Chapter Ten: Day Five
Dawn arrived at last. The sky glowed red before the blue arrived. How fitting.
With the arrival of light Nephys gave the order. The Arcite warhost mustered from their camps, the entire Golden Host, or what was left of it. Diminished though it was by the Reclaimers’ swords and the King’s madness, the army still numbered many thousands of troops. Huge columns of spearmen marched around Karuk until they surrounded it completely. Nephys clearly planned to assault the village from all sides at once to take advantage of the Reclaimers’ depleted numbers. Once in position they stopped, an arrow’s flight from the walls, and they waited in silence. At that time the only noise came from the clopping of the hooves of Nephys’ steed as she slowly trotted around Karuk, her steely eyes locked on the defenders, counting them and recounting them, assessing their strength.
The Reclaimers stood ready manning the walls. Exhausted. War-weary. Many of them wounded. But they were as determined as ever.
Optimus watched the enemy in silence. The priests stood behind him, drained and bedraggled.
Osuna and Drumnos stood side by side on the wall. They sensed the time of battle was near, and they girded themselves for the charge.
Elsewhere Imperios stood alone, hunched over, crippled by his grief, red-eyed and perspiring, willing the Host to attack and put him out of his misery.
Mamatu peered at Nephys from beneath the rim of his helmet as she passed his section of the wall. He prayed that Hatra bring her to his swords once the battle rages – her head would make a fine offering to his god.
Jamila tried to make herself as visible as possible. She paced around the walls of Karuk and spoke soothing prayers. She was to be a reminder of everything the Reclaimers were fighting for – as close as she could be to the physical embodiment of Hatra. A shy girl, she would much prefer to shun the attention of others. But this was her role, and she would play it as best she could.
Before the battle, a heinous crime was committed. There was a murmuring from Optimus’ section of the wall as Khalim came to oversee the slaughter, borne aloft on his palanquin-throne and surrounded by his Azurian Guard. A second palanquin was brought, too, and Zamon rode alongside it on his black steed.
At first Optimus couldn’t make out what the second palanquin carried. Then the Guardsmen dropped it on the ground in full view of the Reclaimers on the wall. It seemed like an altar of some kind, glittering gold, covered in strange markings and bearing iron shackles.
“Meset, Batu…Have you ever seen the like?” Optimus queried.
The priests shuffled closer and the old men squinted. Meset recognised it well enough, and he clutched his head in his hands. “An altar…An altar of Venhotek! No, it can’t be!” Batu tried to console his friend, but soon his worst fears were realised.
A frail-looking figure emerged from the Arcite camp escorted by black-clad zealots with murderous faces. She was led past Khalim, who reclined on his throne and watched proceedings impassively. The entire Arcite contingent was silent. All the better to allow the sound of her whimpers and tears to carry over to Karuk.
It was Aysha. Naked. Beaten. Her face wet with tears. Blood running from her nose. She was dragged up to the altar, and was held there to await the order of Khalim. Zamon turned to him, expectantly, and she looked upon that inhuman golden shell in horror.
Even stoic Optimus could not fail to be moved. “No, it cannot be…” he scowled beneath his breath.
Imperios saw her. His heart was torn with grief, his guts twisting with worry. His fist squeezed against the shaft of his spear with terrible hatred. At once he was struck by an urge to march over there and take on the whole Golden Host, even if it meant dying in the process – at least then the torment would be over.
Jamila was distraught, but she could not allow the men to see it. They needed her to be as divine and impassive as the winged goddess who adorned their golden banner. There was no time for human grief – for now she would have to be more than human. So she kept pacing around the wall, saying her quiet prayers, blessing the Reclaimers who manned it.
Khalim reacted at last. He twitched a finger, beckoning for Byzar, and he leaned in closer to hear his foul words.
“Is it not the case that a pregnant sacrifice is worth more to wise and glorious Venhotek? For are two souls condemned to his deathly paradise not better than one?”
“It is so, my King.” grinned Byzar. He gave the order. “Azurian Guard!”
Jamila was forced down onto the altar, shackled to it, and raped by the Azurian Guards one by one. Her cries rang out across the desert and throughout Karuk.
The Reclaimers remained impassive in the face of this evil. Little reaction could be seen upon their faces. They were holy warriors, determined to show no fear in the face of the enemy, but even so they were mortals. None could have witnesses such horror and remained unaffected.
Optimus tried to keep his eyes on the ranks of enemy spearmen. “Attack, damn you…” he grunted beneath his breath, but Nephys gave no order. Indeed, she just kept slowly circling Karuk, her eyes fixed on the defenders, not visibly reacting to the dreadful crime.
Drumnos and Osuna shared Optimus’ horror, but neither said a word. What could be said in such a situation? Mamatu removed his helmet and sat down on it, closing his eyes and praying for Hatra to spare the girl from further suffering.
Khalim sat, impassive, not moving a muscle. Zamon grinned cruelly. Byzar joined his men in their crime.
Jamila kept walking from wall to wall. She tried to blot out the screams, she tried to ignore them. But as she spoke her prayers her voice wavered. Her words of hope and justice rang hollow. Tears ran down her face. But she would not stop.
Meset was not as strong as the Reclaimers. He was an old man, who until Khalim’s purges had led a sheltered life of scholarship and reflection. He could not bear the screams. The reality of their imminent death fell upon him all at once. He turned away from the wall and fell to the floor with his hands over his ears, tears streaming down his face, wailing in utter despair.
Batu tried to console him. “We must have strength, old friend. Crimes like these are precisely why we stand against our own countrymen now. We must hold true!”
“What does it matter?” Meset wailed. “We are dead, and it is all for nothing! Karuk will be destroy, the tombs defiled…Venhotek rules this land now! We are dead, all of us dead!”
“Hush yourself, Meset, we must…” said Batu, but the old man wasn’t listening.
“Do you see what they’re doing, Batu? Do you see what they’re doing to her? The poor girl, the poor, poor girl!”
Imperios scowled. The anguished cries of his beloved and the wails of the old priest rang in his ears as his eyes were fixed on the terrible deed. Anger and hatred twitched beneath his face. Fury boiled within him. He was numb with pain.
Jamila came his way, delivering her sweet prayers. Imperios did not much care for it.
“Be silent.” he snapped as she passed. Jamila bowed her head, and went on in silence. “Be silent!” he shouted at the old priest Meset, and Batu desperately tried to quieten him down.
Optimus turned in a flash. “Imperios IV, you will silence yourself first and foremost.” he called sternly. Regardless of the circumstances, he would not tolerate ill-discipline.
Imperios scowled, silently. Then, without warning, her limped over to the wall and began to clamber it, terrible pain on his face whenever he put weight on his injured leg.
“Imperios IV, what in Hatra’s name are you doing?” Optimus called after him. Imperios didn’t listen. He had his sights set on Khalim, on the altar…He trudged over the wall and began a long, gruelling march toward the Arcite camp.
“Imperios IV, I order you to return to your station!” Optimus demanded as he trooped over the wall himself and stormed after him.
Imperios’ limp slowed him down. Optimus caught up to him soon enough, and he stood directly in his path. Imperios kept his furious gaze ahead of
him, refusing to meet Optimus’ eyes. Even so, he stopped where he was.
