A pair of palace elephants waited behind us with maces, ready to crush any human who dared to look upon the Bull-King’s radiance. I caught a perfectly painted foot but dared not look any higher.
The Bull-King spoke for many minutes, praising Ascaro, offering him titles, more slaves, new land. When he paused, soaking up the polite trumpeting that passed for elephant applause, Ascaro said “No.”
“No?” the Bull-King said, somewhere between amusement and displeasure. I felt the Bull-King’s elephants close in, and I knew that they would beat us all for Ascaro’s disrespect.
“Bull-King, I ask only one thing. Make me the Scourge.”
“But… you are old now, Ascaro,” the Bull-King said. “That should be borne by a young bull.”
“I have won Blood Meadow by strength of arms,” Ascaro said. “Your young bulls quiver before me and raise blood flag before I can close with them. I am the best, and I must be the Scourge.”
A conch horn sounded, and more elephants came running. Advisors to the Bull-King. They spoke on the sawdust for many minutes before the Bull-King gave his grace.
#
Our master now commanded the Legion and brought fire and iron in the Bull-King’s name. You know what Ascaro did, if you’ve ever walked past the poets or scurried through the Memory Hall on some errand. We brought war to the Bull-King’s enemies, brought rebel villages under his rule. We fought the mammoths of the North and the skulking creatures of the Eastern Waste, but Ascaro did not meet his end in a glorious battle.
Three long years I painted the land with the blood of the enemy. Each season we returned to Tusk and to Blood Meadow, wondering if that was the year the sawdust would drink up our lives. None were able to snatch the Legion from Ascaro, once he had his trunk firmly wrapped around that prize.
When our vassals paid their taxes and our enemies wintered away from the front, we hunted runaway slaves. The Marchlands were thick with wild tribes who’d never lived under elephant rule, but these barbarians were wily and hard to track. Worse still were places like Deeping Forest, craggy and thick-grown, hard for elephants to enter.
We spent endless hours in that damp wood, on elephant back or loping alongside, shivering and wet from the daily downpour. Everywhere I looked, I could see the shape of elephants in the trees, pushing through the thick growth, hacking branches with their axes. If there were runaway slaves here, they’d have already fled from that endless chopping sound.
Each mile was hard won, and evening brought us to a sulking camp. Scores of elephants jostled around the wine cart, snarling at each other and cursing Ascaro when he wasn’t within earshot. We Rothai huddled around the baggage train with our own beetroot grog, all the elephants were allowing us on this trip.
“We will find nothing,” Boy said, his white beard stained red from weeks of drinking the rotgut stuff. “One campfire, and it was cold ash.”
Later on, the elephants grew drunk and boastful. One of Ascaro’s lieutenants fancied himself as a poet. Even though he was so drunk he could barely stand, he belched and farted his way through a grotesque recital of the mammoth wars. This sparked off an all-out brawl between the poet and half a dozen of his listeners.
Trees fell, and blood was spilt by the time Ascaro intervened. Laying about with his armored trunk, my master separated the brawlers. “Have some pride!” he shouted. “You are Legion. Find some other way to occupy yourselves!”
By way of example, Ascaro snatched up a Rothai trying to sneak away from the melee. Gripping him by an ankle, he tossed him across the camp. Another elephant caught the wailing man, and then others joined in, tossing the warrior back and forth.
We watched in horror as first the flying man screamed in terror, then in pain as the exuberant elephants dislocated all his joints, then in horror when they simply decided to pull the man apart and see who got the biggest piece.
“No. That’s not right,” I said to Boy. “He wasn’t a pot-scrub. Rothai don’t die that way. They just don’t!”
“We die however our masters decide we die,” Boy said. “Tomorrow that could be you, or I, and that’s the way of it.”
That was the moment that I knew Ascaro would, sooner or later, turn on all of us. Better you than me, I thought. Silent and thoughtful, I considered the gloomy depths of the forest.
#
I did not trust anyone outside of my own Rothai crew. I sounded out my thoughts with Second, waiting until she was so drunk that I could deny the conversation.
“I want to see that devil bleed,” she whispered. “If you are serious, I’m with you.”
