Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  With a few harsh words, Adicran ordered them back to the wall, not wishing to raise the sentries’ suspicions. “What do we do now?” He whispered, eyes gleaming with renewed life.

  Caros considered their position. They could overwhelm the three sentries, but not without making enough noise to cause alarms. He wondered where Lanca had gone and thought there must be an unguarded alley beyond the wall against which they had so recently been waiting for death. It was just a matter of sliding over the top of it without being noticed.

  “Over the wall, but we’ll need to wait for the sentries to fall asleep. They’ll surely notice if twenty men begin vaulting the wall.” The Libyans had been stripped of their armour and belts, leaving them wearing only their once white tunics. Despite the blood and dirt that covered them, they still stood out in the dark.

  Adicran shook his head. “We do not know they will sleep or even if they do that one will not remain awake. We need to get out of here now and get as far into the hills as possible before first light.” Caros mulled Adicran’s words over and recognized the truth in them.

  The wall was just higher than the height of a tall man, but with a hand up, Caros was easily able to pull his body onto the top of it and after a quick glance into the darkness beyond, slide quietly to the ground on the other side. As he did so, a tremor passed through the wall. It was built of rock and as wide as a man’s chest so ought to hold their weight as they passed over. He darted forward to peer around the near corner of a building. It was evidently used to store hides and the stink of the urine-soaked skins filled his nostrils as he looked about. There was no movement in the dark and fortunately no sign of the settlement’s numberless dogs. Endovex must have heard his pleas. He heard stealthy footsteps behind him as the Libyans scaled the wall. He turned to watch as they slipped silently over the wall in ones and twos and gathered at its base to help their comrades down. They were almost all over, and one man was lying on the top of the wall, reaching down to pull the final warrior over when without warning, the wall bowed out and crashed over the Libyans. Caros groaned in despair at the sight and in a heartbeat knew they were doomed. Those men closest to the base of the wall fell under the collapsing rocks, silence replaced by the crashing of rock and shouts of alarm and pain. Caros was on his feet in the blink of an eye. Men were calling for help and other were already pulling their comrades from under the rubble. A hand reached out of the dark and wrapped around Caros’ wrist just as he was about to go to their assistance. He spun in shock, his right arm raised to strike, but a woman’s voice stayed the blow.

  “They have had their chance, there is no way to save them. Come!” A dark cape hid her face, but Caros recognised her voice immediately. “Quickly, you cannot save them. Come!”

  The sentries were already hauling open the gates to the animal pen and calling for help. In the distance, dogs barked and feet pounded along with answering calls from the warriors of the Aeronosii.

  Caros cursed and looked back at the Libyans. He could not desert them, but Laia was dragging on his arm and he knew he was running out of time. Already some of the Libyans had realized this as well and were beginning to scatter. A figure hobbled towards him and then slumped against the building with a bubbling cough. “Adicran?”

  “Caros? Why are you still here? Go you fool, go!”

  “Lean on me, I’ll carry you.” Caros whispered desperately.

  “My chest is crushed as are my feet. Go now my Bastetani friend and return as the Claw of Lion and avenge us.” Adicran dropped to the ground, his breathing the rasp of one not long for this world. Laia pulled at Caros angrily. “Now or I leave you!”

  Without a word, Caros turned and followed. If at that moment, Gualbes were to have seen his face, he would have known that here was an enemy to fear. Caros’ heart hammered with rage and sadness. From the cries and shouts, the Libyans fugitives were already being recaptured. Into the dark the two figures fled, an unarmed warrior and a cloaked woman. Before them loomed the settlement’s rock and timber palisade, but Laia knew her way and turning a corner they splashed through a shallow spring. They followed the trickling watercourse to the base of the wall. Pushing their way through a tangle of brush and thorn, they crouched low. A black void loomed at the foot of the wall through which the spring water flowed. “It is narrow, but clear.” With this, she plunged into the void. Caros knelt and waited a moment as Laia shuffled deeper. The roof of the drain was so low Caros was forced to lay flat and squirm forward. Cobwebs crowded him and he grimaced and pushed forward, following the squelching sounds of Laia’s progress. Behind him, the settlement was a cauldron of braying warriors and fleeing fugitives. It would be a hard death for many men that night, but one would survive. A man that would return like winter to this mountain fastness to crack stone and grind bone.

