Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  He crouched and spoke gently. “I am not here to harm you, but you must stay quiet.” He squinted harder into the gloom and made out at least three pale faces in a tight cluster. “Can you walk?” A face nodded. “Good, then when I leave you must flee down the hill. Tread carefully and keep out of sight. At the foot of the hill, you will find a friend who will keep you safe. Stay with him. Can you do this?” The same little face nodded vigorously.

  Caros smiled. “Good. Endovex will keep you safe.” He rose and moved with the grace of a hunting lynx out the door and across the yard. He glanced back once and saw three small figures; hands clutched together, make their way out of the doorway and scramble in fear down the hill.

  His sword rasped as he drew it. He fought a growing fury and focused on taking deep, breaths as he stalked towards the largest building. A door stood half open and he made for this, sword bared and shield raised. Ten paces from the door a warrior kicked it open and charged. Caros registered the hoarse scream of the attacker, the upraised war axe and the snarling, bearded face. Behind him, more men erupted from the building and then the axe swung down. Caros reared backwards, twisting away from the shield-destroying blade and as it bit into the ground, he thrust his sword hard at the man’s over-extended body. His falcata blade punched easily between ribs and just as quickly Caros twisted and jerked it free, feeling ribs snap. Already a second warrior was launching his weapon. A heavy spear hurtled from paces away and Caros was hard pressed to swing his shield up in time to bat it away. Driving from his back foot, he leaped high and hacked his heavy sword down in an arc. The spearman cried out in fear, powerless to avoid the deathblow, which bit deep into his upturned face, cleaving cartilage, tooth and bone with a loud crack. Caros was already sizing up the remaining warriors when the spearman’s corpse struck the ground, blood gushing across the dirt. A deft flick of his wrist freed the blade, which he brought up before him.

  Caros grimaced at the odds, seven to one and these seven were fanning out before him, wary and alert. Their initial confidence tempered by the bloody remains of their erstwhile companions. Their eyes darted from one to another, willing each other to be the first to attack. Their swords and spears were held in clenched fists, shoulders drawn up to their ears. They wore only what they had slept in; grease-stained braccae.

  Caros hawked and spat at their feet. “Child-killers! You have whored yourselves to evil and before the sun rises this day, Saur’s dogs will feast on your guts.”

  A wiry man with narrow set eyes hissed and feinted, his spear darting at Caros’ left foot. Caros rocked back and stamped down hard on the shaft. The warrior growled and yanked his spear back and Caros let him have it, spinning off his right foot and ducking low. A warrior, hairy gut hanging over the top of his braccae, had come behind him, his spear stabbing into the space Caros’ neck had occupied. Like a loosed arrow, Caros snapped upright, driving his shield boss hard into the man’s face. The blow smashed his teeth and blood sprayed from his crushed nose. Caros lashed his blade across the man’s hefty gut and before the doomed man could squeal, spun behind him. The remaining warriors bellowed in anger and charged, their crescent formation collapsing on Caros in a wall of lethal iron. Caros shoved the eviscerated warrior into the oncoming attackers like a living battering ram. The warrior screamed as great coils of purple gut unwound from within him and while his companions slipped and turned to avoid him, Caros struck. Three times he stabbed out at knees, faces and wrists. Leaping back from the tangle of blades and limbs, he watched as a warrior lurched away from the fight, blood pulsing between the fingers of the hand clutching his face. The only sound was the deep gasps made by the five warriors facing Caros. Their chests heaved and their hands shook. One man sported two shallow wounds on his knee though these did not seem to trouble him overly and Caros glared at that warrior.

  A woman’s voice rang out across fighters. “Take him alive. His blood must soak the altar.”

  Caros’ eyes flicked briefly to where a figure watched from the deeper night shadows. He thought he detected a rustling sound and the figure appeared to glow night blue. His hair stood on end at the presence of Carmesina, the priestess of the ancient war god and the one responsible for the death of Ilimic. Today he would right that or die trying. He forced himself to concentrate on the immediate threat of the five remaining men. They did not seem as eager to try taking him alive and for the first time Caros noticed them hesitate.