“Imperios IV, you will return to your post at once, or I will have you executed for desertion.” Optimus ordered.
“No.” Imperios glowered, slowly lifting his gaze to meet Optimus’. Optimus was at first furious at this dissent. But he allowed this to subside as he looked upon the poor lad, tears streaming from his eyes.
He took on a more fatherly tone this time. “I will forgive this indiscretion. This time. But I caution you not to do it again. Come, we will discuss the matter in the catacombs.”
Imperios relented. He lowered his gaze again and turned back towards Karuk. He hobbled back there, helped along the way by Optimus, each step taking him further away from poor Aysha.
Zamon chuckled as he watched them return to Karuk. By the time they were out of sight, back beyond the wall, Aysha’s cries had grown silent. She could not survive much more.
Zamon turned to his King. “The time is now, my King. Send her to the underworld to serve for all eternity in Venhotek’s harem.”
Khalim rose from his throne and strolled over to the altar with a casual gait. A Guardsmen kneeled before him, presenting him with a kopesh.
Khalim took it. He stood before Aysha for a moment and inspected her with reptilian curiosity. Aysha did not scream as she saw him looming over her, nor when he raised the kopesh overhead.
The blade fell.
Khalim observed the girl’s dead body as it lay splayed out on the altar, head cocked like a curious hound. He handed the blooded kopesh back to the Guardsman and lifted the girl’s head off the altar. He looked into her hazel eyes as if studying a tapestry. Then he strolled a few paces nearer to Karuk and he tossed the girl’s head in that direction. It landed in the sand, facing Karuk. There it would remain.
Imperios curled up in a ball in the burial chamber, half-lit by a burning torch on the wall. Optimus kneeled down beside him and put a firm hand on his shoulder.
“It is a terrible thing for a man to see.” spoke Optimus. “I can understand you would be affected by it. It is only human, Imperios IV. But we must remain above such things – endure such terrors, that we may continue to serve Hatra.”
Imperios’ fingers rubbed along the dusty ground, feeling the round-hewn rock, imagining he was running his hands through Aysha’s hair once more, or feeling her soft skin. “What does it matter now?” he said through a dry throat. He turned to Optimus with tears in his eyes. “Now that she is gone?”
Optimus stood and sighed, arms folded. “Love, is it? You would have been wise to avoid it, though that is not always easy, I grant. As you are now learning, love is a distraction and a source of pain. For us Reclaimers the yearning for love can never be fulfilled. You might love, but you can never be loved back.”
Imperios wore a macabre grin. “No. You’re wrong. I have loved, and been loved.”
Optimus’ eyes thinned. “You broke your holy vows?”
“Yes.” hissed Imperious, turning away. “And I would do so a thousand times again.”
Optimus shook his head and rubbed his brow. “You have put me in a difficult position, Imperios IV. You vowed to love Hatra and Hatra alone. I will have to strip you of your place in our Order. But, like Osuna, I will not stop you from fighting here, for the cause is not yet lost.”
“Fuck the cause.” snapped Imperios, turning to him with a ferocious snarl. “Fuck the Reclaimers. Fuck Hatra. She is gone. That is all that matters.”
Optimus fumed. His fists clenched. But he took a few moments to regain himself. “I will tolerate no blasphemy in Karuk while I still…”
“You shall have to tolerate nothing more from me, Optimus.” winced Imperios as he heaved himself back onto his feet. “I will remain in Karuk no more. I’m sorry for the disgrace I have caused to our Order. And yet…Also, I am not.”
Optimus said nothing. He remained silent as he watched Imperios hobble off out of the burial chamber and into the catacombs beyond.
By the time Imperios emerged from the catacombs, there was silence. No screams. No whimpering cries from Meset, who now sat in sombre silence. No prayers from Jamila. That meant she was gone.
Imperios sighed, turned first to the heavens and then back towards the Arcite camp, and then limped on towards the wall. As he did so he dropped his shield in the sand. He took off his helmet and tossed it aside. He winced as he removed his breastplate and let that fall to the ground too. He took two spears from a bundle as he passed and headed for the wall.
Optimus emerged from the catacombs and watched him hobble off to face his fate. This time, he would not try and stop him. He no longer answered to him, only to Hatra’s mercy.
Drumnos saw him coming towards the wall. “Imperios, what are you doing? Why have you discarded your armour?” he asked as Imperios approached the wall and peered over the top. He saw Nephys on her steed, trotting towards that section of the wall.
Imperios didn’t turn to Drumnos as he left, but he did speak to him briefly. “You are a good man, Drumnos. I enjoyed knowing you. Farewell.”
“Imperios, wait!” Drumnos was about to clamber over the wall to stop his friend, but Optimus put a firm hand on his shoulder.
Drumnos turned to him. Optimus shook his head in sombre silence, and they both watched as Imperios staggered out into the desert, headed for Nephys.
Imperios winced with every heavy step, his wounded leg complaining incessantly, but he pressed on. There was an empty, crushing blackness within him which he was eager to be rid of. The sun bore down bright, making his brow sweat and his breaths heavy. He saw Nephys turn and see him. She pulled at the reins of her steed and began to trot towards him.
As they drew nearer her steed built up speed, entering a canter. Once she was within his range, Imperios launched a spear. He cried out as he put weight on his leg, and the spear flew well, but Nephys ducked in the saddle and it flew over her head.
Imperios steadied himself, his whole body trembling with exertion, pain and adrenaline. He marked his target again as Nephys kicked her steed into a gallop, and readied his second spear. He hefted it back, closed his eyes in prayer briefly, and then launched it at point blank range.
Nephys ducked again, swerving in the saddle, and the spear flew past. In a couple more strides she was upon him. He poleaxe swung out as she galloped past at full speed. The axe sheared his neck. Imperios fell.
Nephys tugged at the reins and her steed reared up, neighing, as her grim eyes turned once more to the Reclaimers on the wall.
“A fine kill.” remarked Khalim as he returned to his throne to recline and watch events play out.
“Indeed, my liege. Now the real fun begins.” grinned Byzar.
“Advance!” howled Nephys, her bloodied poleaxe raised overhead.
“They come. We stand.” spoke Optimus.
“Arooo!” howled the men on his section of the wall, and the cry spread to the other parts of the wall one after another. He and the Reclaimers readied their spears and raised their shields.
The Arcite army advanced in good order. They came for all walls at once to spread the defenders thin. The front-most combatants were heavily-armoured cataphracts, all dismounted, fighting with scimitars.
As the Arcites neared the charred and decaying bodies which surrounded Karuk, Optimus gave the order.
“Spears!” he cried, and the Reclaimers began to launch volleys of spears. They hit hard, sending men falling amongst the dead, but the cataphract armour gave them far more staying power than the standard levies. Sometimes they were able to pull the spears from their armour and continue on unscathed. They marched on through the storm.
The first wave of cataphracts charged as they neared the wall, and they clambered over it and attacked the Reclaimers behind. Fighting was fierce at once. The Arcites’ scimitars slammed into bronze shields. Reclaimer falchions hacked at the armour of the cataphracts, but it was so thick they had to practically pin their enemies down and remove the face-covering av
entail from their helmets before they could deliver the coup de grace.
