The siege-towers stood in a grim line facing Capalis, monstrous giants promising victory. He gazed up at the first. Tomorrow they would be dragged to the walls, then the mouths of the giants would open, the attack ramps would drop to the ramparts like stiff tongues. He paused. How would one continue the analogy? He pictured the warriors climbing from the belly of the beast and hurling themselves on to the enemy. Then he chuckled. Like the breath of death, like a dragon's fire? No, more like a demon disgorging acid. Yes, I like that, he thought.
The towers had been assembled from sections brought on huge wagons from Resha in the north. They had cost twenty thousand gold pieces, and Shabag was still angry that he alone had been expected to finance them. The Naashanite Emperor was a parsimonious man.
'We will have him tomorrow, sir?' said one of his aides. Shabag jerked his mind to the present and turned to his staff officers. The him was Gorben. Shabag licked his thin lips.
'I want him alive,' he said, keeping the hatred from his voice. How he loathed Gorben! How he despised both the man and his appalling conceit. A trick of fate had left him with a throne that was rightly Shabag's. They shared the same ancestors, the kings of glory who had built an empire unrivalled in history. And Shabag's grandfather had sat upon the throne. But he died in battle leaving only daughters surviving him. Thus had Gorben's father ascended the golden steps and raised the ruby crown to his head.
And what happened then to the Empire? Stagnation. Instead of armies, conquest and glory, there were schools, fine roads and hospitals. And to what purpose? The weak were kept alive in order to breed more weaklings, peasants learned their letters and became obsessed with thoughts of betterment. Questions that should never have been voiced were debated openly in city squares: By what right do the noble families rule our lives? Are we not free men? By what right? By the right of blood, thought Shabag. By the right of steel and fire!
He thought back with relish to the day when he had surrounded the university at Resha with armed troops, after the students there had voiced their protests at the war. He had called out their leader, who came armed not with a sword, but with a scroll. It was an ancient work, written by Pashtar Sen, and the boy had read it aloud. What a fine voice he had. It was a well-written piece, full of thoughts of honour, and patriotism, and brotherhood. But then when Pashtar Sen had written it the serfs knew their places, the peasants lived in awe of their betters. The sentiments were outworn now.
He had allowed the boy to finish the work, for anything less would have been ill-mannered, and ill befitting a nobleman. Then he had gutted him like a fish. Oh, how the brave students ran then! Save that there was nowhere to run, and they had died in their hundreds, like maggots washed from a pus-filled sore. The Ventrian Empire was decaying under the old emperor, and the only chance to resurrect her greatness was by war. Yes, thought Shabag, the Naashanites will think they have won, and I will indeed be a vassal king. But not for long.
Not for long . . .
'Excuse me, sir,' said an officer and Shabag turned to the man.
'Yes?'
'A ship has left Capalis. It is heading north along the coast. There are quite a number of men aboard.'
Shabag swore. 'Gorben has fled,' he announced. 'He saw our giants and realised he could not win.' He felt a sick sense of disappointment, for he had been anticipating tomorrow with great expectation. He turned his eyes towards the distant walls, half expecting to see the Herald of Surrender. 'I shall be in my tent. When they send for terms wake me.'
'Yes, sir.'
He strode through the camp, his anger mounting. Now some whore-born corsair would capture Gorben, maybe even kill him. Shabag glanced up at the darkening sky. Td give my soul to have Gorben before me!' he said.
*
But sleep would not come and Shabag wished he had brought the Datian slave girl with him. Young innocent, and exquisitely compliant, she would have brought him sleep and sweet dreams.
He rose from his bed and lit two lanterns. Gorben's escape - if he managed to avoid the corsairs - would prolong the war. But only by a few months, reasoned Shabag. Capalis would be his by tomorrow, and after that Ectanis would fall. Gorben would be forced to fall back into the mountains, throwing himself upon the mercy of the wild tribes who inhabited them. It would take time to hunt him down, but not too much. And the hunt might afford amusement during the bleak winter months.
He thought of his palace in Resha, deciding that after organising the surrender of Capalis he would return home for a rest. Shabag pictured the comforts of Resha, the theatres, the arena and the gardens. By now the flowering cherry trees would be in bloom by the lake, dropping their petals to the crystal waters, the sweet scent filling the air.
