Asena Blessed, page 29
part #2 of Altaica Series
Close to the wall they halted, crouching. Niaz poked his head out from under the bridge and dared a glance upwards. Silently he climbed onto the bridge and, pressed against the gate, waited for the others.
With Vikram and the soldiers beside him, Niaz gingerly pushed on the small pedestrian door built into the larger gate. It swung inwards easily.
‘Lock it. We want no evidence that anything is awry,’ Niaz ordered.
Sora left the guardhouse on the right with another tankard. ‘Niaz, the port gate is to the south near the food market. You’ll see the canopies and pavilions and you’ll smell the fish. Good luck.’ She disappeared into the other tower as Niaz and his men moved into the city, flitting through the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hunkered in the darkness between two houses, Niaz issued his orders. ‘You two, wait until you see the granary go up, then have some fun.’ A breeze stirred the cold night air. ‘The gods bless us. If this wind picks up, our work this night will be easier for it. Hit the market last as we leave.’ They vanished into the night, leaving Vikram with Niaz.
Gopindar was a beautiful city. Timber buildings, with shingled roofs and high gables ornately carved with forest animals and plants—a bear was always carved somewhere into the houses.
A door slammed in the house next to them. They flattened themselves against the side of the building. Vikram looked anxiously at the shuttered window beside him. All remained quiet.
Flower boxes sat in front of all the upper windows and the shutters beside him were carved with blossoms, intertwined with willow and oak.
He glanced across the street to see the same craftsmanship. Every building, even the smaller ones had some form of clan embellishment. This is what we’re missing—no pride in our history.
Niaz tugged on his sleeve and they moved on through the city. The wide paved street continued winding through the city and turned right. They passed a large orchard and field; a few horses and mule raised their heads as the men went past, but none made any noise. A holding yard and set of stables were opposite and before them lay a wide moat and the walls of the upper city. These were much older than the outer walls, yet like them they stood at the top of a steeply sloping earthen bank formed from the natural hillside. The walls were constructed from tree trunks sharpened to points and timber walkways ringed the interior walls.
A massive gate usually stood at the other side of the bridge across the moat. Scaffolding dominated the entrance; the gate lay open. Spanning the middle of the bridge was a two-storied gate tower. Loopholes were spaced evenly along its walls. Visitors to the upper city must first pass through the bridge tower’s two sets of double gates. Each of the gates was open.
‘How many in the guard house, you think?’ Niaz asked. ‘The wall?’
‘Probably only a few,’ Vikram said. ‘As for the wall, I think the construction will have taken care of that. Take my pack.’
‘We go in together, Vikram.’ They walked across the bridge as if they belonged there.
‘This is quite possibly the most foolish thing I’ve ever done,’ Vikram murmured. They both drew their daggers.
A young warrior stood in the doorway of the guardroom with her back to them. ‘It’s bloody freezing out here.’
‘Stop ya whining, girl. Shut the damn door and get out there an’ do your duty. Thank ya lucky stars ya one of us and not ’em Boar bastards or you’d be stuck at home sewing.’
‘Arse,’ she muttered, slamming the door shut and turning around. Her eyes widened in fear as Niaz’s hand shot over her mouth. He rammed his dagger up under her ribs.
Vikram grabbed her spear before she dropped it. Niaz lowered her to the ground quietly. They left the packs and their delicate cargo by her body.
Vikram burst through the door of the guardroom. He threw one dagger and flicked the other through the air before the guards stood from their chairs by the fire. The first embedded in the throat of the one guard; the second in the chest of the other. Vikram raced up the stairs, sword drawn. There was a dull thump as something hit the floor upstairs.
Niaz dragged the female warrior’s body inside and dumped her on the floor.
Vikram came back downstairs. ‘All clear.’ Looking at the bodies, he said, ‘Let’s arrange this so a passerby won’t suspect anything at a casual glance.’
‘Who’s going to pass by? You’re wasting time.’
Vikram put the girl’s body on a cot on her side and covered her with a blanket. He rolled one body under the cot, letting the blanket drape and hide it. The other he propped into the chair by the fire with his back to the door.