  Chapter 9

  He sat alone on a rocky promontory, watching stars as numerous as the grains of sand on a desert dune. Many were as he remembered them from his homeland, but there were those that were unfamiliar. Just as the cold mountain winds were unfamiliar. His gaze dropped to the settlement below, like a wolf scenting its prey. Distant cookfires dwindled to pinpricks of orange while the calls of warriors and squalls of the young faded until silence and darkness wrapped it tight over the settlement.

  Something stirred and his sharp eyes narrowed. He straightened his lean body and his mount nuzzled his neck, sensing his tension. A flare of light and faint cries rose from the settlement. Torches were lit and the streets of the fortress town began to flow with pinpricks of light while cries and shouts grew louder.

  Aksel cursed the dark and cursed this place. He raged within himself at having abandoned his friend, a man he had come to love as kin. This was not the place for such as Caros to die and yet even with his riders, he was powerless to rescue his friend from within the walls of Olot.

  Jinkata called to him and scrambled up the scree to reach Aksel’s perch. “They are waking. I think they have discovered they have trapped a lion perhaps.” The Captain flashed a toothy grin in the dark.

  Aksel stared at the settlement. What he would give to see what was happening down on those streets! He knew that Caros and a few others had been captured. His scouts had informed him of the short, uneven battle between the hundreds of Aeronosii and the less than hundred Libyans. He had returned to the valley, and watched the last of the camp followers butchered as they tried to flee. When the killing was over, the Aeronosii women and children had plundered the camp and the dead of everything of value and returned to Olot as the sun was sinking. Then in the last light of day, Aksel had ridden across the battleground. He had searched amongst the corpses for that of his friend, but he was not among them. He drew the only conclusion he could. Caros was alive and now a captive in Olot. The timbre of the sounds from the settlement had changed. The notes of alarm had given over to cries of fear and pain. A large fire burned near the centre of the settlement and many shadowy figures moved about it. A long tortured scream floated up the mountainside and Aksel’s blood rose. Jinkata spat and cursed, his earlier jauntiness gone. Both warriors knew the sound well. It did not bode well for Caros or any of the captives.

  By morning the Masulian chieftain’s mood was one of vengeance. His men were camped in the hills south of Olot and they ate sparsely of their cold rations, not wishing to light fires and give away their presence. After the quick meal, they mounted and surged out into the valley. The sun was still a liquid ball, just cresting the eastern horizon when they descended on the valley. Horses neighed and snorted, the roar of hundreds of unshod hooves flooded the plain and lifted a pall of dust above the fast-moving column. The Masulians’ hearts were filled with anger and bloodlust. Most had known Caros since before the great battle on the Tagus, when he had been discovered living like a hermit, drink sodden and with a festering head wound. They had learned that one of their chieftains had given him a war name, The Claw of the Lion, and they adopted the broad-shouldered Bastetani as one of their own. There was not
a Masulian present who would not happily give his life for Caros. Now though it seemed that opportunity had been snatched from them, so they resorted to what they knew. With their tongues fanning deep in their mouths, they threw their heads back and ululated, sending their peculiar war cry ahead of them to spread levels of panic amongst the Aeronosii not seen for generations. War on a scale they had not seen before was about to be unleashed on them and these fast riding, lightly armed warriors were here to deliver their retribution.