  “Come on then or have you forgotten how to fight warriors?” He spat at them. “The sun waits on no one. Here is my sword. Taste its kiss.” He raised the falcata and twisted the blade so they could appreciate its swooping waist and heavy blade. Forged to strike with the force of an axe, it could sever a horse’s head from its body with one blow. Equally, it could deliver deep puncturing wounds through heavy leather armour or bronze. A fearsome weapon in the hands of a veteran and Caros was just that. He heard the twang of a bow string even as the arrow struck and he roared in pain. The arrow lanced through his tunic and whipped a furrow across the back of his thigh. He snarled and crouched low, warm blood streaming down his leg.

  “Take him warriors of Catubodua!” The priestess sung from the shadows.

  The five warriors took heart and charged as one. Caros cursed as they descended on him and he had time to swing his fearsome blade just once, but even that was a poor blow and was deflected by a shield. Then a mountain seemed to crash against his shield and drive him into the ground. A foot trod on his wrist, pinning his arm while a spear butt was driven into his gut. His eyes rolled and he choked up bile. A blow hammered into his head and darkness blotted his vision with a thousand dancing stars. It seemed he would die this day, but he would die fighting, not trussed and sacrificed like some herd beast. Someone wrenched his shield off his arm and as it came away, Caros curled his fist around one of the darts hung within the shield. With his sword arm pinned, he had only this one weapon. A heavy blow to the small of his back sent a lance of fire through his body and in desperation borne of agony; he drove the dart up into the groin of the warrior standing above him. He heard the scream and felt a warm flood down his arm. He jerked the dart free and struck across his body. The blade ripped into the foot pinning his arm and then he was kicked hard in the head. Blackness flooded his mind with a great roar.

  Chapter 3

  He groaned and heaved against a blanket of darkness, slowly regaining consciousness as pain seared through his lower body. Ululations warbled in the distance and the thrum of speeding hooves beat through Caros’ body. A weight fell across him and his eyelids cracked open. The smoky blue of the sky before sunrise was free of attackers and he made to spring to his feet only to find his waist pinned by a sprawled body. A dying warrior, jaws working loosely and eyes wide, stared vacantly at him.

  Caros recognised the wiry attacker and with a snarl shoved him aside, careless of the javelin lodged in the man’s spine or his scream of agony. Casting about he spied two attackers backing toward the doorway of the building, assailed by speeding javelins, several of which were jutting from their bodies already. Around him, a handful of riders twisted their ponies in tight circles. Keeping low, Caros scooped up his sword and gave it a cursory check to ensure it had bent. The blade had twisted a little at the hilt, but that could be remedied easily enough. A rider brought his horse to a halt beside Caros who sheathed his sword and rose shakily.

  “By the gods Sand Jhini! You come at a good time!” The weathered face of the Masulian Captain split into a wide smile. His name was Jinkata or Sand Jhini, a warrior from North Africa, who had fought with Caros at the siege of Sagunt.

  “You have been riding hard, Claw of the Lion. It has taken us two days to reach you.”

  Riders milled about the yard, their initial excitement ebbing now that the violence was over. The remaining warriors were quickly subdued by the wiry riders who tossed ropes nooses over their heads and dragged them to the ground chocking. “Who are your friends Caros?”

  “Evil scum, they�
�re cat’s paws of a witch. Did you see her?”

  The Masulian called to the men nearest him in their native tongue. They shook their heads and circled wider while a pair pounded their mounts across the hill to the shrine. “They’ll find her if she’s here. There are some children hidden in the rocks beside the track some way down the hill, do they come from here?”

  Caros was watching the men approaching the shrine, his breath finally slowing along with his heartbeat. His death had been a close thing, moments more and he would have certainly been crossing the lands of Saur now. A sudden elation at surviving swelled his chest. “Yes, they would have no doubt been sacrificed by the witch.”

