Yet the last of the group troubled Tserig even more. He knew what it was, that bent and broken being, twisted under harrowing punishments inflicted by his master. One of the Twelve. The demon slaves of the Tyrant Kings. Which of them it was made no difference. They were all the same in serving their masters’ will.
Jiwan was on his feet, his bearing far less certain than when he had faced Brood. But then he did not know all the old stories about Caladan. The most ancient tales. And Brood had been an ally of many years, seemingly harmless. Jiwan had grown up knowing him as if he were no more than an uncle. He did not seem to grasp the true danger he represented. Indeed, no one in this age seemed to understand that. Unlike himself, old Tserig, hoarder of the old knowledge.
‘The invaders will be dealt with, yes,’ the demon mage was saying. ‘They will be swept from the field. But first,’ and it raised a gnarled hand to Jiwan, ‘I need to know your answer to our offer.’
The Warleader of the Rhivi cocked his head, puzzled. ‘Offer? What offer is that?’
‘Why, the offer of his protection, of course! My master, the Legate of Darujhistan, has graciously extended to you the guarding hand of his shelter and countenance. You will be as safe as a child in the arms of its parent under his warding, I assure you of that.’
Jiwan drew himself up straighter. He was obviously attempting to keep his face neutral, but it betrayed too much of his distaste. ‘We Rhivi are a free people. This alliance is one of mutual defence. Nothing more. Thank the Legate for his concern. We have no need of his guardianship.’
The mage stroked his long chin as if puzzled. ‘Do you not wish to be safe and secure? To be strong? So many in these days of trouble argue for a strong hand guiding their community, their city, their lands, or province. Within the encircling arms of the Legate you will find that. It is easy. One merely need yield all troubling matters of governance to him. He will take care of you. As a father.’
The Warleader was now nodding. He appeared saddened. ‘Aman, I hear your words and I thank you. I believe you have just handed me a great lesson. For among us Rhivi there was one who could very easily have claimed such a role. But he possessed the wisdom, the true generosity of soul, to stand aside when we chafed under his hand. Sadly, I do not believe we will ever find another to match him. And were he here now I believe I would offer him my apology.’
The demon mage, Aman, dropped his hand from his chin. ‘You are right, Warleader. That is sad. For you have chosen defiance. And for that there can be only one answer.’ He looked to the Seguleh Third. The Third shifted forward, and as he did so something blurred between him and the Warleader and Jiwan’s face became confused, then emptied of all emotion as if drained. Then his head slid off his neck as his body toppled.
Screaming rent the air all around. Warriors lunged, drawing weapons. The Seguleh stood back to back, their swords a blur, as Rhivi warriors, men and women, tumbled aside missing hands, arms, throats and stomachs. Roaring with immense laughter, Aman ignored the many blades that rebounded from his form beneath his rags. He reached out to grasp wrists to snap them, clenched throats to squeeze pulping bursts of blood and flesh.
All this Tserig watched, motionless, horror-struck. Ancient gods known and forgotten, deliver us. It has begun anew. The iron fist of the Tyrant reborn. Shall we be once more slave for a thousand years? No!
More warriors closed, meaning to bring down these three murderers, only to fall to the near-invisible blades or the gore-smeared hands of the mage. Tserig threw down his staff to raise his arms high. ‘Sons and daughters of the plains!’ he bellowed. ‘Flee! Now! Ignore this filth! Flee these lands now. An ancient curse has arisen! North! Flee north!’
Aman closed upon him. ‘Shut up, old man!’ He brought a fist smashing down, breaking Tserig’s skull and snapping the frail vertebrae of his neck. He fell instantly dead.
From the palisade wall of Fort Step, which for some reason unknown to Fist Steppen it had come to be named, she and Fist K’ess watched while the meeting of allies that promised to sweep them from the plain all went horribly wrong.
‘Looks like a falling out,’ Steppen said, her propensity for understatement intact.
‘Don’t it though,’ K’ess echoed. Then he gestured aside. ‘Look at that. An encirclement.’
Steppen squinted into the lengthening shadows. There, among the tall grass, individual figures had arisen in a broad ring surrounding the Rhivi camp. One every few tens of paces. While they watched, the figures closed in, tightening the circle.
‘Gods-damned slaughter,’ K’ess murmured. ‘Their first mistake.’
‘They think they don’t need them.’
The Fists met each other’s gaze. K’ess cocked a brow. Steppen gave one quick nod that bulged her double chin. K’ess leaned over the catwalk. ‘Captain Fal-ej!’
‘Aye?’
‘An immediate withdrawal west! Over the wall! Lightest pack. Three days’ water.’
‘Aye, sir!’
Both Fists returned to gauging the fighting. Rhivi riders, alone and in packs, thundered off through the encirclement, riding north for the lake. Many fell, but the majority bulled through. Presumably those survivors wouldn’t stop for anything.
‘Four squads should remain on the walls till everyone’s gone,’ K’ess said. ‘I’ll stay with them.’
‘I believe you held the rear-guard last,’ Steppen pointed out. ‘It’s my turn.’
K’ess looked the rather dumpy woman up and down. ‘You sure you’re up to it?’
Steppen merely looked to the sky. ‘These recruits don’t know what a hard march is. Not like the run to Evinor. Time they learned.’
K’ess cast an eye over the fort. ‘A shame, really. Well built.’
‘Have to have a word with the engineers. I was really looking for something roomier.’
The distant scream of a dying horse pierced the din of battle, making Steppen wince. She faced the east. ‘Run, you poor bastards,’ she murmured. ‘Flee. Just mount up and ride.’
K’ess squeezed her shoulder. ‘Oponn’s favour.’ He turned and left her.
‘Toren,’ she called, using his first name, and he paused on his way down.
‘Yes?’
‘Give them something to remember,’ she said, smiling. ‘Show them what they’ve taken on, yes?
Fist K’ess inclined his head in agreement. ‘Somewhere narrow, Argell. I will see you there.’ He offered a brief salute and bounded down the stairs. Steppen turned to the east again and the screams drifting across with the wind. Gods. So it’s true. All that she’d heard. These Seguleh. A few hundreds against some thirty thousand and it’s a rout.
Facing the gathering twilight she whispered: ‘Yes, Toren. We’ll meet again there.’
Crouched in the tall grass, Captain Fal-ej scanned a landscape painted an unnatural watery green. Like the bottom of the sea, she thought to herself. Almost beautiful. To either side sergeants awaited her command to fire. Damn the man. Where was he? This bravado could cost them an experienced commander. Not to mention she hadn’t yet told him all that she wanted to.
Then movement among the grass and the Fist came running up the slope. Fal-ej signed for a stand-down. She rose to meet him. ‘We’re on the move,’ she called rather angrily. ‘Where’s Fist Steppen?’
‘Holding the fort.’
She stared past K’ess to the distant structure. ‘That’s-’
‘Yes,’ K’ess cut in. ‘She’s buying us time. Now let’s go. Double-time.’
Fal-ej backed away, signing a withdrawal to the sergeants. K’ess kept going. ‘No rear guard or outliers, Captain,’ he called. ‘Just a rear watch.’
‘Aye,’ she answered. She raised her arm in the air to inscribe the circular pull out sign.