“They haven’t been used, sir,” the lieutenant admitted.
Utros drew his broad brows together. “What do you mean, they haven’t been used?”
“No one has so far … needed them, sir. They haven’t…”
“Are they using the bushes?” Utros demanded.
“I’ve asked, sir, but no one claims to have felt the need. I confess, I haven’t myself, not even to … not even, you know, to piss.”
Of all the grand questions Utros had faced, this had never entered his mind. As he was about to growl another question, he realized that he himself had felt no need in the past day and a half.
And that led to another realization. His teams had made makeshift basins, delivered water from the streams across the valley. Utros had plenty of water here in his command structure, but he couldn’t recall whether he had needed to drink. “We’ve been petrified for an unknown time, and we’ve neither eaten nor drunk anything. Our bodies haven’t felt any such call.”
A knock came at the door as someone else arrived. Utros turned to the latrine commander, who backed toward the door. “It was merely an observation, sir. I felt you should know.”
“So noted. Thank you.”
The next visitors sickened Utros. He’d seen bloody violence in his many battles, had witnessed the most appalling injuries and torments, but this was beyond anything he had seen before.
Ava and Ruva lurched to their feet from the side bench. Even the subcommander looked sickened as he led four soldiers into the command structure.
The glow from the braziers and the slanted daylight through the windows lit the horrifically mangled faces of two blind, staggering soldiers. They still wore their armor, but their faces looked like chewed raw meat. Their noses were gone, their eyes gouged out. One man’s ear had been smashed off. Their teeth had been battered, and only jagged stubs protruded from their gums like shards of pottery. Their breath came in wet, sucking sounds through ragged mouth holes.
The third man had an arm shattered off at the elbow, and his ragged, bloody stump dripped onto the ground, though a leather belt had been cinched around it in a makeshift tourniquet. The fourth victim had a mangled crotch, as if someone had used a dull axe to chop away at his groin, striking off his privates and leaving torn flesh on his thighs. The victims moaned with the abject misery of their inexplicable wounds.
“We found dozens like this, General,” said the subcommander. “They’re alive and awake, and yet they’ve been mutilated. I can’t understand how it happened. It is malicious, senseless damage.”
Utros tried not to show his revulsion. His thoughts spun in different possibilities, looping around until he finally understood. “They were attacked while they were petrified and helpless. Some cruel person smashed off their features and left them horribly damaged.”
The general remembered when his army had swept through conquered cities, ransacking them. They would tear down the capital buildings, burn the temples, and destroy the statues, because General Utros would allow no god other than Emperor Kurgan. Yes, the Keeper dominated the underworld behind the veil, but here in this world, Iron Fang must be the one they feared and worshiped. If the conquering soldiers found revered statues of their leaders, they would batter the faces until they were nothing more than chipped stone.
Seeing the mangled wreckage of these soldiers, the broken arms, the maliciously destroyed groin, he knew someone had done the same thing, vandalizing the stone figures in his petrified army. But these weren’t just statues. These had been real men, loyal men, and Utros felt enraged.
“It is one more thing we will avenge when we invade Ildakar,” he said. “Tend these poor men, care for them however you can.” He wasn’t sure if the moaning, agonized victims could hear him. “You have already paid a tremendous price, and for that I am eternally grateful. I vow that Ildakar will pay a greater price than you’ve suffered.”
After they departed, Utros needed a moment to compose himself. He looked up with relief when First Commander Enoch entered, his rugged face showing a hint of satisfaction. Utros gave a lopsided smile with his scarred face. “Enoch, I hope you have a good report. I’ve heard enough details about latrines and campsites and mutilated soldiers.”
Enoch seemed pleased. “Yes, General. We finally have some answers.”
Three armored soldiers wrestled a pair of captives through the open door, a man and a woman. They were middle-aged, but bent with the years added by a lifetime of hard labor. They wore patchwork leather, wool, and fur garments. The couple huddled close to each other, but the soldiers pushed them into the dim room. The woman stumbled, and the man caught her arm, holding her upright. They trembled as they stood in front of the table.
The first commander stepped off to the left. “Our scouts found these two camped in a high meadow. They are animal herders tending fifty creatures called yaxen.”
“Yes, sir,” said the captive man, trying to sound helpful and cooperative. “We’re yaxen herders, just simple people. We pasture the animals and bring them in to sell at Ildakar or to other towns in the mountains.”
Utros was glad to have real witnesses, a man and woman who had not been petrified for years. “Then you have vital information for us. You know what’s been happening in the world.”
Ava and Ruva glided forward to regard the captives in predatory silence, their eyes boring into the shivering man and woman.
Enoch said, “We captured their animals as well, sir. Scouts are herding them back to camp right now, so we’ll have some food supply. Enough for our officers, maybe.”
“Good thinking, First Commander.” Utros steepled his fingers as he leaned over the table. He spoke in a calm voice, hoping the captives would not need to be coerced. “Tell us about the lands around us. Apart from Ildakar, where are the nearest towns and cities? Who are the leaders?”
“My lord, we are simply yaxen herders! We don’t know anything,” said the man.
Utros added an edge to his voice. “You may address me as ‘sir,’ not ‘my lord.’ I serve Emperor Kurgan, and I will be the judge of how much you know.”
The woman sputtered. “Emperor Kurgan? But, my lord … but, sir, he’s been dead for ages. He—”
Utros pounded his fist on the table, not sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. “What are your names? Let’s start with simple information first.”
The man reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “My name is Boyle. This is Irma, my wife. We’ve herded yaxen all our lives. Our two children are grown up and now they live in a mountain town to the north.”
“What is it called?” Utros asked.
“The town? Why, it’s … Stravera, my lo—… sir,” said Boyle. “Stravera. It’s the nearest large town.”
Irma cleared her throat. “Many of the other villages grew over the centuries after Ildakar disappeared, but now that the city has come back, we have a new market for our yaxen.”
Utros frowned. “What do you mean, now that Ildakar has come back?”
“Why, the whole city vanished for centuries, sir, disappeared behind the shroud of eternity. And your army … sir, it was turned to stone, too. Thousands and thousands of statues. They were there all my life, many lifetimes. There are legends about where you came from, but we were never sure,” Irma said.
Boyle broke in, “We’d take our yaxen to the high pastures in the summer and then down to the plain as the weather grew colder. We’d camp among the stone soldiers year after year. I think I may even have seen one that looked like you, sir, and … and the ladies.” He glanced at Ava and Ruva.
“Explain these legends. How were we turned into statues?”