  A cry of distress rose from the shrine. A Masulian hung a moment from his mount’s neck before sliding to the ground with a spear lodged in his chest. The second rider spun his pony on its rear legs and hurled a savage curse at the mouth of the shrine along with two javelins in as many moments. Caros grabbed up his shield and broke into a dead run with Jinkata following a moment later. Other Masulians were converging quickly on the shrine and Caros darted between their mounts as they paused beside their fallen comrade. The Masulian at the shrine entrance backed off as a spear whistled past his cheek. Caros drove across the remaining space and into the shrine. The rising sun lit the rear wall and altar with the ruddy glow of dawn. The altar stood above three stairs cut into the rock of the hillside, dominating the space before it. Caros batted away a trickle of sweat which threatening his vision. He stared with loathing at the woman he had hunted throughout winter, now finally within his grasp. Ranged before her stood three warriors and he recognised the warrior in the centre as the black haired warrior that had sat silently at the cantina.

  The man snarled at him. “You! I should have killed you yesterday.” He hefted an iron spear in his right hand and covered his chest with a round shield.

  “You have your chance now.” Caros sneered back, tightening his grip on his falcata. He paced forward and the men flanking the warrior cowered backwards. The priestess behind them hissed and they froze, their eyes darting around in fear. Behind Caros, Jinkata and his riders dismounted and formed a line. There would be no escape.

  With a sudden leap, the black-haired warrior stabbed at his face. Caros batted the iron spear away with his shield and struck with his falcata. The warrior was faster and Caros’ blade whistled harmlessly through thin air. The warrior leaped high and with a savage thrust, plunged his spear down at Caros, aiming for his neck. Caros swiveled away from that deadly point and hacked at the warrior’s leading leg. His blade bit deep, cutting to the bone. The warrior roared in agony, and batted Caros hard with his shield. Reeling backwards, Caros caught his balance and kicked the staggering warrior’s shield hard, driving him to the ground. The Masulians swarmed forward with a guttural roar and swamped the remaining warriors. Javelins rose and fell and the warriors’ screams became gurgling chokes. In the meantime, Caros stamped his foot down hard on his opponent’s wrist, snapping bones. The iron spear fell from his fingers.

  “For all those you have butchered for this bitch, you now pay.” He pressed the tip of the falcata into the warrior’s throat and leaned down hard on the blade. The man clawed at the blade until, with an audible crack, his spine parted and his eyes rolled up into his skull.

  Breathing deeply, Caros looked up at Jinkata’s cry. “She prepares a curse!”

  Carmesina had retreated to the rear of the shrine and from within her garments she withdrew an ornate blade with the lines of a falcata. He caught his breath as she lifted her arms wide. It was as though she had the wings of a great bird for the cloak attached to her wrists was sewn with a hundred or more crow feathers, all reflecting the deep blue of cold steel. She began to chant, her voice rising and falling as unintelligible words flew from her lips. Caros stepped forward and felt his skin stiffen as the words whipped higher and the chant became shriller. He had heard this rhythm before and his memory was drawn to the blood and smoke of Sagunt.

  The Masulians fell back in superstitious dread and Jinkata hissed and spat. “Kill her before she puts a curse on us.” Masulian riders edged away from the shrine nervously, not willing to risk the ire of whatever foreign god was being summoned.

  With the chant rising and falling still, the priestess crossed her arms and folded like a great carrion bird. Extending her arms again, the dagger still gripped tight, Caros realized she had removed her inner garments from below her cloak, revealing her naked form. For a moment, Caros’ thoughts whirled at the image of long limbs, unblemished skin and the defiant lift of her breasts, all glowing under the caress of the rising sun. The men hissed loudly for as the sun lifted higher its full light lit the priestess so that her skin glowed the colour of fresh blood. The spectre broke the spell her body had cast over Caros and snarling he lunged forward.

  His blade knocked the long knife from her grasp and throwing aside his shield, he grabbed a fistful of her hair in his left hand and wrenched her across the shrine and against the altar.

  “Do you recognize me, witch?” His words burned with hatred.

  She glared up at him with clear green eyes and for a heartbeat; his body almost betrayed him at her naked heat beneath him. She smiled knowingly at him and he released her to stagger back.