As the cataphracts struggled to gain a foothold on the wall, the second line of Arcites stopped and waited for their moment to strike. Nephys oversaw the assault from atop her steed, peering down upon the Reclaimers with calculating disdain.
Drumnos pushed against a cataphract with his shield and Osuna, beside him, rammed his spear into the man’s flank. His armour took most of the impact, so the cataphract swung his scimitar wildly even as the spear bit. Drumnos finished him off by ramming his falchion up and under his helmet’s aventail.
A cataphract hurled himself at Optimus from atop the wall. Optimus let the man fall onto his shield, and then he pushed him off and onto the ground, at the mercy of half a dozen stabbing Reclaimer falchions. He blocked the scimitar of another cataphract and ducked, crying “Hammer!” A shield-breaker behind him swung his massive sledgehammer, pulverising the cataphract’s body within his armour.
Mamatu, Badassoroi of the Reclaimers, swerved aside of a scimitar and rammed his sword into the eye of the cataphract who wielded it, who fell back howling and clutching at his bleeding socket. Another was floored with a sword in his gut, blood spewing out as it was ripped out again.
The Reclaimers were holding the cataphracts back, but gradually the Arcites gained a foothold atop the wall. As men got a firm purchase on the wall they would sheathe their scimitars and men at the bottom of the wall would hand up xyston lances, which they used as pikes to drive the Reclaimers back from the wall. Gradually the Arcites managed to bring more and more of these pikes into play, and the Reclaimers had no choice but to back off as the pikes probed at them, slamming into shield and bodies. As they gave ground the Arcites gradually began to clamber over the wall.
It was a well organised assault. Those who fought in the front rank retired when exhausted. This was inevitable in the stifling heat and while wearing heavy armour which a man would really only hope to wear when he had a horse to carry him. The reserves would take their place, levies who were more lightly armoured than the cataphracts, but with the Reclaimers driven back from the walls they could make their numbers tell.
“Hold them off, men! No surrender!” cried Optimus, turning aside a spear before swinging his falchion through the face of its wielder.
“Holding up ok there, Drumnos?” panted Osuna, backing off from half a dozen razor-sharp pikes.
Drumnos hurled a spear over Osuna’s shoulder, which slammed into a pikeman and sent him tumbling from the wall, screaming. “As well as can be expected, Osuna. Keep them at bay with your spear!”
“I will try…” heaved Osuna, jabbing the spear threateningly towards a gang of advancing men, trying to fend them off.
The priests watched all of this from the Mausoleum with grim resignation. Jamila stood beside the burning brazier – she was determined that her light would go out before it did.
Nephys decided the time was right to enter the fray. She kicked her steed, and it galloped up to the wall and leapt, clearing it with a clean jump. As she landed, Nephys’ poleaxe swung out, the axe cleaving off a Reclaimer’s head.
Nephys pulled at the reins and the horse kicked, braying ferociously. Once calmed, she dismounted, handing the reins to a subordinate.
She scanned the Reclaimers nearby and saw a strong pocked of resistance against the advancing pikes of the cataphracts and the spears of the levies.
As she strode onwards to engage her enemies they saw her come, and marking her distinctive armour they charged at her, keen to strike the head from the serpent.
Nephys fought them, and as she fought she kept advancing implacably onwards even as she drove a bloody swathe through her enemies.
The first came, a battle-prayer on his lips, thrusting with his falchion. Nephys ducked aside of it and swept her poleaxe around, severing his leg above the greave. As he fell in a heap of screaming flesh she swung the hammer head into the shield of the next one, buckling the bronze and sending him sprawling from the power of the blow. She finished off these floored foes one after another, ramming her spike into the neck of the first, cutting short his cries of pain, and as for the second she pulverised his helmet, skull and brain with a strike of her hammer.
Nephys swerved, anticipating the falchion swing of the next man, and she rammed the spike of her poleaxe into his gut just below the breastplate. The force of the blow lifted the man from his feet, and Nephys’ thrust sent him flying off the end of the spike and rolling across the sand.
Two came at once. The first cursed her as he swung his falchion. Nephys blocked it with the haft of her weapon, then pushed him back and swung her hammer double handed to smash the raised shield of the second man before he could thrust with his spear. As this man tumbled she stepped back, and the first’s falchion bit only air. She brought her weapon around, and the hammer smashed his knee and sent him flying head over heels. The second man thrust with his spear, but Nephys grabbed the haft and dragged it aside, ramming her poleaxe spike into his neck, dark eyes fixed on her foe’s final, gasping breaths as she forced him down into the sand.
The first man, his leg ruined, was easy prey. Nephys brought the axe head down, shearing bronze and the skull beneath it. The man’s split head spat blood as she wrenched the weapon free.
Nephys caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she ducked back as a spear flew towards her. A battle-cry rang in her ears even as she caught the haft of the flying spear. In a shot she threw it again, aiming at the shield-breaker who was charging at her with his kopesh raised overhead. The spear was thrown with such force that it pierced his bronze breastplate and sent him flying backwards in a heap.
The man who threw the spear charged at her with his falchion raised, howling a prayer to Hatra. Nephys sent him to join her, bringing the hammer down upon him, crushing his head even as he stood. His body flomped to the floor moments later.
Nephys grunted as she swung her poleaxe at the man who came next. But this time, her assailant skipped past the swinging weapon and spun bronze swords deftly in his hands. She sensed that this one would be a sterner challenge.
Nephys and Mamatu looked each other up and down as they began to circle one another, slowly, weapons ready, even as Arcites and Reclaimers alike charged towards them. Their duel would take place with the annoyance of constant interruption.
Mamatu leaped at Nephys with his swords lashing in swooping arcs, ducking and weaving, never still for a second. Nephys blocked the strikes she could with the haft of her poleaxe, and turned the rest aside with her bronze gauntlets. Her counter-attack was slow by comparison and Mamatu swerved aside of it.
Before Nephys could strike again she had to block the falchion of an advancing Reclaimer, and smash her hammer into his face to floor him. Mamatu, for his part, swung his swords through the necks of two advancing spearmen, who both tumbled to the ground with streaks of blood spitting out of them.
Mamatu thrust. Nephys blocked it. He swung. Nephys turned it aside. She rammed her spike at him, baring her teeth, and he dodged aside of it.
More interlopers. Another unwelcome interruption. Nephys ducked aside of a thrown spear, and ripped open a man’s neck with her axe. She then skipped back from Mamatu’s swinging swords, which whooshed past her face, and she felt the rush of air as they did so.
Mamatu had no time to press his attack, having to jump back to avoid a cataphract’s swinging scimitar, before ramming both swords into the man’s neck through his jangling iron veil.
As they fought there, right in the thick of the melee, bodies piled up around them. Eventually everyone else backed off, seeing that the only one who could best these two was each other, and they contented themselves with watching from afar, egging on their champion or brawling with other enemies nearby.
Mamatu glared into Nephys’ grim eyes as they circled again, trying to suss out her next move. He decided to be unpredictable, to catch her off guard.
