HALF A LEGEND, page 8
“They bring about eighty warriors with as many women and children, my chief. Their camp crossed the Hill of Skulls a fortnight ago. They may be here by sunset.”
“Good work, Toluu,” he said. “Eat and rest, you have the blessing of the skyfather.”
The scout bowed before leading his wildebeest away, glad to have been of use. Sakhan nudged his mount into a canter to be matched by the others, leaving his mother behind. This was a decision of war, and she understood. If a tribesman would not bleed on the battlefield, he was not allowed to listen or make decisions that might lead to battle. The Abun commanders had disliked their last chief for the girl he tolerated in their war councils, a mistake Sakhan was keen to avoid.
“We cannot stay here, my chief,” Gemaab said as he rode along. The man was dressed in one of the vests he looted from a sandman, treated leather with small plates of iron sewn over it. The armor was a bit loose even for a big man like Gemaab, though. “We would be too exposed,” the warrior went on and Chukwuu the Spear nodded in agreement. “There are better woods half a day’s ride to the south.”
“We should not leave the Hawk clan behind, great chief,” the Accuser said as he looked to the skies. “Their chief will know we have seen the scout and it will be an insult if we left them to trail behind us.”
Sakhan made his decision in a heartbeat. “Take the women and children south, Gemaab. No raider will dare your number. We have scouts all around. The sandmen will not surprise us. I will wait for the Handler, and then move to join you.”
Sakhan brought his wildebeest to a sudden halt. “Take two hundred warriors and make camp here, Chukwuu,” he commanded. “The rest will go with Gemaab. I will welcome the latecomers myself.”
The Abun commander shot a glance at Gemaab before bowing in his saddle. “As you command, my chief,” he said, turning his wildebeest around.
There was only one tent in the camp, a hastily raised structure where Hawaara’s wife was in labor. The rest of the clearing was dotted by small fires and Sakhan bathed in the warmth of one of them as he tore a chunk of meat between his fingers. The mood of the warriors was rigid silence when the Hawk clan arrived. Though he was almost night-blind from staring into the fire, Sakhan recognized the pale-skinned warrior walking through the crowd toward him with four other figures by his side. The men were searched before being allowed to approach and Sakhan rose to welcome his commander.
Takaang the Handler went down on a knee to throw ground at Sakhan’s feet, showing the newcomers who ruled here. “May your enemies choke on their curses, my chief,” the man greeted.
“You are welcome in my camp and at my fire,” he said, more to the warriors of the Hawk clan than to his man. That courtesy was not needed between friends. “I offer you food and water.”
“Thank you, great chief,” the warriors from the Hawk clan said in unison.
Sakhan sat down again and the others settled around in a circle. He had stayed back with two of his commanders, but only Chukwuu shared the fire with him at the moment. His returning commander settled down on his left and the newcomers sat further away. He took a dagger to the boar leg on the fire, barely wincing as the heat melted the fine hairs on his arm. The guests accepted the offering with sharp nods.
“You come in late,” Sakhan said to the Handler at last. He could not blame the Hawk clan as his own man had been in charge.
Takaang had been looking at the strange armor on his chief but the Abun looked up when he heard the reproach. “There were more warriors to be had, my chief,” he said. “Young boys who were sent out of the families to survive on their own and return as warriors to their clan. Some had formed raiding parties and I found three of them. Even a kindling Baboon clan of twenty warriors. I brought them here in your name.”
Sakhan stifled his praise. Any achievement without his direct command was not his own. He looked over to where the four figures sat, dark eyes staring back at him behind masks of ash. One of them had a nasty rash on his face.
“Everything has changed,” Sakhan told them, fidgeting with the talisman around his neck. “An army has crossed the Sea of Sand and declared war on all the tribes. Edor, the northmen, and the Yonkos have defeated them once. I am moving to join my strength to theirs.”
A shadow crossed Takaang’s face. If the man understood the news, he did not show it, perhaps too shocked to reply.
“I will take the oaths now,” Sakhan went on. “Before first light, we push south once more.”
“As you command, my chief,” Takaang said seemingly from far away.