Was it only a month since he had sat by the lake with Darishan beside him, sunlight gleaming upon his braided silver hair?
'Why do you wear those gloves, cousin?' Darishan had asked, tossing a pebble into the water. A large golden fish flicked its tail at the sudden disturbance, then vanished into the depths.
'I like the feel of them,' answered Shabag irritated. 'But I did not come here to discuss matters sartorial.'
Darishan chuckled. 'Always so serious? We are on the verge of victory.'
'You said that half a year ago,' Shabag pointed out.
'And I was correct then. It is like a lion hunt, cousin. While he is in the dense undergrowth he has a chance, but once you have him on open ground, heading into the mountains, it is only a matter of time before he runs out of strength. Gorben is running out of strength and gold.'
'He still has three armies.'
'He began with seven. Two of them are now under my command. One is under yours, and one has been destroyed. Come, cousin, why the gloom?'
Shabag shrugged. 'I want to see an end to the war, so I can begin to rebuild.'
'I? Surely you mean we?
'A slip of the tongue, cousin,' said Shabag swiftly, forcing a smile. Darishan leaned back on the marble seat and idly twisted one of his braids. Though not yet forty his hair was startlingly pale, silver and white, and braided with wires of gold and copper.
'Do not betray me, Shabag,' he warned. 'You will not be able to defeat the Naashanites alone.'
'A ridiculous thought, Darishan. We are of the same blood - and we are friends.'
Darishan's cold eyes held to Shabag's gaze, then he too smiled. 'Yes,' he whispered, 'friends and cousins. I wonder where our cousin - and former friend - Gorben is hiding today.'
Shabag reddened. 'He was never my friend. I do not betray my friends. Such thoughts are unworthy of you.'
'Indeed, you are right,' agreed Darishan, rising. 'I must leave for Ectanis. Shall we have a small wager as to which of us conquers first?'
'Why not? A thousand in gold that Capalis falls before Ectanis.'
'A thousand - plus the Datian slave girl?'
'Agreed,' said Shabag, masking his irritation. 'Take care, cousin.' The men shook hands.
'I shall.' The silver-haired Darishan swung away, then glanced back over his shoulder. 'By the way, did you see the wench?'
'Yes, but she told me little of use. I think Kabuchek was swindled.'
'That may be true, but she saved him from the sharks and predicted a ship would come. She also told me where to find the opal brooch I lost three years ago. What did she tell you?'
Shabag shrugged. 'She talked of my past, which was interesting, but then she could easily have been schooled by Kabuchek. When I asked her about the coming campaign she closed her eyes and took hold of my hand. She held it for maybe three heartbeats, then pulled away and said she could tell me nothing.'
'Nothing at all?'
'Nothing that made any sense. She said . . . "He is coming!" She seemed both elated and yet, moments later, terrified. Then she told me not to go to Capalis. That was it.'
Darishan nodded and seemed about to speak. Instead he merely smiled and walked away.
Putting thoughts of Darishan from his mind, Shabag moved to the tent entrance
. The camp was quiet. Slowly he removed the glove from his left hand. The skin itched, red open sores covering the surface as they had done since adolescence. There were herbal ointments and emollients that could ease them, but nothing had ever healed the diseased skin, nor fully removed the other sores that stretched across his back and chest, thighs and calves.
Slowly he peeled back the right-hand glove. The skin here was clean and smooth. This was the hand she had held.
He had offered Kabuchek sixty thousand gold pieces for her, but the merchant had politely refused. When the battle is over, thought Shabag, I shall have her taken from him.
Just as he was about to turn into the tent Shabag saw a line of soldiers marching slowly down towards the camp, their armour gleaming in the moonlight. They were moving in columns of twos, with an officer at the head; the man looked familiar, but he was wearing a plumed helm with a thick nasal guard that bisected his face. Shabag rubbed at his tired eyes to focus more clearly on the man; it was not the face but the walk that aroused his interest. One of Darishan's officers, he wondered? Where have I seen him before?
Pah, what difference does it make, he thought suddenly, pulling shut the tent-flap. He had just blown out the first of the two lanterns when a scream rent the air. Then another. Shabag ran to the entrance, tearing aside the flap.