I did not trust the woman named Nails, First’s replacement. Mouse had claimed her as his wife, and she ran to his ear over the slightest things. I took care to approach Boy when neither Nails nor Mouse were around. To my surprise he wasn’t even concerned to hear about the planned murder of our master.
“You mean for us to live in that?” Boy said, eyeing off the damp forest with distaste.
“There are people in there, and they are free,” I said. “Second says she saw a boy in a tree, just watching us.”
“She saw a runaway, and didn’t say anything?” Boy said. I nodded, and knew this was the moment that the old man would either turn us in or chew the idea over in his mind.
There was the faintest of footfalls behind an old oak, the sound of a boot scuffing mouldy leaves. I put a hand to my sword-hilt and Boy stepped towards the noise, baring his rope-knife.
It was Lucky who emerged from behind the tree, and who eyed us both warily. He’d have heard every word of our palaver, and knew enough to damn us.
“You tongueless mutt,” Boy spat. “Skulking around your own crew. Hear anything interesting?”
Lucky nodded. Boy looked at me, long, considering, then he sheathed his knife with a sigh.
“Ghost has the right of it. We can escape here, but it will be a red day’s work. Can we count on you?”
Lucky frowned, and looked to the main camp. Two elephants were sparring with broken tree trunks, and the Rothai were brooding lumps, huddled around the smoky campfires. A feeling of murder hung over Ascaro’s camp, and Lucky had worked the Meadow long enough to know when to tread lightly.
“What will he take from you next?” Boy said. “A finger? A hand? That grey bastard has already decided to kill you one part at a time. I’ve seen him do it before.”
Lucky wavered by the tree, indecision on his face. He worked his lips and grunted with frustration.
“It took ten years for the last one to die,” Boy said. “A mighty Rothai, whittled away until he was a torso and a head. The house-slaves fed him, and cleaned him, but every night Ascaro would come and watch that poor idiot, struggling to eat without hands, tongue, even lips. Our master there, he’d hold his foot above that bag of meat while he ate, waiting for him to nod.”
“That Rothai lasted one month before he asked for Ascaro to crush the life out of him. He begged for his own death, and don’t think you won’t do the same.”
Lucky barked and made a rude gesture. He didn’t believe Boy. He slunk back into the camp, body tense as he waited for us to rush him.
“Easy,” Boy said, and I let go of my sword. “He can’t tell Mouse anything, not if he tries.”
I saw Lucky approach the grog-cart, and he sat down on the same log as Mouse and Nails. Our crew leader was holding court with the other Rothai bosses, who howled with laughter as the ladle of beet grog passed around their damp circle.
“He’ll ponder it some,” Lucky said. “When the moment comes, he’ll either be for or against. If he hesitates, even for a moment, kill him.”
Over at the elephant camp, the sparring match turned ugly. Ascaro ended the brawl by burying his axe in an elephant’s face. Night fell in our dripping forest camp, even as a team of Rothai stripped the cold grey body of arms and armor.
Neither elephant nor Man rested easily that night.
#
No elephant who’d served as Scour
ge of the Legion had ever rooted out the human settlements of Deeping Forest. Ascaro blustered and raged during each night’s camp, vowing to be the first to end this haven for escaped slaves.
Deeping Forest clung to the back of a mountain range, affording few paths that an elephant to easily climb. Only Ascaro’s pride kept that force moving forwards and upwards, snapping trees every minute, trampling centuries of undergrowth beneath that inexorable advance.
We found what passed for a small village, long abandoned by the time Ascaro’s armored bulls reached the plateau. There were signs of a hasty evacuation and the ashes in the firepit were still warm.
We destroyed that rude place. There was a miserable vegetable patch, hard-won from the stony soil, and we took everything before we turned salt into the earth. There was a spring here, clean and pure, and Ascaro ordered the elephants to take turns fouling it with dung. Our grey masters trod the huts and lean-tos into kindling.
Finished from our work in the village’s gardens, we set torches to the ruined buildings. The elephants of the Legion relaxed, assuming their hard journey was over. Ascaro soured that idea the moment he heard it.