Those watching gasped as Mamatu charged full pe
lt towards her, hurling a sword as he did so. It whistled through the air, spinning. Nephys was taken aback by this audacious move, and only just managed to jerk her head aside in time. The sword smashed into her face guard with a white flash, sending her staggering back. By this point Mamatu had picked up the shield of a fallen comrade and was upon her.
Seeing the shield, Nephys swung her hammer at it, buckling it. But the shield was merely Mamatu’s ruse to shield him from her sight, and he discarded it as the hammer hit. He rolled along the ground as the smashed shield fell into the sand, and he rose up behind her and stabbed his sword into her flank beneath the breastplate.
Nephys cried out as the blade bit, grabbing it with her armoured hand. Mamatu was unable to drive it deeper or wrench it free, such was the strength of Nephys’ grip, and he had to let go of it and back off as Nephys swung her weapon at him.
Those watching gasped, thinking it might be a crucial blow. The Reclaimers cheered and praised Hatra as Nephys pulled the sword from her flank, its tip glistening with her blood, and she threw it down incredulously.
Mamatu allowed himself a satisfied grin. It seemed the Lioness of Arcon would prove no more of a challenge than any of her countrymen. Mamatu re-armed, choosing a bronze straight-sword and a falchion from fallen comrades, and he stood opposite her, ready. She scowled as she readied her weapon and prepared for his next charge.
Mamatu would not leave her waiting long. He charged at her, swords spinning in his hands.
But Nephys knew how to be unpredictable, too. Moments before he struck, she roared, hurling her poleaxe through the air. It smashed into Mamatu as he charged, making his breastplate rattle. It was a clumsy blow, but it did the trick, sending Mamatu sprawling to the ground. He fell flat on his back, and the air was knocked from his lungs. One of the swords fell from his grasp, though he managed to keep hold of the other one. Cue Arcite cheers, and Reclaimer holding of breath.
Mamatu struggled to get to his feet, but Nephys was upon him. A right cross saw her bronze fist slamming into his jaw, sending blood and teeth flying across the send and flooring him once more.
Nephys kneeled on Mamatu’s chest to pin him down, and as he swung his sword at her she swatted it aside with her armoured forearm, sending it flying from his grasp. Then she smashed her fist into his face again, smashing what few teeth he had left into the back of his throat.
Mamatu fought back and struggled against her strength, a bloody, toothless snarl upon his face as his hateful black eye glared up at her. He turned his head, trying to reach out for the sword which lay in the sand beside him…
The fist came once more, and this time Mamatu stopped moving, and slumped down in the sand, out cold.
Nephys bared her teeth and howled as she heaved her poleaxe overhead, and drove it down into Mamatu’s neck. His eyes flashed open, briefly, but there was no life in them. He was dead.
The Badassoroi has met his match in an even badassier foe, it seems. Mamatu got what he wanted in the end. A glorious death at the hands of the mightiest of Hatra’s enemies.
Nephys lifted her head, wrenched her poleaxe free and regained her breath. She scanned the melee. She saw her troops pushing the Reclaimers back further and further, gradually, step by step. They suffered many casualties at the hands of the elite warrior-monks, but Reclaimers fell too, speared on pikes or cut apart by scimitars as Arcite numbers began to tell.
Nephys gestured to her subordinate, and he brought her her steed. She mounted up and raised her gore-red poleaxe overhead. “Drive them back! Leave none alive!” she howled. The Arcites cheered as they pressed the attack.
Optimus saw that his men were losing ground. He saw the advancing thickets of pikes, the endless Arcite reinforcements surging over the walls. His men, fighting bravely, but inevitably faltering, were speared on the ground by advancing Arcites when they fell. More and more wounded Reclaimers were being dragged back to the Mausoleum by their comrades. There, Jamila prayed for them as the brazier still burned bright. Optimus knew that they could no longer defend all of Karuk. They didn’t have the men.
“Back! Back to the Mausoleum! We hold the Mausoleum!” cried Optimus. The Reclaimers responded with a gruff “Arooo!”. They regrouped, locked their shields, and backed off from their Arcite foes back towards the Mausoleum. The Arcites seemed reluctant to press their advantage, still wary of the Reclaimer falchions and held at bay by the spears they hurled from their ranks.
Nephys watched as the Reclaimers backed off. She, atop her steed, led her men in a slow and orderly advance towards the Mausoleum, coming at it from all sides.
The surviving Reclaimers backed off into the Mausoleum to join the priests, Jamila and the wounded men there. There were barely enough of them left to fill out the chapel. Forty, perhaps, half of them fit to fight, all of them exhausted.
Those who could stand formed a shield wall blocking the entrance to the Mausoleum. Optimus watched from the front line as the Arcites marched ever closer, forming a ring of pikes around it.
Nephys raised her poleaxe. “Halt!” she cried, and the Arcites stopped at once. Pikes were rested on shoulders and shields were slung onto backs.
“Why do they stop?” wondered Drumnos, sweat dripping from his brow, blood dripping from his falchion.
“See on the horizon? More troops come.” said Osuna.
“They don’t have enough already?”
“It must be the Azurian Guard. Khalim himself is coming to watch us die.”
Optimus saw this, too, a column of troops advancing from the Arcite camp, a bronze ship sailing on the sand with Khalim as their golden figurehead.
Optimus addressed his opposite number. “You are a brilliant general and an honourable woman, Commander Nephys, Lioness of Arcon. Will you let my men say their prayers before the final battle?”
“My orders are to await the King’s arrival. I will not attack before then.” Nephys responded.
Optimus turned to his men and spoke. “These are your final moments, men. Twenty minutes, I would estimate, on the basis that the Azurian Guard are piss-poor soldiers who wouldn’t know a hard day’s marching if it bit them on the scrotum, and they’ve got to lug around their golden dandy to boot.” he said, to chuckles from his weary men. Optimus allowed himself a few seconds to look over the faces of his men, depleted yet resolute, and feel a swelling of pride. “Say your prayers. Kiss your battle-brothers. The end is near.”
So the Reclaimers dropped their heavy shields and sat with their battle-brothers, speaking kind words to one another, saying prayers and thanking Hatra for the years she had given them in her service. The old priests guided them in prayer. Jamila would join them…But first she had to find her friends.
She beamed as she set eyes upon Osuna and Drumnos, and the sight of her smile lifted them both. She ran up to each in turn, first Osuna and then Drumnos. She lifted the helmet from their head and put it on the ground. Then she put her hands on their cheeks and put her forehead tenderly against theirs.
When she was done she stepped back, tears welling up in her eyes. “You made it to the end. Both of you. I am glad.”
Drumnos and Osuna smiled, but their smiles were melancholy. Neither could find the right words.
“I need to go now. I have to lead the prayers.” said Jamila, trying not to choke up.
“I understand, Jamila. Do what you have to do.” said Osuna with a smile which was almost convincing.
Drumnos smiled too, and he nodded his head. “Pray for us too, Jamila.”
“I have prayed for you both a hundred times today already…But I suppose another one won’t hurt.” she said as tears finally rolled down her cheeks. She turned away from them and went to fulfil her duties, looking back at them fleetingly before returning to her prayers.