The men around the fire all stood up. Sakhan did not sense any hesitation as the white warriors stepped up to swear their loyalty. The first warrior to take a knee was not even older than himself, the boy a tall and stripling fellow.
“A man is as good as his word, and I give my oath freely,” the young warrior said calmly. He must have been the commander of one of the raiding parties. “I will honor your command and bleed if I must. I will fight by you in a storm or in sunshine. May the hills lie low and the valleys fill up when you approach, great chief.”
“And may the hand of a friend be near us when we need one,” Sakhan said, raising the young raider to stand a head shorter than himself.
Two others followed, another young raider and the chief of the small Baboon clan who was almost Haikachi’s age. Then the chief of the Hawk clan walked up. The bearded man lacked the gait of a warrior and there was a strangeness to how he carried himself. When he reached Sakhan, the Hawk chief did not kneel. They all sensed the hesitation and Sakhan saw Chukwuu’s hand reach for the hilt of his sword. Even Takaang’s fingers twitched by his side.
“Give me your oath or declare yourself my enemy and a traitor to the talisman,” he told the hawk.
“Sakhan,” a soft and familiar voice answered.
They watched in bewilderment as the hawk peeled off his beard and scraped away the white pockmarks from the frowning face of a woman.
“My queen,” Takaang and Chukwuu said almost at once.
Sakhan recognized the gaunt woman as well and his chest tightened. She had upturned his world with that single word and Sakhan feared he stood in the midst of enemies now.
-CHAPTER SEVEN-
THE UPRISING
They trotted through the bushes, and to his surprise, Sakhan found that he was comfortable with the silence. There was little to say as they knew who he was now. The journey was spent in thought, each man considering the future. When he looked them in the eyes, only a few averted their gaze in respect. Only uncertainty kept their blades sheathed. The rest of the army knew nothing of his secret though. He could still talk his way out of this. As a fine sweat ran down his forehead, Sakhan held onto that possibility.
The host came across two Abun families, but one of them vanished as soon as they saw the approaching warriors. The other would have escaped as well, if not for the sick old man with them. Still his scouts were met with drawn bows and the frightened stares of children. Sakhan took them into his camp with the promise of protection in his name.
They traveled most of the day before he finally heard the horn of a scout announcing their arrival in the distance. The Abun camo was a sea of tents scattered at the foot of a steep hill. The herds were held under guard in corrals to the left. The shepherd boys who played beside the corrals pointed at the newcomers, screaming in greeting and excitement. However, it was activity in front of the camp that caught Sakhan’s attention. The mood of the Abun was that of men who faced an enemy and Sakhan tensed. He could see warriors leaping into the saddle with calls for their weapons as they came out to meet him. At the back of the welcoming party, women hauled curious boys into the tents. Sakhan trotted onwards, never slowing down.
Gemaab led the riders who came out to challenge Sakhan. The man was dressed for battle, the leather armor visible under his cloak of ghostcat skin. The Abun had his ax unstrapped and the weapon held at the ready, accompanied by Haikachi and some white warriors led by the Accuser. At first, though he knew what was happening, Sakhan did not understand what had ticked them off. Then he saw Lewuu riding at the far right of the grim-looking warriors and felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. The scout must have slipped away in the darkness to bring news of who Sakhan truly was. Sakhan, the Abun chief, was a Lion. At that moment, Sakhan brought his mount to a halt and let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword. He felt rather than saw the hesitation of his own company.
“Sakhan the Lion, you are no chief of my people!”
“Where is my mother, Gemaab?” he shouted back.
“She will meet you soon enough.”
That threat could not go unanswered. He had no doubt the Abun would deliver on his promise. Perhaps, in a private meeting, Sakhan would have asked for his life and that of his mother. They still might not survive if they were thrown out while thousands of sandmen were out for blood. However, in such a meeting, he would have asked for it. Out here with an entire tribe in witness, he would rather break before he bowed. He had been pushed around too many times in his life. Sakhan spared a glance at Haikachi to see his brother sitting relaxed on a wildebeest with hands resting on the saddle horn. At least the older boy had his sword sheathed and his bow unstrung.
