by Scott McKay
But today felt different. Today there were Udar sea-raiders operating in close proximity to war parties pillaging farms in Dunnan’s Claim.
This was unusual. The common understanding was that the Udar operated independently on land from on the water. Put another way, there were land-based Anur which spat out war parties to hunt and raid, and there were sea-based Anur who, though they originated from harbors on the coasts, operated with galleys as mother ships and used sloops like the one Adelaide had just crushed under its hull to conduct pirate raids. If there was coordination between the two, it was evidence of a change of some kind.
That’s why the prisoners were worth having, even though Udar at close quarters in any context rightly made Patrick uncomfortable. These were superb warriors with impressive skill in hand-to-hand combat–something the crew of Adelaide had not been selected for. His sailors were able seamen, boilermakers, navigators, heliograph operators, gunners, and the like; other than his Marines, of which he had only twenty-two thanks to his having detached a dozen to the Dunnansport expedition, his crew couldn’t be expected to take on Udar with fists or knives. If combat broke out on the deck of Adelaide, there would be casualties–and he couldn’t afford them.
Accordingly, the prisoners were brought aboard one by one, and marched at gunpoint into the ship’s brig where they were manacled and gagged, and then carefully locked in the cells. The first two hauled aboard were a burly middle-aged warrior and a quite comely female who couldn’t have been a day older than eighteen. The sailors continued their efforts, taunted by the swimming survivors of the wrecked sloop. Several more were ultimately lassoed; more chose drowning in the choppy waters of Watkins Gulf as they attempted to swim away from Adelaide.
Broadham translated the utterances of the prisoners as they came aboard, mostly to laughter and applause from the Adelaide’s crew. If anything was true of Udar warriors, it was that they ranked among the most verbose and rhetorically gifted of the world’s braggarts and taunts.
“He says you should take your little worm out of your dungarees and put it in the water,” Broadham informed one crewmember hauling the first Udar aboard. “He says you might catch a minnow for your dinner in that way.” Laughter erupted.
When the man was spilled onto the deck and forced to his knees at riflepoint, he continued his rant. “Now he says you’ll have to line up neatly,” Broadham translated. “He can only sodomize you one at a time.”
“Get that savage belowdecks,” an irritated Patrick ordered. “I want to know everything he knows.”
He retired from the bridge, leaving Rawer in charge of the fishing operation. Patrick did linger for a minute as the woman was hauled aboard, particularly when, rather than shriek in Udar, in the Civil Tongue she thanked her captors for saving her life. He ordered that she be brought to his ready room; he’d interrogate her himself later.
Adjacent to the cells of the ship’s brig, on Adelaide’s mezzanine deck, was an interrogation chamber with a two-way mirror opening to an observation room. Patrick and two of his officers took seats in the latter, while Broadham readied himself to query the powerfully-built Udar male captive.
Three Adelaide sailors dragged the man into the interrogation chamber. He was dressed in the usual fashion of an Udar pirate, which is to say he had very little on: a loincloth and a pair of ankle-length boots of some sort of animal skin were the extent of his uniform. Bound at the wrists, he was kept docile by two pistols held to his head courtesy of a pair of the crew members. The man sat in a chair, glaring furiously at his guards.
“Aaliu,” Broadham greeted him cheerily.
The man shot a vicious look in the ensign’s direction, and told him something apparently unpleasant in the extreme. Broadham blanched a bit.
…
The interrogation was clearly going to take some time, and after a few minutes Patrick’s irritation with the combative and uncooperative Udar warrior overcame him so he left Broadham to his work. The commander returned to the bridge as Adelaide steamed back to the coastline. Normally he would prioritize the sinking of the Udar galley this sloop was attached to, as doing so would eliminate a pirate threat, but sadly, today there were higher priorities.