Osuna and Drumnos sat down with their backs against the wall of the Mausoleum. It was an odd situation. The Arcites waited silently outside, as still as an army of clay warriors. Khalim’s war-party grew gradually closer. Optimus stood, t
all and impressive as ever, watching Khalim approach. But within the Mausoleum, the men joked, laughed and prayed.
“How do you feel?” Osuna asked.
Drumnos thought it over for a moment before answering. “Proud. But scared. And regretful.”
“I can understand all of those. What do you regret?”
“That I did not have more years to serve Hatra. That I could not fight more battles for her.”
“You only fought one battle, true. But what a battle it was, and what an impression you made. To be promoted to lancer on your first engagement…I gather that’s a real feat.”
“Yes, it is, but…” Drumnos shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed. “I had imagined that one day I would be Drumnos I, leading out the Reclaimer from Arkataka as Lieutenant.”
“You never dreamed of becoming Optimus?”
Drumnos laughed and shook his head, casting his eyes towards Optimus, tall and mighty, his stoic gaze fixed on the approaching enemies. “In my dreams, Optimus lives forever.”
A thought suddenly struck Osuna. “Which Drumnos are you now, anyway?”
“I was Drumnos XI when the sun rose.”
Osuna scanned the Reclaimers huddled in the Mausoleum. “There can’t be more than forty left. Surely ten of them aren’t Drumnoses?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so.”
“Maybe you are Drumnos I after all?”
“You reckon?”
“Well…There’s only one way to find out I suppose.”
Drumnos shrugged his shoulders. Then he called out “Drumnos.” There was silence for a few moments, and Drumnos thought he might be the last of them.
“Yeah?” came a call from the back of the Mausoleum. This other Drumnos had a hewed leg covered in bloody bandages.
Drumnos grinned. “Which Drumnos are you?”
“I was Drumnos VIII when the sun rose.”
“You are Drumnos I now, then.”
Drumnos I grinned. “And you are?”
“Drumnos II.” he said, and the two men laughed. “But I will be Drumnos I before the day is through!”
“Oh you think so?” laughed Drumnos I, and the Reclaimers all laughed as the two men joshed about. “I might only have one leg, but I’ll bet there’s only space for one foot up King Khalim’s arse!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that – I’ve heard some interesting rumours!” joked Osuna, to more laughter.
“Your days are numbered, Drumnos I! You mark my words!” beamed Drumnos II.
“We’ll see, Drumnos II. We’ll see.” smirked Drumnos I.
Optimus laughed along with his men. But time was almost up. The Arcite ranks parted to allow Khalim and his Azurian Guard through. Optimus set his eyes upon this terrible nemesis. Byzar marched beside him and Zamon rode ahead, howling monstrous prayers to the Old Gods from atop his black steed.
“The end comes for you, heathens! Venhotek shall feast upon your souls, and Balkesh shall flay the flesh from your bones in the afterlife!”
“The end has come. Be ready to face it.” spoke Optimus, and those who could stand did so, and they took up arms. As Zamon came closer his tedious wittering became louder. For a while this was the only thing breaking the silence. But then, with tears in his eyes, Meset cried out.
“Bring the light!” he cried as loudly as he could muster.
At first, only a few Reclaimers responded. “Hatra’s light!”
“Reclaim the land!” called Meset.
More responses this time – Optimus led their chant. “Hatra’s land!”
“False idols!”
“Tear them down!” cried the entire legion, or what was left of it. Batu and Jamila joined in too, all of them trying to let their fervour drown out their fear. Tears ran down Jamila’s face as she felt the warmth of the fire in the brazier and readied herself to be taken by Hatra into the afterlife.
“The wildmen!”
“Destroy them!” they cried, drowning out Zamon’s dark curses.
As their chant went on, Osuna had his eyes set on Jamila. “We can’t let them take her. Not like they took Aysha.” he whispered to Drumnos.
“Stand firm!”
“Hatra protects!”
“Yes.” whispered Drumnos.
“We may have to force her…But if it means keeping her from harm…If it means sparing her?” said Osuna, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Give your lives!”
“Hatra’s lives!”
“I don’t know if I can do that.” admitted Drumnos. “Can you?”
“I don’t know.” said Osuna as tears ran down his face.
“Take their lives!”
“Hatra’s foes!”
“We might have to, though. We might have to do it.” said Osuna.
“Ok. I will do it. I will spare your from it.” resolved Drumnos.
“Arooo!”
“Arooo!”
“Thank you, Drumnos. I haven’t known you for long, but I have enjoyed knowing you all the same. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Osuna.”
The chanting stopped. Meset turned to Batu. “Goodbye old friend. I’ll see you in the heavens.”
“Or in hell, old bean!” grinned Batu. “Who knows, maybe the deranged cultists of Venhotek were right, and we should have been sacrificing virgins all along!” He and his friend chuckled as they shared a final handshake.
At last, Khalim’s column came to a halt and all were silent. Optimus stepped forth as Khalim stepped off of his palanquin and stood a dozen paces away from his nemesis. A handful of Guard archers aimed their bows at Optimus as he drew nearer, but Byzar gestured for them to lower their weapons.
Khalim turned to Nephys, sat upon her steed overlooking proceedings. “Commander Nephys, my beautiful brave Lioness, if only I’d had the foresight to trust you entirely from the start these savages would have been conquered in a day.”
“Thank you, my King.” said Nephys, bowing her head.
Khalim turned to the Reclaimers and addressed his enemies. “Reclaimers, swords of the she-devil Hatra. I am a pious man, and so I hate your blasphemies. But I am a reasonable and civilised man also, and so I can also admire your bravery and potency. But my admiration for your élan will not cause me to show you undue mercy. Karuk shall fall. The graves shall be smashed and the bodies of the cursed martyrs, charlatans and goat-fuckers all, shall be crushed into dust. You shall all be butchered here, drained of your blood, and your corpses raped by my Azurian Guard.”
Byzar grimaced. Nephys snorted. “Now that I’d like to see.” she smirked.
“Not going to happen.” he growled beneath his breath.
“No, I suppose defenceless girls are more your type.”
“Do not play holier-than-thou with me, ‘Lioness’.” Byzar scowled. “It is you who masterminded the ruin of Karuk, not I.”
“We will face our deaths gladly, oh mighty Khalim, oh King of Kings. May I merely…” addressed Optimus.
“You will be silent in the presence of the King! Desist your blasphemies at once, heathen, or…” howled Zamon.
“Silence yourself, Zamon!” snapped Khalim, before turning back to Optimus. Zamon had a face like thunder. “Let us hear the words of the barbarian commander. Let us enjoy the rustic wisdom of this noble savage. Speak, oh mighty, firm-limbed heathen, and I shall listen.”
“Thank you, wise King.” bowed Optimus. “You have bested us in battle, and have proven that Arcite arms are stronger than our own. You have won the test of the sword. May I propose, then, a test of the faith?”
“A test of the faith? What is this nonsense?” blurted Zamon.
Khalim clapped his hands together. “A test of the faith? How intriguing! Do go on, oh noble savage.”