Niaz grabbed their backpacks and emptied a bottle of oil on the floor, spreading more across the bridge outside. ‘For later,’ he said.
Together they exited the bridge tower and moved into the upper city.
‘They’re replacing the old wall to match the front.’
‘This wall will be as tall as the outer wall when they finish. Gods, what a feat,’ Vikram said.
‘It’s still largely wood—it can all burn. Thank the gods they are doing it or we’d not be in this easily. They can’t place men on watch up there yet.’
Once through the main gate the road branched in several directions. ‘Which way?’
‘Right,’ Niaz whispered. ‘It’s broader. I’m guessing the wagons come down here to the granary.’
Warriors were spread thinly along the wall on watch—all looking outward. If they see me, I’m dead. I need to get their attention at the right moment. I need to keep my cover. Gods help me, Vikram thought.
A practice area was next to the barracks; next to it the armoury. Nearby stood the smithy—a largely stone building with a slate roof. Along from the smithy stood stables. The sweet smell of hay drifted to them on a light breeze.
They moved behind the smithy. Vikram and Niaz each carried a hollow cow’s horn, which hung from their belts. A metal lid with several holes in it capped the horn. Vikram removed the cap. If I’m lucky, it’s out.
‘If we’re lucky they’re still burning,’ Niaz said.
‘What was it packed with?’
‘Ash, coal, dunghali mushrooms and rush fibre,’ Niaz said. He gingerly blew into the horn and a faint glow emitted from it. ‘The granaries are mine. When you see it go up, light up the barracks and armoury; see what damage you can do to the smithy.’
Those damn mushrooms burn for hours, Vikram thought as he stared in disgust at Niaz’s departing back.
Vikram ran oil along the rear of the barracks and the base of the front door. He did the same with the armoury and the stables.
Sitting at the rear of the armoury he noticed a flicker of flame flare under the granary. He stared in loathing at the grenades in his bag. Gods curse Ratilal. Why me? He leant against the building, shaking his head. He’s testing me. I need to be there at the end. My clan needs it.
Vikram grabbed a wick, lit it and began lighting up the oil along the barracks and armoury. A thin flame raced along the oil and began to lap up the rear and sides of the building. He could see Niaz’s dark form moving toward him. Quickly he grabbed a grenade and lit it.
Niaz scudded to a halt beside him. ‘Not long now. Come on.’ He disappeared into the smithy. Flashes of orange lit the dark interior of the building.
Vikram tossed grenades onto the armoury and stable rooves and walls. He darted through the doorway, hurling more into the building. The screams of horses filled the air. Guards along the wall cried out, raising the alarm. The first granary was aflame.
Vikram heard warriors rousing in the barracks. He threw a grenade on the roof. The pottery jar shattered. A wave of flame rolled down the shingles. The trickle of oil he had cast before the barracks’ door burned weakly.
‘What have you done? They’ll get out,’ Niaz said accusingly. ‘I knew it—traitor!’
Vikram ran through the night, heading toward the main gate.
The first granary exploded. A warrior threw open the door of the barracks. Niaz hurled a grenade at the guard, whose clothes immediately burst into flame. Niaz tossed another into the building and yet another on the roof, before chasing Vikram.
Screams filled the air as two more fiery men ran outside, their arms flailing. Others thrust them to the ground and rolled them in the dirt to smother the flames.
The warriors stared in disbelief at the fireball that was the granary. The second and third granaries were aflame. All that was left of the drying room was a glowing timber frame. Sparks blew from it into the crisp night air, dancing their way into the sky.
A sergeant bellowed orders. ‘You lot get after them. Find them, end them. The rest of you, stop the fire spreading to the last granary. Save what you can.’
Others darted into the armoury, hauling out weapons while it burned. Bits of flaming shingles fell onto them. One woman patted out her singed hair and clothes and prepared to re-enter the building. The warrior nearest her grabbed her arm, dragging her back as the roof collapsed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need more help to fight the fires.’