Upon returning to their former position near the coast a couple of hours later, the naval charts indicated that Adelaide was forty-two miles east of Strongstead. Somewhere between here and there they were bound to run across the enemy. The Udar had to have come to Dunnan’s Claim via the coast, because otherwise the high mountains of the Rogers Range would serve as a barrier to their escape home. If their route of egress wasn’t along the coast through Strongstead, it would have to be considerably further to the west, through the narrow mountain pass of The Throat, which amounted to a gauntlet of four half-constructed Ardenian fortresses along the way. And had they come through The Throat, it was more likely the farms to the south and west of Trenory would have been the first ones hit. The first attacks came from well east of there, though. The Udar had either come by sea–and if they had, how did they have horses in the numbers they reportedly did?–or through Strongstead.
He had a hard time believing the latter possibility. How could Strongstead have fallen? The weapons and equipment the Udar had couldn’t possibly have overcome its cannons, chain guns and high walls. What was more, the base at Barley Point was still communicating with the citadel via teletext, so obviously the garrison was still extant.
Patrick meant to put the Strongstead mystery to rest, even if it meant breaking off from the coastal escort for a few hours to lay eyes on the citadel, and he’d tasked Broadham with getting what information was possible on that issue from the prisoners as he interrogated them.
Broadham came to the bridge after about an hour of his queries to make his report.
“How’s your savage, Joey?” asked Patrick.
“A rare specimen, Commander,” said Broadham. “Has nothing to say and lots of words to say it.”
“He gave you nothing?”
“A few choice references to my manhood and the usual boasting. He does demand you match daggers with him in single combat.”
“Of course he does,” Patrick said. “They always do.”
Single combat was an Udar specialty. In a society essentially of hunter-gatherers made up of Anura, which were essentially mobile communal tent villages ranging in population from a couple of hundred to as many as thirty thousand or more, there was nearly constant internecine warfare. But the Udar avoided killing each other off in large numbers, largely through the practice of Kawes’kin, or challenge. Once a battle between Anura had been joined and warriors had died on both sides, one Var’asha would declare Kawes’kin to the other and the battle would pause upon which time the two headmen would agree on champions and stakes. Kawes’kin was a kind of trial by combat–whatever the object of the battle was would be put on the table and the outcome of the combat between champions, usually equipped with Izwei daggers, would determine which side would get what. Sometimes the stakes would be safe passage or grazing rights on disputed land, sometimes they would involve the exchange of desired captives or slaves, sometimes horses or cattle would be paid.
Udar single combat was always to the death. It was serious business, and the Udar were therefore quite frighteningly good at it.
The first prisoner hauled aboard Adelaide, the one with all the combative insults and sexual references, had several iron rings circling his left wrist, which Patrick knew meant he’d survived multiple bouts of Kawes’kin combat.
But there would be no Kawes’kin aboard Adelaide. This was a naval vessel, not a damned savage horde.
“He also says that refusing his challenge marks us all as cowards and reflects the dishonor of the Ardenian race,” Broadham added. “Didn’t really want to talk about anything else.”
“I could give a shit,” Patrick said. “Nothing about the disposition of forces? Coordination with the war parties in Dunnan’s Claim? Strongstead?”
“All I got for my trou
ble was indignity and vituperation when I broached those subjects,” Broadham shrugged.
“Fine. He’s the strong, silent type. Any of the others have anything to add?”
“Not so far.”
“All right, then. Keep at them, standard interrogation protocol. But first we’ll see if our special guest is more cooperative. Lieutenant Commander Rawer, you have the conn. Keep us on a heading of two-nine-zero, following the coastline as closely as safety allows. And look out for land forces, ours or theirs.”
“Aye, sir,” said the First Mate.
Patrick took Broadham with him to the ready room, where he found the female Udar tied to a chair with a pair of marines watching over her from opposite sides of the small chamber.
“Hello there,” he greeted her. “My name is Commander Baker. You are aboard the Ardenian naval frigate Adelaide. Welcome.”
“My name is Edyene,” the prisoner responded. “Thank you for...what is word…rescue me.”