Warriors were running through his camp, cutting and killing. Someone had picked up a burning brand and had thrown it against a line of tents. Flames rippled across the bone-dry cloth, the wind carrying the fire to other tents.
At the centre of the fighting Shabag saw a huge warrior dressed in black, brandishing a double-headed axe. Three men ran at him, and he killed them in moments. Then Shabag saw the officer - and remembrance rose like a lightning blast from the halls of his memory.
*
Gorben's soldiers surrounded Shabag's tent. It had been set at the centre of the camp, with thirty paces of clear ground around it to allow the Satrap a degree of privacy. Now it was ringed by armed men.
Shabag was bewildered by the speed at which the enemy had struck, but surely, he reasoned, it would avail them nothing. Twenty-five thousand men were camped around the besieged harbour city. How many of the enemy were here? Two hundred? Three hundred? What could they possibly hope to achieve, save to slay Shabag himself? And how would that serve them, for they would die in the act?
Nonplussed, he stood - a still, silent spectator as the battle raged and the fires spread. He could not tear his eyes from the grim, blood-smeared axeman, who killed with such deadly efficiency, such a minimum of effort. When a horn sounded, a high shrill series of notes that flowed above the sounds of combat, Shabag was startled. The trumpeter was sounding the truce signal and the soldiers fell back, momentarily bewildered. Shabag wanted to shout at his men: 'Fight on! Fight on!' But he could not speak. Fear paralysed him. The silent circle of soldiers around him stood ready, their blades shining in the moonlight. He felt that were he to even move they would fall upon him like hounds upon a stag. His mouth was dry, his hands trembling.
Two men rolled a barrel into view, up-ending it and testing the top. Then the enemy officer stepped forward and climbed on to the barrel, facing out towards the massed ranks of Shabag's men. The Satrap felt bile rise in his throat.
The officer threw back his cloak. Armour of gold shone upon his breast and he removed his helm.
'You know me,' he bellowed, his voice rich and resonant, compelling. 'I am Gorben, the son of the God King, the heir of the God King. In my veins runs the blood of Pashtar Sen, and Cyrios the Lord of Battles, and Meshan Sen, who walked the Bridge of Death. I am Gorben!' The name boomed out, and the men stood silently, spellbound. Even Shabag felt the goose-flesh rising on his diseased skin.
Druss eased back into the circle and stared out at the massed ranks of the enemy. There was a kind of divine madness about the scene which he found himself enjoying immensely. He had been angry when Gorben himself had appeared at the harbour to take command of the troops, and doubly so when the Emperor casually informed him there would be a change of plan.
'What's wrong with the plan we have?' asked Druss.
Gorben chuckled, and, taking Druss's arm, led him out of earshot of the waiting men. 'Nothing is wrong with it, axeman - save for the objective. You seek to destroy the towers. Admirable. But it is not the towers that will determine success or failure in this siege; it is the men. So tonight we do not seek to hamper them, we seek to defeat them.'
Druss chuckled. Two hundred against twenty-five thousand?'
'No. One against one.' He had outlined his strategy and Druss had listened in awed silence. The plan was audacious and fraught with peril. Druss loved it.
The first phase had been completed. Shabag was surrounded and the enemy were listening to Gorben speak. But now came the testing time. Success and glory or failure and death? Druss did not know, but he sensed that the strategy was now teetering on a razor's edge. One wrong word from Gorben and the horde would descend upon them.
'I am Gorben!' roared the Emperor again. 'And every man of you has been led into treachery by this . . . this miserable wretch here behind me.' He waved his hand contemptuously in the direction of Shabag. 'Look at him! Standing like a frightened rabbit. Is this the man you would set upon the throne? It will not be easy for him, you know. He will have to ascend the Royal steps. How will he accomplish this with his lips fastened to a Naashanite arse?'
Nervous laughter rose from the massed ranks. 'Aye, it is an amusing thought,' agreed Gorben, 'or it would be were it not so tragic. Look at him! How can warriors follow such a creature? He was lifted to high position by my father; he was trusted; and he betrayed the man who had helped him, who loved him like a son. Not content with causing the death of my father, he has also done everything within his power to wreak havoc upon Ventria. Our cities burn. Our people are enslaved. And for why? So that this quivering rodent can pretend to be a king. So that he can creep on all fours to lie at the feet of a Naashanite goat-breeder.'