Vikram waited inside the bridge tower. Did Niaz escape? He could hear pounding feet drawing closer. Niaz! Vikram smashed a grenade onto the oil-soaked timber of the bridge. He hurled another into the guardhouse. A blazing wall sprang to life, barring Niaz’s way. Now they’ll have you.
Niaz thundered on. The Bear warriors pursued him. He put his head down, finding a burst of speed. An arrow whizzed past his ear; another sliced the skin of his thigh.
Vikram watched Niaz’s approach. Damn. He’s going to make it. Niaz launched himself through the flames. Running straight for Vikram, he snarled, ‘You traitor!’ The fire flared behind him.
‘Gods’ blessings,’ Vikram murmured as the fire became an impassable wall of flame, halting the Bear warriors.
Vikram flicked his wrist. His dagger embedded in Niaz’s chest. Niaz’s hands gripped the dagger as he fell to his knees. Vikram kicked him in the face and knocked him over. He retrieved his dagger, cut Niaz’s throat and ran, smashing more grenades as he left. By the time he reached the edge of the bridge, the entire bridge tower was engulfed in fire. He threw the empty satchel away and continued making his way through Gopindar.
Niaz’s men had been busy—fires were springing up throughout the densely populated, poorer quarter of the city. The flame moved like a snake following the arsonists’ path. Surely someone will work it out and head them off. Most of the houses there were thatched. Burning thatch blew over the city in steadily rising wind. The fire spread like a demented web. Soon the entire quarter was aglow.
Horrified, Vikram’s jaw dropped as fire broke out simultaneously in four directions at once in the affluent part of the city. How? Longer wicks to delay ignition. Gods help them. The swiftest, safest path was no longer sneaking between buildings.
Distant screams merged with nearer ones. Mothers raced from burning homes carrying babes. Vikram ran headlong into a crowd. Shocked eyes turned towards him.
‘Quick. Keep your eyes open. The enemy has infiltrated the city,’ he said.
They stared at him suspiciously.
‘I don’t recognise you. Where’re you from?’
‘The northern forests. I came to sell goods at the market.’
A scream sounded from a side street. Vikram darted down it, chased by several men. A woman stood outside her blazing house wailing. He grabbed her shoulders. ‘What?’
Her husband ran from the building, his shirt on fire. Vikram tackled him, throwing him to the ground, rolling him and beating out the fire.
The woman ran to her husband, who lay moaning on the ground. ‘Where is he? In the goddess’s name where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘My baby!’
Vikram leapt up. ‘Where?’
‘Upstairs.’
Two men grabbed him roughly before he could run into the building. ‘Nay, you cannot,’ one of them said. ‘Look.’ The roof collapsed. ‘Let him go, lads. The enemy would not linger to help us.’
Vikram sagged. ‘Dear gods, what have they done?’ Tears streamed down his face. They let him go. The burnt man was moaning. ‘He needs help. We need to evacuate.’
‘We need to fight the fires.’
‘How? Wet down the walls and roofs of unburnt houses? With buckets? In this wind? If you could knock down houses in its path maybe, but I fear there will be no stopping this. Evacuate the women with children for pity’s sake. Leave those who want to fight.’
The others carried the burnt man back to the main street where people were already moving in droves to the outer gates. Vikram drifted to the back of the crowd. People jostled one another as the crowd grew. More wounded were being carried out. The gates came in sight; the crowd surged forward.
Vikram slipped unnoticed from the crowd and headed to the market. As he neared it the market pavilion burst into flame. A grenade smashed upon a shingle roof shop next to him and fire rolled across its roof. Niaz’s men confronted him.
‘It’s me, let’s go.’
‘Where is Lord Niaz?’
‘Fallen at the bridge. We need to leave. You’ve done your work well. The high lord needs us now.’
They pushed open the smaller port gate and ran along the jetty to the waiting boat.
‘Get us out of here,’ Vikram ordered the boatman.
Behind them the lower city of Gopindar burned white hot.
* * *
Anil, Baldev’s Kenati, finished painting an oak and willow pattern upon the brow of the last of the slain warriors. Each bore their clan’s symbols painted on their hands.