“Step away from that liar and your lives would be spared,” the furious Gemaab called to the men with Sakhan, barely slowing his approach. “No Abun need fall at the hands of brothers today.”
“I am chief of this tribe, chosen of the talisman, as much an Abun as you,” Sakhan said, but warriors were already leaving his side to join Gemaab. Even the family he had welcomed.
His commanders deserted as well, Chukwuu the Spear and Hawaara the Hawk-eyed with his family and a newborn son. In a short time, he faced twice his own number. Takaang the Handler with some of the older and more superstitious men did not answer the call though. All the Hawks stayed at his back as well and Sakhan did not let his relief show.
“Where is my mother?” he asked again, looking over at Haikachi, and the older boy shrugged. Fear and anger gripped him then.
The Hawks moved subtly to Sakhan’s side, and he did not understand why they stayed with him. A charge of wildebeests would tear through these foot-warriors in an instant, they all knew. Yet the white warriors seemed confident enough. Without warning, Gemaab dug in his heels and his mount leaped forward, the gesture repeated along the line. Behind him, the warriors roared and attacked their chief.
Sakhan pulled out his sword then, blood pumping in his ears. The Hawks rushed forward and formed a barrier of spears, while at his signal, his riders stayed in position. Sakhan noted that the Hawks did not throw spears. Instead, the planted the shafts at an angle and braced it with their feet. He did not flinch as the first wave of Abun crashed against the bristling wall, spears gutting both wildebeests and their riders. As the charge slowed with the next wave of riders stumbling into dying mounts, he saw his chance.
“Attack,” he bellowed, his mount kicking out at a screaming warrior.
His own riders moved in a wedge formation to force a steady path through, heading straight for Gemaab. Men on both sides killed without restraint, hacking and stabbing. Sakhan brought his sword over the face of an Abun rider, ducked under another man’s swing and sent his blade sinking deep into the rib of another. Within moments, he felt his mount cut from under him and jumped to the ground in an awkward fall. An Abun rushed in trying to end him. But before the man could raise his ax, a spearpoint appeared through his chest and the Accuser shoved the body away. In heartbeats, clarity dawned. All the white warriors fought for him now, and the Abun had noticed as well.
Sakhan picked up his sword when he heard the thunder of hooves at his back. He spun around to see Gemaab closing in with a poised ax. Somebody flung a spear at the charging Abun and the man slid to the other side of his mount, dodging the shaft. But Gemaab had moved too far down and slipped from his mount, barely avoiding the stampeding hooves of the wildebeest. Sakhan attacked then, unable to hide his exultation at the opportunity to remove this thorn from his side, and so he did not see the arrow that took him in the chest, throwing him backward. The sky reeled into view before he felt the hard ground at his back.
When his men saw him collapse, the fighting intensified, all caution lost as they tried to avenge their fallen chief. That was when a horn blared in the distance. The noise of the fighting took some time to calm under the persistent warning call. Sakhan struggled to his knees as the warriors dislodged, pulling back until there was clear ground between them. A few men still feinted with each other, but with the continuous barking and reproaches from the others, they too curbed their bloodlust.
“They come,” somebody called over the blaring horn in the distance.
“Sandmen, coming,” another shouted. And the cry was taken up by the rest.
Sakhan looked around at the panting men, a dozen laid dead, more wounded and bleeding. The survivors looked confused, as if some spirit had taken control of their body and was releasing them only now.
“Are you well, my chief?” somebody asked.
Sakhan spun to see Takaang staring suspiciously at the shaft stuck in his chest. The arrow had not penetrated. He nodded and took the reins of the wildebeest the man offered. If he did not take control of the situation, he knew his life was still forfeit. He had to do something to stand out, as a chief would. On the other side, he saw Gemaab being checked upon by a small crowd of warriors. The man looked badly hurt, hardly able to stand on his feet without support. The Abun whispered something and Chukwuu glanced over his shoulder at the core of white warriors on the other side of the fighting ground.