“We’re delighted to have you, dear,” Patrick beamed courteously, sitting across the small conference table from the prisoner. “As you might imagine, I do have some questions I’d like answered before we determine what to do with you. If you cooperate, we do have some options to offer you…”
“I help you,” she said, her brilliant blue eyes wide. Patrick noticed she was truly an exotic specimen of Udar beauty. Female Udar were very much a mixed bag, the opposite of the strikingly similar facial and physical characteristics shown by their male counterparts. That meant you’d sometimes see some very beautiful women among those you ran across, as well as others who looked every bit the part of half-starved savages.
Edyene was the former. She wore britches of some kind of animal skin and a roll of necklaces made from various media–sea shells, shark teeth, and small stones among them–and nothing else other than the blanket draped over her shoulders. Her hair wasn’t in the typical close-cropped or shaven style of Udar females; it had grown out into something that resembled the bob style currently in fashion in Port Excelsior and Newmarket. And while the sun and sea air had made their mark on her, giving her a very tanned complexion from head to toe, she didn’t have the leathery skin of most Udar Patrick had made acquaintances with while doing battle in Watkins Gulf.
“You know Udar coming for war, yes?” she began.
“We know there are war parties taking captives and plunder in Dunnan’s Claim,” Patrick responded.
“Is more. Ur’akeen send vision to Ubel’la,” she continued. “Enafan’di no more.”
That was significant. Ubel’la was the current sa’halet, or king, of Uris Udar. But he was more than that; his position also conferred upon him the function of high priest to the Udar god Ur’akeen, and in Udar tradition that meant the god communicated with him by means of dreams and visions.
And Enafan’di was the only favor the Udar had ever done for Ardenia. It was a religious tradition holding the force of law among the Udar which held that none of their warriors should ever die a peaceful death outside of his Afan’di. Functionally, that meant while the Udar more or less constantly raided Ardenia when they could in search of slaves and plunder, they very studiously avoided conquering and occupying territory and they always went home. If Enafan’di was to be lifted and the Udar were making war, what had happened in Dunnan’s Claim was the beginning of something much worse.
It was time to solve the mystery that had bothered him since the current crisis began.
“Before you go any further,” he asked her,” can you tell me what happened to Strongstead?”
“Udar have your Strongstead,” she said. “Thirty moons ago.”
“How?” Patrick asked.
“Vitau’hi,” she responded, meaning the raptors no Ardenian had seen live in decades. “They come at night and kill soldiers on walls. Warriors come from tunnel, under. Kill rest.”
“Udar are using vitau’hi?” he asked incredulously.
Edyene nodded. “They train. Since I was little girl. Now there are thousands, like warriors. They kill you, not us. More training all the time.”
“You were there when Strongstead fell?”
She nodded again.
“How is it the citadel is still communicating with Ardenia?” he asked.
“They keep soldiers to work machine, act like no Udar there.”
“Shit!” Patrick banged his fist on the table. “How many Udar are at Strongstead? How many further into Ardenia?”
“More than can count,” she responded. “Is war. All Anur moving. Through citadel, through lepon’hin, over water.” Lepon’hin was the Udar name for The Throat.
That meant the Udar were bringing virtually their entire country to war, and the raiders in Dunnan’s Claim were a mere taste of what was coming. Worse, those raiders were retreating and sucking in the small Ardenian responding force, who could well be heading into a trap.
“Where are the vitau’hi?” Patrick asked. If they hit Strongstead a month ago, they could be anywhere, ready to wreak havoc on our people.
“I no know. They attack soldiers, feed on bodies at citadel, then fly off over mountains.”
“Where is the main body of the Udar force?”
“Be march from Strongstead now,” she said. “Along coast to big river.” That meant the Tweade.
“And the boat you came from? What is your home?”
“Afan’di of Bak Jayen,” she responded. Patrick saw Broadham stiffen, as that was the place his mother had been held captive, and Edyene had come from the people who took her.
“What about your friend we brought aboard just before you joined us? What can you tell us about him?”
“He no friend,” she said, vigorously shaking her head. “He bad man. Danger.”
“Is that so?” Patrick asked. “Who is he, then?”
“Ago’an,” she answered. “He Var’asha of Bak Jayen. Older brother of Ubel’la.”