“The fire of Hatra burns within her Mausoleum.” spoke Optimus, gesturing towards the brazier. “Anointed by a priestess of Hatra, it is holy fire which will smite Hatra’s enemies, but for those loyal to Hatra it will take them, peacefully, into the afterlife.”
>
Khalim turned to Zamon, who blustered. “Hatra is a dead god. Her holy fire is nought to men of the true faith.”
“Then you have nothing to fear…” grinned Optimus, and Zamon looked suddenly perturbed.
“Go on, fair-featured savage. What pagan ritual do you have in mind?” asked Khalim.
“I wish to prove the existence and power of Hatra. I will show you how her flames harm those who defile her sanctuaries and rape her priestesses. But those who are true to the faith are unharmed. I shall reach into the fire, and though Hatra shall take me, I will feel no pain. All you need do is choose a man of the Old Faith to do the same…”
“Blasphemy!” screeched Zamon.
“Oh do shut up, Zamon!” snapped Khalim. “You are truly tiresome, you black-eye old hag. All you have to do is reach into the bloody fire! Is that really so objectionable?”
“What? You want me to…” stuttered Zamon.
“Yes, I want you to reach into the fire and prove that Hatra has no power over faithful men! Now do get on with it! I am eager to see this place levelled.” said Khalim, testily. Nephys and Byzar allowed themselves a little smirk as Zamon went pale.
Zamon stepped down from his steed, a look of bewilderment upon his face. Optimus beckoned for him to join him at the brazier, politely and with a congenial smile. Jamila took her place beside the flame.
“I don’t understand, Optimus.” she whispered to him.
“I have a plan, sweet Jamila. It is a long-shot, but it just might work.” he said with a smile. “You will have to trust me.”
“What must I do?” she asked, apprehensively.
“Say a prayer. Nothing more.”
Zamon was making his way towards the Mausoleum with some trepidation. “Is this really wise, my King? To summon the goddess Hatra is a dark and forbidden ritual indeed…”
“Nonsense, Zamon.” dismissed Khalim, with a wave of his hand. “Hatra is a dead god. What better time to prove Venhotek’s supremacy? Now be off with you to the fire – I tire of this waiting.”
Zamon could hardly disobey his King. He made his way up to the brazier, and all in attendance watched with bated breath, eager to see what Optimus had in mind, eager to see which of the gods would reign supreme.
“Oh no…” mumbled Meset, covering his mouth.
“What is it?” said Batu beneath his breath.
“I see what he is doing…Optimus is going to sacrifice himself!”
Zamon and Optimus stood on opposite sides of the brazier. Optimus held out his hands over the fire, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth for a moment, then opening them again and fixing them on Zamon.
“Take my hands, infidel.” said Optimus in a low growl, enjoying seeing the tables turned on the foul zealot.
Zamon’s hands shook as he held them out over the fire. He didn’t have the courage to give them to Optimus, so Optimus grabbed them, and Zamon winced as he held them in his vice-like grip and closed his eyes.
“Now, Jamila.” he said softly as he took in the warm breeze, and the warmth of Hatra’s light.
Jamila closed her eyes and raised her hands over the fire also. Then she spoke the words of prayer as powerfully as she could. “Mother Hatra, let your light shine through this fire. Let it ravage the bodies of your enemies, the heathens and the heretics. And yet, let it embalm the bodies of your loyal followers, that you may carry them, gladly, into the afterlife.”
Her words made the Arcites nervous. Many of them were god-fearing, forced by Khalim to destroy their shrines to Hatra. Some still worshipped her in secret, and were inspired by Jamila’s words. Khalim, for his part, was unmoved. Zamon was wide-eyed and dripping with sweat.
Optimus smiled broadly and chuckled to himself. It was a laugh which made Zamon’s stomach sink, and made his testes attempt to scurry back up into his body. It was a laugh of madness.
“Burn, zealot.” laughed Optimus, and with that he thrust their hands deep into the fire.
Zamon howled in agony as the flames spread along his robes. Optimus kept their hands there until the fire spread, and both of them were fully ablaze, and only then did he let the Grand Serpent go.
Jamila backed off in shock. The priests couldn’t watch. The Arcites recoiled in horror as they saw Zamon flailing about, bitten by the holy flames, screaming in terrible agony. The Reclaimers held their nerve, and they watched with stoic grit.
Optimus kept his hands in the fire a while longer. He let the flames spread, claiming his flesh, which belonged, by all rights, to Hatra. Aflame, he turned slowly towards Khalim, palms outstretched as if to take him by the hand. He didn’t recoil or scream in agony. He simply walked, slowly, down the steps towards Khalim.
Once Optimus was a few paces from Khalim some of the Azurian Guard were about to step in, but Khalim dismissed them. The King, impassive until now, set his eyes first on Zamon, who writhed in agony and screamed blood-curdling cries, and then on Optimus, aflame, and yet still and silent, at one with Hatra’s light.
Suddenly, Khalim winced. He recoiled in sudden pain. The flames brought back memories, as did Zamon’s anguished wails. He remembered the pain of the fire, and started clawing at his golden armour as if to scratch the scarred flesh beneath it. As he looked into the flames which engulfed Optimus, Hatra’s Light incarnate, he remembered the fear he felt for his own mortality as the flames bit him, and his fear for Hatra’s wroth, for she was a vengeful god who would surely punish him for his crimes. He remembered his fear for his own immortal soul, a fear which drove him into the arms of the Old Gods.
Their priest, Zamon, was now nought but a flaming husk. Optimus, at last, fell, first to one knee, and then face down in the sand. Even at the end he didn’t make a sound.
“Optimus…” whispered Jamila, as she too fell to her knees, tears running down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and prayed for him.
Khalim turned away. He could look into the flames no more. A quivering hand clutched at his golden breast as he began to witter to himself.
“It cannot be...The savage won the challenge of the faith. Hatra protected him from harm…The very harm which claimed me, which took beauty, which damned my soul…Hatra is not dead. Nay, she lives still, lurking in her immortal realm, mocking me, and she is mightier than all of the Old Gods combined. Venhotek can no more protect me than can Zamon…”
“Your orders, sire?” asked Byzar, perturbed by his King’s sudden loss of faith. “Shall I have the Commander lead the assault, put an end to these heretics once and for all?”
Khalim snapped out of his stupor. “Yes, yes…” he panted, out of breath. “Come, Byzar. This is cursed land. Let us be rid of this place.”
“Indeed, sire. Back to Azur, and home comforts?” suggested Byzar, with a grin.
“No. I should like to see the hills over yonder…Take in the mountain air. I have much to contemplate.”
Byzar looked over at his men, as nonplussed as he was. “Very well, my liege. Azurians, we fall out.”
Khalim sat back on his palanquin, and he and the column of Azurian Guard set off to leave Karuk once and for all.
“What would you have me do, sire?” asked Nephys, riding up to the King as he left.
Khalim seemed distant. Distracted. He gave his order with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Kill them. Destroy it.”
The order had been given. As the King and his entourage marched out of Karuk, Nephys dismounted and went to address the survivors. Barrios, now the de-facto Optimus, stepped forth from the Reclaimer ranks.