Gorben gazed out over the ranks. 'Where are the Naashanites?' he called. A roar went up from the rear. 'Ah yes,' he said, 'ever at the back!' The Naashanties began to shout, but their calls were submerged beneath the laughter of Shabag's Ventrians. Gorben raised his hands for silence. 'No!' he bellowed. 'Let them have their say. It is rude to laugh, to mock others because they do not have your skills, your understanding of honour, your sense of history. I had a Naashanite slave once - ran off with one of my father's goats. I'll say this for him, though - he picked a pretty one!' Laughter rose in a wall of sound and Gorben waited until it subsided. 'Ah, my lads,' he said at last. 'What are we doing with this land we love? How did we allow the Naashanites to rape our sisters and daughters?' An eerie silence settled over the camp. 'I'll tell you how. Men like Shabag opened the doors to them. "Come in," he shouted, "and do as you will. I will be your dog. But please, please, let me have the crumbs that fall from your table. Let me lick the scrapings from your plates!" ' Gorben drew his sword and raised it high as his voice thundered out. 'Well, I'll have none of it! I am the Emperor, anointed by the gods. And I'll fight to the death to save my people!'
'And we'll stand by you!' came a voice from the right. Druss recognised the caller. It was Bodasen; and with him were the five thousand defenders of Capalis. They had marched silently past the siege-towers while the skirmish raged and had crept up to the enemy lines while the soldiers listened to the voice of Gorben.
As Shabag's Ventrians began to shift nervously, Gorben spoke again. 'Every man here - save the Naashanites - is forgiven for following Shabag. More than this, I will allow you to serve me, to purge your crimes by freeing Ventria. And more than this, I shall give you each the pay that is owed you - and ten gold pieces for every man who pledges to fight for his land, his people and his Emperor.' At the rear the nervous Naashanites eased away from the packed ranks, forming a fighting square a little way distant.
'See them cower!' shouted Gorben. 'Now is the time to earn your gold! Bring
me the heads of the enemy!'
Bodasen forced his way through the throng. 'Follow me!' he shouted. 'Death to the Naashanites!' The cry was taken up, and almost thirty thousand men hurled themselves upon the few hundred Naashanite troops.
Gorben leapt down from the barrel and strode to where Shabag waited. 'Well, cousin,' he said, his voice soft yet tinged with acid, 'how did you enjoy my speech?'
'You always could talk well,' replied Shabag, with a bitter laugh.
'Aye, and I can sing and play the harp, and read the works of our finest scholars. These things are dear to me - as I am sure they are to you, cousin. Ah, what an awful fate it must be to be born blind, or to lose the use of speech, the sense of touch.'
'I am noble born,' said Shabag, sweat gleaming on his face. 'You cannot maim me.'
'I am the Emperor,' hissed Gorben. 'My will is the law!' Shabag fell to his knees. 'Kill me cleanly, I beg of you . . . cousin!'
Gorben drew a dagger from the jewel-encrusted scabbard at his hip, tossing the weapon to the ground before Shabag. The Satrap swallowed hard as he lifted the dagger and stared with grim malevolence at his tormentor. 'You may choose the manner of your passing,' said Gorben.
Shabag licked his lips, then held the point of the blade to his chest. 'I curse you, Gorben,' he screamed. Then taking the hilt with both hands, he rammed the blade home. He groaned and fell back. His body twitched, and his bowels opened. 'Remove . . . it,' Gorben ordered the soldiers close by. 'Find a ditch and bury it.' He swung to Druss and laughed merrily. 'Well, axeman, the deed is done.'
'Indeed it is, my Lord,' answered Druss.
'My Lord? Truly this is a night of wonders!'
At the edge of the camp the last of the Naashanites died begging for mercy, and a grim quiet descended. Bodasen approached the Emperor and bowed deeply. 'Your orders have been obeyed, Majesty.'
Gorben nodded. 'Aye, you have done well, Bodasen. Now take Jasua and Nebuchad and gather Shabag's officers. Promise them anything, but take them into the city, away from their men. Interrogate them. Kill those who do not inspire your confidence.'