  They struck a small settlement on the southern flank of the valley while the sun still struggled from its nocturnal womb. There was no subtlety in their attack. Their presence was preceded by their shrill cries and the beat of tens of hundreds of hooves. The villagers were hardy, used to raiders and usually immune to that paralysis city dwellers succumb to in extreme danger. On this morning, the old warriors were already manning the flimsy palisade from before first light, brought to the walls by the high-pitched shrieks and rumble of horsemen. The young warriors, those few not already drawn by Gualbes’ call to arms, paced with excitement, their eyes agleam. Dust grew and the walls shook as the enemy appeared in the distance, flowing from ravines in the steeper valley walls. A pillar of stacked maharra, lightweight iron spears excellent for throwing, shook so much that it fell, the spears clattering to the ground. Battle hardened warriors spat and licked their lips, braced their legs and drew back their throwing arms. None dared exchange a glance with his neighbor, fearing what they would see in the other’s eyes. This was a day many would begin the walk across the lands of Saur.

  Aksel rode at the head of the first wave. His dark eyes riveted to the enemy standing rigid atop the palisade. He leaned his lithe body forward, whipcord muscles working in unison with his mount, lifting it and flowing like a javelin across the distance to the enemy walls. His jaws locked and at some unseen signal, his mount turned sharply and as it did so, he snapped his throwing arm forward, releasing the javelin to fly at extraordinary speed. Thrumming, it cut through the air and a startled Aeronosii warrior suddenly lurched backwards, the javelin piercing his helmet and plunging deep into his brain. Across the distance a hundred more javelins sped. The Aeronosii yanked their arms back to reply with their own spears. Few managed for they had no inkling of the power and speed with which these foreign riders could launch their missiles. The Masulians’ javelins, sometimes as many as three or four, punched into them, toppling them from their wall. In moments, the palisade was cleared of defenders. Some had slumped over the sharpened tips of the timbers; most were knocked to the ground within the walls by the force of the blows. The second Masulian wave struck and riders seemed to sprout wings, leaping from their speeding horses to grab at the lip of the palisade and with a quick heave, they were atop the walls, their enemy broken and dead on the ground before them. Aeronosii women screamed in hate and desperation and brandished long knives, calling to their ancestors and beckoning to the souls of their dead menfolk.

  Aksel’s orders were singular in purpose. Burn it all. Kill the men and livestock, burn what would burn and tear down everything put up by man. The Masulians numbered close to four hundred and they spread across the valley like wraiths. The sun burned bright and yet on the valley floor it cast only a feeble light, shrouded as it was by the smoke of that small settlement and numerous others put to fire.

  The Aeronosii sallied from Olot to confront the Masulians. While not as numerous as the enemy, their horsemen rode well and were armoured. They expected to rout the foreign horsemen quickly, but were unprepared for the speed of the lighter Masulian horsemen. Aksel led his four hundred into the hills and the Aeronosii gave chase, their bravery clouding their judgment, they became strung out. As quickly as the Masulians had fled, they turned back to unleashed their deadly javelins from above the Aeronosii. The fastest and bravest of the Aeronosii were cut down before they could strike a blow. They fell, pierced through, their armour no more use than lambs wool. The remainder wisely turned back to the valley; having lived and warred in these mountains for generations, they of all people knew the difficulty of battling a foe that held the high ground. Rather than throw their lives away, they collected the handful of wounded they could and swearing retribution, returned to Olot.

  By nightfall, the Masulians were deep into the hills again, far from where they had struck that day. Aksel’s Captains sat with him that night discussing their plans. The Masulians had suffered very few casualties and those were all light injuries. The warriors lit fires and ate; a drum beat for a short while as they spoke of their day’s battles. Soon though they allowed their small cook fires to die and rolled themselves in their cloaks to slept. The following day they struck from the north. They found the farms and smaller settlements deserted overnight. There were other targets for the wrath of the Masulians though. It was clear the call had gone out from Olot and bands of Aeronosii warriors were streaming to their principle settlement from their mountain valleys. The Masulians turned their attention to these small bands. Aksel relished every engagement. Riding hard at the front of his warriors, he led them from clash to brutal clash. Many were the Aeronosii that crossed the lands of Saur that day. By late afternoon the Aeronosii numbers had thickened and they only ventured from the broken hills with a shield of horsemen. They crossed a land littered with the detritus of war. Newly planted fields were trampled, wells poisoned with bloated corpses, homes burned and settlements on fire. They came across bands of their brother warriors who had ventured forth in lesser numbers only to be scythed down by the singing javelins of the desert warriors.

