fiercely as any enemy until there were no more bugs to kill.
“Bugs in a basket,” Smith said, breathing hard from the effort, “a pretty trick to leave for us. Remember that, everyone, and keep a sharp eye out for other surprises. This is home until Jones comes; so let’s make the best of it.”
From the vantage of the second level, Captain Smith and his men were able to win time to rest and make a hasty meal. A few sorties had been attempted, but these were quickly repelled. The natives were, for the time, not willing to hazard another attack.
“Stay sharp,” Smith warned the men he sat amongst, watching the street from a second story window, eating the last chocolate bar in his possession, perhaps the last one on the entire planet. “They’re up to something, make no mistake.”
“What’s that?” one of the men said.
Listening for a moment, Smith said, “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s just it, sir, no weapon’s fire, no shooting.”
Stunned, Smith took a big bite of the chocolate bar, folding the wrapper over and shoving the remaining half into his pocket for later. He took up his rifle, holding the stock protectively against his shoulder, ready to let loose or to retreat. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as they listened, but there was nothing to hear except silence.
Shouts were made, and the sound of combat could be heard, desperate and close, fighting hand to hand. Cheers began to rise in a nearby part of the city, wild calls of pure joy that crossed the boundaries of language and culture.
Reign of the Nightmare Prince Page 27