A mass grave had been dug not far from Līna’s house and large cuttings had been taken from a basket willow in her garden. In the late afternoon, the bodies of the slain were placed into the pit and covered with earth. One willow cutting was planted directly over the grave and one for each of the slain was planted in a wide circle around it. Before each cutting a small fire burnt the personal items of each individual.
Anil began a solemn chant, and Baldev and the others joined in. Their singing faded with the light and ceased. Each stood with their heads bowed until Anil said, ‘May Rana and Jalal guide you and protect you on your journey. May you find peace and happiness in the next life—alvida.’
‘And so we add yet another grove of willow to our land to honour the dead,’ Baldev said bitterly.
‘There was not enough wood to burn them as we should. Yet this is the way our ancestors followed in times of war. The gods will understand the necessity. Their flesh will return to the soil and be made one with this realm through the trees of the gods. Rana and Jalal will hear us through the song and with the aid of the gods, the burning of their effects will carry the spirits of the dead onwards.’
Baldev nodded. ‘I wish we’d had the wood or the time to find it, though, and do this properly. Anil, have you ever really thought about how many such stands of willow or oak grow across this land? How many of those trees in clusters or alone have been planted where otherwise they would not be?’
‘Yes, Lord Baldev, I have—too often.’
Baldev sighed. ‘How many more will we plant before this is done?’
As they went back to the farmstead, Baldev thought he caught the scent of a heavier smoke upon the air, yet when he tried to catch it again it was gone.
* * *
Ratilal stayed on the battlements of Faros watching Gopindar burn all night. They thought they were untouchable. Baldev will be reeling from the fallout—homeless, dead and hopefully no grain for winter.
He smiled and rubbed his hands together, warming them against the cold. The sentry behind him had remained stoically silent all night. Ratilal turned to him. ‘Jabr, isn’t it?
‘Yes, High Lord.’
‘What do you think?’
Jabr’s face broke into a smile. ‘Amazing, High Lord. You’ve hit the Bear at their heart.’
‘Yes, we have. This night’s work will not long be forgotten.’
Unable to speak, Jabr nodded heartily in agreement. ‘You’re not tearing up, are you boy?’
‘It’s the smoke, High Lord.’
Ratilal looked about him. ‘Oh, I suppose it is a bit smoky. I hadn’t really noticed.’ Grinning, Ratilal shook his head. ‘What a sight! Time for breakfast—I’m ravenous. By the gods’ teeth it’s cold up here. Jabr, I’ll send some food and mulled wine up to warm you—you deserve it. There shall be a day of celebration and a feast tonight in the mess hall. The people need to hear about this triumph.’ He clamped his arm about Jabr’s shoulder in joy. ‘But first, breakfast!’
Jabr sagged once Ratilal left his presence. All night he’d fancied he could hear screams on the air. ‘Gods, those poor souls. Captain Vikram, where are you? We need you here.’
* * *
In his chambers, Ratilal toyed with his wine goblet. Food was piled high on the dining table, enough for the entire squad he’d sent to Faros. ‘Niaz should be back soon. We can celebrate. I think a trip to Pramod’s is in order,’ he murmured to himself.
A light tap sounded on his door. ‘Enter.’
Vikram softly closed the door behind him and turned to face Ratilal.
Ratilal drew himself stiffly upright in his chair. ‘Where is Niaz?’
‘Niaz fell when we were fleeing the upper city.’
Ratilal rushed to his feet. His face reddened; his lips formed a tight line. The sound of his harsh breathing filled the room. ‘How? Tell me?’
‘The mission went smoothly. Sora let us in. Niaz and I tackled the upper city, the others the lower city. Niaz lit the granaries, and I lit the barracks and armoury. Once the alarm was raised the Bear poured out of the barracks and pursued us. The darkness helped, but the blaze was enough that an arrow found its mark. I fired the gatehouse and bridge. Niaz made it through then died in my arms.’
Ratilal’s fist drummed against his thigh. His eyes were distant. ‘Will the granaries be destroyed?’
‘Yes. They exploded.’
‘That’s something then. The lower city?’