  Although the Masulians were strong, hardy men, they were far from home and had minimal provisions. They looted what they could, but were always just one step ahead of the growing numbers of Aeronosii. Aksel made a decision. They would strike for the northeast, towards the untested lands of the Andosinni. His warriors had fought hard throughout the day and although they had again suffered few casualties, they were tiring. They would rest for a day while he sent a message south to the great Carthaginian army.

  They were riding in column, with the sun at their backs. To their left and right rode small parties of outriders, the eyes and ears of the column. Jinkata grunted and called to Aksel. The chieftain had also spotted the incoming rider. The man rode in from the north, waving at the outriders as he passed. Aksel recognised the rider, Bakkoury, a veteran warrior who had fought with Aksel’s father in the deserts of their homeland. While the outriders stayed within sight of the column, single riders like Bakkoury cast an even wider screen around the column.

  “Greetings and strength!” Bakkoury intoned as he approached Aksel, his face a welter of creases in nut-brown skin. His green eyes glinted from beneath eyebrows white with age.

  “Greetings Uncle.” Aksel greeted the warrior with the respect due an elder, a fundamental tenant of the Masulian people. Jinkata offered the warrior his goat-bladder canteen and Bakkoury dipped his head in thanks. The column continued to ride and Bakkoury sidled his mount into step beside Aksel.

  “The enemy rides before us and they number just two score. I watched them for a long time and they did not see me.” He spat with disdain. “They are casting for tracks. It seems they are hunting someone.”

  Aksel rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth in thought. Forty riders made a tempting target. It was not too small to be dismissed and not too large to be a risk. He squinted at Bakkoury who rode silently, eyes probing and scanning the countryside. “Could the enemy be luring us into a trap?” He was loath to voice the words, but needed to sound out the idea. Bakkoury pursed his lips and his head shook slowly from side to side. “Not a trap nephew, they are definitely hunting someone.”

  It took a moment for the implication to hit Aksel and when it did, he cursed his slow reasoning. “You did well to bring this news to me. Lead us to these hunters!”

  A faint smile creased the warrior’s face and his eyes flashed. In an instant, he was galloping ahead of the column and Aksel was hard pressed to stay with him.
There was no need to issue commands. With a shrill ululation, the entire column surged after their chieftain with the scent of battle in the air.

  Caros shifted his hip off a rock digging into his flesh. He lay under the dusty foliage of a leafy bush on the crest of a hill. Beside him, the big Aeronosii warrior Castrodubis, cursed. The two men were watching their back trail. They had become aware that they were being followed despite all they had done to lessen and hide their tracks. Worse still, their pursuers were gaining with every step they took.

  “They will have us before we reach the Andosinni.” Castrodubis intoned.

  “They must know we are heading there. That is how they keeping finding our trail.” Caros rolled onto his back, careful not to shake the foliage above him. He passed a hand over his face, trying to rub away an overwhelming fatigue. He had last slept properly the night they had arrived at Olot, three days ago. Since escaping the walls of Olot with Laia, they had raced for the Andosinni lands, only pausing twice to rest for a short time. He smiled grimly at the surprise he had experienced when Laia and he had crawled from beneath the palisade in a narrow rocky defile where the spring had trickled from walls of rock. Three mounts were tethered there and none other than Castrodubis had stood watch. The big warrior had smiled at the look on Caros’ face. “Greetings Bastetani! You look surprised.”