“I have orders to kill you all and destroy Karuk. I will do so.” Nephys said to him. “But in the absence of specific instructions I am at liberty to do so in a manner of my choosing. You will all die, but shall be buried with honour in accordance with Hatran rites. The tombs shall be demolished, but the bones of Jynset and the ninety two will be buried alongside you fallen Reclaimers, two generations of martyrs side by side. What say you, Reclaimer?”
“You have done the noble thing at l
ast, Commander Nephys, and I thank you for it.” spoke Barrios. “The Reclaimers shall indeed die here, alongside the martyrs of old, for those are our orders. But there are a handful among us who are not bound by those sacred vows. Let them go free and seek refuge in Calclaska.”
“So be it. They have ten minutes to make themselves known. Then, the assault will begin.” replied Nephys, and that was that.
Barrios turned first to the priests. “Pious Meset, wise Batu. You have proven your bravery and devotion to Hatra, and you were willing to die for her if that is what it came to. But I have a feeling Hatra has more in store for you yet. I implore you to leave this place, to spread the word of the Reclaimers who died here. Tell our story. Do not let our Order be forgotten.”
Meset and Batu looked at each other, and then back to Barrios, bowing. “It is a grave responsibility indeed, but one I shall take up without hesitation.” said Batu.
“From one massacre to another, old friend.” chuckled Meset in lamentation. “When will it all end?”
“When Hatra wills it, and not a moment sooner.” smiled Batu, sorrowfully.
Barrios turned next to Osuna. “Osuna, you have proven yourself a brave warrior. You may leave this place with your head held high. You are not bound by sacred vows like us Reclaimers. Live on to fight another battle, on another day.”
Osuna said nothing for a moment. He looked into the eyes of the Reclaimers around him, all watching expectantly. They were his battle-brothers now. He didn’t need long to make up his mind. “With respect, Lieutenant, I would prefer to stay.”
“Osuna, you don’t need to do this. You have a choice.” said Drumnos, softly.
“I know, Drumnos.” said Osuna, with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “And I’ve made my choice.”
“Very well.” said Barrios, bowing his head. He turned, at last, to Jamila. “Jamila, you are…”
“No.” she said, sternly, shaking her head. Tears still rolled down her cheeks. Her tears were for Optimus. She cried, too, for Drumnos and Osuna, determined to stay and die here. And for all the others who would sacrifice themselves that day.
“Jamila, listen to me…” Osuna said, stepping forward.
“I said no. I will not change my mind.”
Barrios persisted. “The battlefield is no place for a woman. The end of a pike is no place for a priestess either. Pray for us. Give our last rites when we are buried alongside the martyrs. And then go forth and spread the word of Hatra. No sacred duty binds you to this place. You have done your duty already.”
“No.” she said, again, defiantly.
“So be it.” relented Barrios, and he turned to address the men. “The assault will begin anew soon. Ready yourselves.”
As the Reclaimers readied their arms and armour, the priests made their way out of the Mausoleum, exchanging tearful goodbyes with Jamila as they went, trying briefly to convince her to change her mind, but their words were futile and fell on deaf ears. She had been determined to die there from the start.
“Such a waste.” lamented Meset as he and Batu made their way towards Nephys to surrender to her.
“She has made up her mind, old friend. She is brave and devoted, as a priestess ought to be.” said Batu.
As the men around him readied for battle, Drumnos approached Jamila. She shook her head and turned away. “Drumnos, I will not be swayed!”
“I know, Jamila. You have made up your mind. I can see that, and I will not try to change it.” he said, softly. “I just wondered if…Maybe you would allow me a little moment of prayer before the end. Do you remember when we first met? I thought you were so beautiful, I almost thought I had stumbled upon Hatra herself! Will you pray with me there, in the altar in the catacombs?”
“You are so young, Drumnos.” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We are both so young. Yes, Drumnos. Let’s pray together one last time.”
She led Drumnos towards the stairway leading down into the catacombs. As they descended Drumnos caught the eye of Osuna, who had been watching all this from afar.
“You’ll have to guide me, Drumnos.” said Jamila, sniffing back tears. “It is so dark in here, and I can’t remember which is the altar where we first met…”
Jamila screamed as something grabbed her. She couldn’t see what it was in the dark. She struggled, but she was so weak compared to the two men who grappled her.
“Get off me! Let me go!” she protested, kicking feebly as they carried her through the darkness.
“I’m sorry, Jamila, I’m so sorry…” pleaded Drumnos, who had his arms around her arms and torso.
“You will hate us for now, Jamila. But it’s for the best. You’ll see.” said Osuna, who had her by the legs.
“I’ve made up my mind! It is my choice! I will die here, and lay beside Jynset and the martyrs in death!” she screamed as she struggled against them.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of it. It is selfish of me, but…I love you, Jamila. I can’t see you die.” said Drumnos as he and Osuna bundled her into one of the crypts.
“Quick, heave that stone slab…” instructed Osuna.
Jamila was disorientated. She struggled to regain her footing, clawed against the cold stone floor. She heard the scraping of stone on stone as Osuna and Drumnos heaved the slab into place, pushing it across the crypt’s entrance, blotting out what little light shone through there.
“Let me out! Let me out at once!” Jamila screamed, tears streaming down her face, as she thrashed feebly against the stone.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” pleaded Drumnos through his tears.
“Come, Drumnos, it will do no good to linger here.” implored Osuna.
“I hate you! I hate you both! Curse you! Hatra will curse you! She will punish you for this!” Jamila screamed. She was so enraged, and her cries of despair were so loud, that she didn’t hear them leave the catacombs to rejoin their comrades. She thrashed about, her foot kicking out and smashing one of the urns that cluttered up the crypt.
Her cries stopped suddenly as realisation and regret hit her. There was silence. They were gone. “Drumnos?” she said, her voice weak and full of tears. “Osuna? Come back, please. Please come back. Don’t take my curses onto the battlefield…Come back and let me bless you.”
There was no reply. They were gone. She slumped down onto the cold stone floor and tears fell from her eyes.
Above ground, Nephys saw that the Reclaimers were ready for her. They locked shields and howled a fierce “Arooo!” The priests, held hostage by two cataphracts some distance away, watched on in solemn silence. Drumnos, shaken by what had happened in the crypt, and Osuna, grim-faced and resolute, stood ready on the front line.
There was only one way into the Mausoleum, through the wide entranceway at the front. The structure was still largely intact having avoided most of the bombardment on the second day of the siege. It would be a meat grinder, and Nephys was going to be right at the fore.
“Pikes advance!” she howled, and she and her cataphracts marched up the stairs towards the Mausoleum.
“Reclaimers, ready!” howled Barrios.
“Arooo!” came the cry.
Osuna and Drumnos stood side by side in the Reclaimer shield wall. Osuna regarded the enemy with cold eyes as he readied himself for death. Tears still fell from Drumnos’ eyes, but he had to blot out the pain quickly and focus on the battle to come.
The battle began with pikes slamming into bronze shields. The Reclaimers held firm, shields locked and ready. A few spears flew from behind the shield wall, felling pikemen. Nephys closed in. Her hammer rose and fell, smashing against bronze. The grind began. Men on both sides began to fall.