  “The warrior who murdered my insane brother. Yes, I recognize you, my hunter of this last winter.” She purred as she regained her footing and spread her arms to reveal her nakedness to him. “These others were weak, but with a warrior like you to serve me, we can regain all that was destroyed.” She smiled at Caros and cupped her breasts. “Catubodua treats her faithful servants well Caros of the Bastetani.”

  The shock of hearing his name on her lips rekindled his anger and he pointed at the three dead warriors, “Like these pitiful fools. Not I.” He lifted his blade and she narrowed her eyes.

  “You may kill this vessel, but my shade will haunt your dreams.” She hissed.

  The flat of his blade struck her head a glancing blow, knocking her back onto the altar.

  “The hounds of Saur will shred your shade. My woman died by fire, so shall you.” He struck her knees one at a time with the pommel of his blade and she screamed as the bones shattered.

  “Burn witch. My days spent hunting you are done.” He stepped back. “Burn this place. Burn all of it!”

  Jinkata snapped orders to his wide-eyed warriors as Caros turned and left the shrine, the priestess still writhing on the altar.

  Flames roared high above the hilltop as Jinkata approached with Caros’ mare in tow.

  “Your horse. She still serves you well I see.” The captain’s lips curled into what may have been a faint grin and Caros swung up onto the horse’s back.

  “You have been searching for me you say? Is Aksel near?”

  Jinkata pointed east to where the sun had lifted into the blue Iberian sky. “He rides north now as protector to the envoy Hannibal Barca has sent to make peace with chieftains and petty kings in the mountains.”

  Caros was glad to hear his Masulian friend was well. The man had saved Caros in a manner of speaking and had proved to be a loyal friend through the battle at Sagunt. All the same, the task that Hannibal had set him seemed a daunting one. The people of the north were harder than the rocks of the mountains on which they lived. Passing through their territory was beyond dangerous and travellers invariably opted to sail rather than risk ambush in the narrow passes. Still, Aksel was an adaptable leader and his men were amongst the most resilient warriors Caros had ever encountered.

  “Why did he send you after me?”

  “He requests your aid. He says Hannibal expects to pass through the mountains unopposed by late spring.”

  Caros cracked his neck and rolled his stiffened shoulders to ease the pain from the beating he had taken while his mind wondered at the opposition Aksel would face. His heart beat faster at the proposition; there would be danger and excitement as well as the comradeship of Aksel and his men. He knew without a doubt he would acce
pt Aksel’s request.

  They found the children at the foot of the hill along with a pale-faced Chartus. The young warrior had backed into a thicket of thorn and rock, the children and his mount tucked behind him and there he braced himself with shield and spear as the unknown Masulians sat watching him in silence. Caros called to him and the relief in the young warrior’s eyes and in the set of his shoulders and jaw was evident to all. The Masulians chuckled in appreciation of Chartus’ bravery. He could have fled on his mount and left the children, but his honour had kept him there to shield them. Caros’ respect for the lad grew a couple of notches. He would make a fine warrior. “It is done Chartus! The witch is dead as are the followers that were with her.”

  Chartus grunted and wiped his sweat-drenched brow below his helmet. “Who are these horsemen? They came out of nowhere and were beyond me before I could even raise the war horn to signal.”

  “They are great warriors and fight for the Barca General, Hannibal. The children, they are from your village?”

  “I recognise the girls, the boy is a stranger though.” Chartus gazed behind him at the children cowering on their knees below thorny boughs, grime covered their skin and their hair was knotted with dirt and worse. They smelled ranker than a midden heap at the height of summer.

  “Son, can you understand me? What is the name of your father? Your clan, your people? Where is your home boy?” The child cowered with his knees drawn up against his chest and stared with wide eyes at the men encircling him. Chartus cleared his throat and suggested they were scaring the boy’s tongue stiff and perhaps some food and water would help the child speak. Jinkata threw his waterskin across to Chartus and then a draw bag with trail food. Sharing the food out amongst the children, Chartus spoke quietly to them while the Masulians riders rode off to the east to wait for their Captain. Chartus managed to get the children to speak and the girls of his village told him the boy had spoken a little when he was first thrown into the prison with two others. It seemed he and his kin had been kidnapped from their homes to the north.