Sakhan gritted his teeth and swung into the saddle. From atop the mount, he noticed the rest of the army had gathered to watch the knot of fighting men. He made a show of pulling out the arrow and throwing it to the ground, and his supporters gave nervous hoots. When the shouting died away, he thrust his sword in the direction of the announcing scout, flicking blood from the tip of his blade.
“The invaders expect a welcome,” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, a shout that could be heard even in the tents far away. “Are we ready to give them a bloody one?”
The cheer that followed was echoed even by the men he had just been trying to butcher, their grievances pushed aside in the presence of a greater threat. The warriors were still wet with blood, from their drenched hair to the spatters on their armor and nguashi. Those that had killed were ready to do it again, and those that had watched, hungered for a taste.
On a hill overlooking the outskirts of the Howling Woods, Sakhan frowned at an agitated column of sandmen. They carried short lengths of clothes strapped to shafts, the yellow colors flapping in the wind over their heads. About three thousand warriors stood there, with almost as many women and boys on or around the supply carts. He barely made out a sun and a hammer painted over the broad iron bowls carried by the sandmen. Every one of them was dressed in long white nguashis and wore a bit of that flowing yellow cloth, mostly in whorls around their necks and tucked into their leather vests. A few of them had the cloth streaming down their backs, seated on big horses with the obvious posture of commanders. Sakhan knew every tribesman would be looking at those with interest as well.
“They come, my chief,” Hawaara the Hawk-eyed said.
Every warrior on the hill could see that. An entire rank of about five hundred foot-warriors had peeled off from the column to begin a slow walk across the plain, advancing on the hill. In another situation, he would have waited for the men to tire on the march.
“Ready your bows,” Sakhan said, stringing his own. It was of cedar wood, the figure of an eagle carved into the grip. The bow held too many memories, and he bent it without haste.
Sakhan could feel the combined stare of five hundred riders at his back. The White Wanderers were not riders, except for the Baboon clan with their small horses, the only clan he had brought along for this. The excitement of the Abun could be seen in their wildebeests and horses stumping the ground around him, eager for a charge. So far, nobody dared to hesitate at his word. In some way, perhaps they still saw him as their commander, and though a voice in his mind told him the men were just distracted for the moment, he refused to dwell on the alternative.
Although he was nervous, Sakhan forced a cold face, knowing they would remember his calm during the first battle against the invaders. With a gentle squeeze from his knees, his wildebeest started down the slope in a trot. The tribesmen followed, fitting shafts onto their bowstrings. When the sandmen saw the approaching tribesmen, they halted and released the first flight of arrows. But at four hundred paces, their missiles fell short, wasted. Sakhan kicked in his heels and his wildebeest surged forward in a burst of speed. Within moments, he was standing up in the stirrup to release his shot, and five hundred arrows streamed alongside his. The first line of the enemy reeled back, plenty of them saved by their armor. The sandmen did not have the time to respond with arrows as his men closed fast. Instead, the surviving front rank lowered spears in anticipation.
At that moment, he saw enemy riders moving along the flanks to join the fight. Sakhan’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as he unsheathed his sword, the action repeated down the line. He did not call tribesmen back in warning of the new situation. The plan was to cause enough damage to the sandmen and retreat as quickly as possible. But the maneuver had to be a confident retreat than a desperate escape. Sakhan blew twice with the horn around his neck and two groups of riders moved away from his own flanks to engage the enemy riders. He led the riders around the left flank, intent on giving his army’s center rank its chance.
He saw his center unleash another wave of arrows to drop the spearmen in their path. Nobody fancied running into sharpened metal at full gallop. The white warriors had just showed the folly of that. Amidst the shouts and thunder, the two armies crashed into each other with a sickening sound. The Abun riders hit the enemy with such speed that men were thrown out of the saddle at the impact, dozens lost in an instant. A sandman rode past Sakhan in a blur, but he had cut the warrior’s reins before he was clear. He sliced a chunk of another’s arm and buried his blade into the neck of the next. At that moment, a rider delivered a blunted blow to his side and though the armor helped, he cried out in pain at what he suspected was a bruised rib. In a savage swing, he reeled around to chop down an unhorsed sandman.