“We lose hundreds of runaways every year,” he grunted. “There were maybe twenty of the pink rats living here. We keep searching.”
The elephants held themselves a small feast, roasting vegetables and mash over the coals of the burnt settlement. The Rothai were sent up into the tallest trees to look down for smoke, for any movement. There was a larger settlement in Deeping Forest, and Ascaro meant to have it.
I clung to the tip of a pine and saw how the terrain grew ahead of us. Thickly wooded ridges, bunched up into folds of near-vertical rock.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered to Second that night. Boy nodded when our eyes met over the grog ladle, and that was all the planning we made. I took out a whet-stone and sharpened my sword with long slow strokes. Mouse and Nails returned from their latest tryst, sharing a jug of the good melon wine. Ascaro had been generous to his favorites that night.
“You expecting a fight, Ghost?” Mouse said. I grunted, and worked on the point of my blade, making sure it was sharp enough to punch through mail. Nails stared at me for a long time, lip curled into a sneer. If she thought I had ambitions on Mouse’s position, she was sure to cut me in my sleep.
“You’d be smart to bring down a runaway,” Mouse said. “You know that Ascaro is offering a brace of slaves for each one that we kill or capture? Our own slaves, Ghost! And the first Rothai to spot a large settlement will be given his own estate in Tusk! You could be a free man tomorrow!”
I paused. Ascaro’s offer was stunning in its generosity. Freedom for a human was a rare gift, unheard of in my lifetime.
I looked over at the drunken elephants. We were here for their pride, to punish those humans who’d dared to defy the grey kings. I drew on the whet-stone too hard, a squeal that drew a spark and left a burr.
“Perhaps I’ll let you visit my new house,” Mouse said dryly. “There’ll be blood on my blade before there’s any on yours.”
I drew the whetstone once more.
#
Morning took us down from the plateau and into the next valley, axes flashing as our grey lords smashed through yet more forest. The high rock at our backs held off the morning sun, and soon we were swallowed up by fog. I could barely see the elephants to our left and right, and soon even these rolling shapes were eaten up by the white.
I heard the sound of axes biting into wood, the creak and crash as the lesser trees were pushed aside, and could not have said whether this was ten feet away or a hundred. We were alone in a pale universe, with no witnesses. There would be no better time than this.
I tried to signal Boy and Second without alerting the others. When I turned to Ascaro’s front, I saw that Mouse was kneeling right his ear, holding a low conference – our master grunted, a tone of annoyance in the sound. I knew it well. Mouse always pushed his luck when he offered suggestions to the mad brute.
Mouse had picked a different railing order this morning. Lucky and Nails were up the front with him, the rest of us stationed from Ascaro’s midsection to where Second sat above his rump.
Even as Mouse steered Ascaro through the gloom, I slowly drew my sword. Boy nodded once, holding his axe low and ready, and from the corner of my eye I saw the tip of the kontoi that meant Second was at our shoulders. Our ropes traced along the center rail, and we made our move.
Perhaps it was the pad of our feet moving across the chain-mail and planks, or the whisper of the sliding ropes, but Mouse looked up. The moment he saw us running, he gave a whistle between his teeth and leapt out into the fog.
Lucky and Nails vanished just as fast, and I saw the flapping trail of severed ropes following them down into the mist. Beneath us Ascaro stepped up the pace, laughing as he crashed from tree to tree, trying to shake us off balance.
“A trio of villains on my back,” he roared, “and all day to kill them!”
His trunk flicked backwards then, axe held on the flat as he attempted to swat us. Second and I dodged that flurry of blows, but Boy was not so fast. I saw him crumple, and a red smear followed him as he slid out into space, bloody and limp.
“We need to cut ropes!” Second cried, but I ignored this. Reaching the base of his skull, I dodged the rolling metal serpent of Ascaro's trunk, hacking away buckles and straps. Second fenced with her kontoi, lance head dancing up and down the trunk armor, searching for a weak spot.
I’d peeled away the chain skirts and neck plates, and only the leather undershirt held me away from Ascaro’s spine. I raised my sword. Then the world crashed around me.