This was a truly fascinating development. Among the 20,000 Udar casualties of the Battle of Bak Jayen had been the enemy’s Var’asha, or headman, and when he was taken out by a Marine sniper during the battle, things had fallen apart very quickly for the Udar. There was an Udar custom which held that an Anur could not conduct operations beyond the day-to-day variety without its commander, and most of the time, given the usually-chaotic succession plans those mobile villages had in the event of their headman’s death, it would take some time for a new commander to be chosen. There would be a series of physical measurements taken among eligible male candidates, and several tests of athletic and martial performance given among the members of the Anur. A successful candidate for the status of Var’asha was one who could meet a set of highly rigorous standards; the larger the Anur, the more difficult those standards were.
So far as Patrick knew, the Udar king had been from the capitol, not far up the coast along Watkins Gulf. So if his older brother was the headman at Bak Jayen now, that had meant he’d been sent all the way from Qur Udar to take command of these pirates.
And with his loss, they might have neutralized a significant pirate force, at least for a while. Perhaps.
“And how long has Ago’an been the headman of your Anur?”
“Two hundred moons,” she said.
Six and a half months or so, he thought. That was about the time he’d started noticing a ramp-down in Udar activity in Watkins Gulf. He wanted some more information on that.
“Was he the one who stopped the pirate attacks for the last six months?”
She nodded. “Said must come all at once, not few, few, few. Hit harder, more Udar.”
“So a concentrated attack.”
She nodded again. Patrick knew Udar strategy was all of a sudden far more advanced than it had been.
“Who was Var’asha before him?”
“Lawa’ya,” she said. “From since big battle. He old and die. Ubel’la send Ago’an to be Var’asha after. Two warriors from Anur say no, they Var’asha. Ago’an kill.”
Sounds lik
e fun times, Patrick thought. What bloodthirsty savages these people are.
“So how many motherships are out here?”
She shook her head.
“Not here,” she said. “South. They come soon.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“We scout,” she said.
“With Ago’an on the boat? They wanted to risk that? Us taking him?”
“He talk with Udar on shore,” she said. “We pick him up, take him back to army.”
That proved the coordination Patrick had suspected all day. Miss Edyene had been a quite helpful little prisoner.
He looked at Broadham and the two shared a knowing glance. Broadham could now re-interrogate the Udar headman by letting him know his identity wasn’t a secret, and that might lead to something more in the way of information from the so-far-uncooperative brute.
“And why do you say he’s a bad man?” Patrick asked.
“He kill women,” she said. “He enjoy.”
“As in, he murders them? With a knife?”
She nodded. “Make Anur watch. Punish for anything. He smile.”
“He killed someone you were close to? Is that it?”
She nodded. “Mother,” she said. “She javeen.” Tears began flowing from her eyes, which was striking in itself. Udar never cried.
“All right,” Patrick sighed. “And you’re telling me all of this why?”
“I want be you,” she said.
“I don’t understand. You want to be me?”
“Come with you. Be Ardenia.”
“You’re defecting? Is that it?”
She tilted her head. She didn’t understand the word.
“You want to live in Ardenia? As an Ardenian?”
Edyene smiled. She nodded. “I through with Udar life. Ardenia better. If my words help you win war I join you?”
“Well, this is a hell of a time to want that,” he exhaled.
Edyene’s wish wasn’t one that would be easily granted. Ardenia had some experience with Udar immigrants, and at one time there were more than a few of them in the country’s western areas. A century before, however, an Udar immigrant named Kose’ya, who had adopted the Ardenian name Cosey Southman as a day laborer in the then-frontier town of Trenory, led an uprising of Udar immigrants all over Ardenia. Blood ran in the streets through Ardenian cities as Udar laborers and domestics turned on their employers and neighbors, and for two weeks terror reigned throughout the country. The Udar even set fire to the Societam, the Ardenian parliament building in Principia, though the blaze had been extinguished before it could fully engulf the seat of the legislature. At that point the army was called out to exterminate all Udar in the country – an emergency measure which had been debated as either an atrocity or a necessary evil ever since.