Drumnos ducked under a thrusting pike, and he swung his falchion at it to shear off the tip. The cataphract discarded it and drew his scimitar. He charged in and pushed against Drumnos’ shield, but he held firm and rammed his falchion into the man’s neck, shearing his aventail.
As the pikes probed the Reclaimer shiel
d wall, scimitar-armed cataphracts charged in to push against the Reclaimers’ shields, trying to break through. The Reclaimers fought back, dragging them down and stabbing them with their falchions, then rising again to re-lock their shields.
Osuna pushed against his shield, forcing a cataphract off balance and falling back down a couple of steps. He stepped out of the shield wall for a moment, ramming his spear into his gut, before retreating back behind the shields.
“Spear!” cried Drumnos, and a spear was brought to him by a wounded battle-brother, who hobbled on a shattered leg.
Drumnos marked his target and launched it, sending another pikeman sprawling.
Nephys used her axe to hook onto the rim of a shield, and she pulled back on the haft to haul the shield-bearer over. Floored, he was impaled on three thrusting pikes. The shield wall was broken, and pikes rammed into the gap, spearing two more men behind. The Lioness’ hammer rose and fell, and she howled terrifying battle-cries. Two men fell aside, one with a buckled shield, the other with a crumpled helmet and a broken temple.
The Arcites, through weight of numbers, were starting to push back the Reclaimers and punch through their shield wall. As a shield-bearer fell, the shield-breaker behind him stepped forward and brought down his kopesh, which sheared through a cataphract like a can opener. But with the shield wall broken he was defenceless against half a dozen pikes which speared his flesh.
Barrios roared as he smashed his shield into a cataphract’s sternum, sending him tumbling head over heels down the stairs. But another cataphract was soon upon him, and he rammed his scimitar into Barrios’ thigh. He fell to one knee and howled in pain. He thrust his falchion into the gut of the enemy cataphract, who fell down dead, but moments later he was speared on a flurry of pikes.
With the front lines broken the cataphracts began to push their way through the Reclaimers. Many Arcites fell, but once they were through the front ranks they were fighting wounded Reclaimers, still deadly but not as potent.
Osuna pulled his spear free of a cataphract’s armoured gut, and as he lifted his head he saw Nephys’ poleaxe knocking a man from his feet, then slamming down again to crush his skull against the wall of the temple. He saw his chance.
Osuna charged at her, vaulting over the body of a fallen comrade. She turned to see him just in time, and as he thrusted his spear she ducked back and it whooshed past her face. She thrust out with her poleaxe, the spike ramming into Osuna’s neck. She pulled it out again and he fell, gasping for breath, blood pouring from his wound.
She didn’t get a chance to put him out of his misery, distracted by the sledgehammer of a shield-breaker. His battle-cry rang in her ears as she dodged aside of it and the hammer smashed into the wall of the temple. She swung her poleaxe and the axe hewed his leg. She rammed the spike into his gut to finish him off. This done, she wrenched her weapon free and waded deeper into the fray.
Drumnos swung his falchion three times, each time rattling the armour of his cataphract foe. Then he rammed it into his gut, and it pierced the armour at last, and he fell, adding to the many bodies piling up in the temple. Drumnos picked his head up and saw the terrible melee roiling around him. Pikes were of little use in the confines of the temple so the cataphracts had advanced with their scimitars. Then he saw Osuna, propped up against the temple wall, clutching at his wounded throat as blood poured out of it.
“Osuna!” cried Drumnos, running to his side.
Osuna said nothing. He did not have the strength, and Nephys’ spike had sheared his windpipe. Osuna’s eyes were wide and bloodshot and he looked into Drumnos’. He handed him his spear, and with what little energy he had left he pointed at Nephys’ hulking red form.
“Yes, Osuna. I will do it.” Drumnos reassured him. Drumnos dropped his shield to take Osuna’s hand as he breathed his last breath. His eyes slowly closed and his head slumped to one side.
Drumnos took in deep breaths. There would be no time for sorrow. He stood, and turned to face his foe, locked in combat with two shield-bearers. The last of the Reclaimers were being herded into a corner and cut down. There were scarcely a dozen of them left.
Half a dozen cataphracts were charging at him, scimitars raised overhead. He ignored them, and kept his eyes fixed on Nephys, who with sweeps of her hammer sent both her assailants flying.
Drumnos readied the spear and took a couple of steps forward.
Nephys turned and saw him.
The spear flew, swooping over the shoulder of one of the charging cataphracts.
Nephys had seen it just in time. She reacted fast. Her hand swooped out to catch it, but she was a moment too late.
The spear point slammed into her breastplate just as her armoured fist clasped hold of the haft.
She fell, and those around her watched as their Commander slammed down onto the stone, her bronze armour clattering about her. The helmet fell from her head as she landed hard.
Drumnos watched her fall even a scimitar rammed into his gut. He winced with the pain, and felt the air being lost from his lungs, but he kept his eyes fixed on Nephys nonetheless.
Nephys was still for a few moments, the spear sticking out of her breastplate. Drumnos hoped against hope that he had done it, that she was dead.
Then, at last, she moved. Still prone, she gripped the haft of the spear and pulled it out of her breastplate, its tip reddened with her blood.
She stood at last, tossing the spear aside, her furious gaze fixed on the Reclaimer who had dared to wound her. She saw Drumnos, punctured by a cataphract’s scimitar, and scanned the Mausoleum. The rest were all dead. There were none left to kill. So she turned back to that last, dying Reclaimer.
Drumnos watched Nephys standing there as blood oozed from his lips. No matter. He would not let it bring him down. He had done his best.
Drumnos cried out as a second scimitar rammed into his flank. But once the initial pain subsided, he began to laugh.
“Drumnos? Drumnos?” he called. There was nobody alive to respond. Nephys watched in silence, suddenly struck by a sense of loss. “I did it, then! I did it!” he laughed. “I am Drumnos I, last of the Reclaimers!”
A third scimitar rammed into his back. Drumnos winced, but this time he did not cry out. He didn’t have the strength left for that. He let himself go. He fell to the floor, impaled on three blades.
As he lay there on the temple floor, blood draining from his body, his fingertips clutched at the stone. He whispered to himself with his last breaths. “Jamila. Jamila. You are alive. You are safe.” Then his eyes closed for good.
Nephys bowed her head. The battle had been won, but it was no time to rejoice.
Jamila, entombed in her crypt, had heard the commotion of battle raging above her. But now there was silence. They were all gone now. She writhed about in the darkness, on the cold, hard, stone floor, and cried painful tears, howling with the agony of loss. Her hands clawed at the powder on the floor which had spilled out from the smashed urn. It ran through her fingers like fine sand.
Then she felt something. Something hard and smooth. A stone?
She gulped back her tears and brought it in front of her face.
At once she gasped. It seemed to glow with a light of its own. Tiny, feint little lights, invisible during the daytime, but which appear to bring comfort in times of darkness. Like hope.
She knew at once what it was. It was the Eye of Hatra. There was still hope.