Two other elephants had appeared out of the mists, drawn by Ascaro’s cursing. They held fast, and Rothai flooded onto Ascaro’s back, driving me away from the vital spot. Another swordsman slashed across my knuckles, and the sword tumbled from my hands.
I fought on with my rope-knife and sent away one or two of them bleeding, but the end was the same. I was beaten senseless and dragged down from my master’s back.
Through eyes half-closed by swelling, I saw Second dangling from her rope, the tip of a broken kontoi still lodged in her throat. Amazingly Boy was still alive, but he’d been broken grievously by the swat of Ascaro’s giant axe. The other Rothai cut him down and presented him to his master.
“You have served me for many years, Boy,” Ascaro rumbled. “So I shall show you mercy.”
Mercy was Ascaro stepping on each limb in turn, slowly grinding Boy’s body into paste. As the bones snapped I dry-heaved and begged my master to stop, but on and on he went, pushing his weight into my screaming friend. Whenever Boy passed out, Ascaro gave him time to revive. Once, he ordered the other Rothai to dose him up with rotgut grog, to dull the pain just enough that he would stay awake throughout the ordeal.
Finally, Ascaro wrapped his trunk around Boy’s neck and plucked off his head like a grape. It was my task to carry it the whole way home to Tusk, and every time I looked down into Boy’s horrified face, it was a reminder that my master was far from finished with me.
#
Once more I placed in Ascaro’s villa. I was the lowest of his house-slaves, and my drudgery was only interrupted by a daily flogging.
Each month, Mouse visited, and I lost something else to his blade. An ear, a toe, a finger. Each time, Ascaro and his cronies would laugh at my extended punishment.
“I taught Lucky to read and write the moment he lost his voice,” Mouse teased, flicking my severed pinky finger over his shoulder. “Passes on all sorts of interesting scraps to me, that tongueless bastard.”
I spent days scrubbing the latrine trenches and trod laundry in the putrid fullery vats. Over the months I was given every vile task Ascaro could dream up. My food was rotten and worm-ridden, if it arrived at all.
Then I was given a broom and pushed into the baths, and I knew it was all going to be over soon. I cleaned up the mud and helped to haul away dead slaves whenever Ascaro murdered one.<
br />
Mouse bathed with Nails, holding court with the other freed slaves. Emancipation was now the fashion, but it was rare, and those freed were always the worst examples of humanity. They played their own variety of the bath game, and it pleased the elephants to see humans drowning slaves in the baths over the smallest slight.
Yet none of them were permitted to slay me. I was Ascaro’s alone to kill.
#
Ascaro summoned me to the baths one night, after all of his guests had retired. My master stank of grog and vomit, and he had a look of madness in his one eye.
“Ghost,” he said. “I want you to scrub my back.”
He hooked his trunk into a kind of step and lifted me up and behind his shoulders. I trod lightly across his mud-slick skin, taking care to sweep deeply, watching for the twitch in his muscles, the sign that he was going to strike.
For long moments he sighed in contentment as I scrubbed, the bristles scratching and digging deep into his skin. It didn’t make sense that he would kill me this way. No-one was here to witness his ultimate triumph over my rebellion.
He moved fast then, but only to draw melon-wine into his trunk. He let it drain into his mouth and chuckled darkly when I flinched.
“Don’t let that broom slow,” he teased. “Keep me in a good mood, and you may live out the day.”
I pushed the broom again, and that was when he struck. He flicked his trunk backwards, a grey sinuous serpent that snatched for me, again and again.
I dodged, leapt, and slid around on his back. He grabbed again and again, but each time he was a second behind me. But for all my speed, I was tired, and there were no other slaves to hide behind. Since Mouse had taken some of my toes, my sense of balance was off. He’d snatch me up, and soon.
“Hold still, you damn slave,” he growled. I did just that, but even as his trunk snaked towards me, I broke the broom across my knee.
His trunk wrapped around my waist, but before he could plunge me into the mud, I rapped him across the snout with the broom handle.
“Face me, you fat old coward!” I shouted.
Ascaro brought me forward, the trunk tightening around me, squeezing the life out of me. He roared in fury, cracking my ribs and making my vision go dark, and then brought me in front of his face to watch me die.