Chapter-4-3

⁠—⁠—⁠— III ⁠—⁠—⁠—

“Run for it!” a voice that sounded like Kalto’s shrieked out, then changed abruptly to a growl and then a scream of pain, and was swallowed up by other screams.

“Loto!” Siba shouted, determined never to abandon the high chieftain or leave the old warrior unprotected. “Let’s get out of here! I will cut us a path through the enemy line…”

The pursuing Mongauli force had arrived with fire and wrath at the rocky area where the Sem were making their stand. The soldiers had dismounted where the terrain made riding impossible, and now they approached on foot, each bearing a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. The new arrivals pushed forward between the high walls of the boulders to offer assistance to Astrias' men. This was a dangerous maneuver in that it halved their effective fighting capacity, but it allowed them to light the area brightly with their torches—a cruel dawn to reveal the Sem as they sought to hide among the rocks or flee under cover of darkness.

“Don’t leave any alive this time—slit their throats if they try to escape!” Feldrik’s shout pierced the darkness.

Vlon, who had ridden beside the Lady Amnelis during the entire chase, declared with a smile, “General, these are pitiful opponents, not even worthy of fighting.”

“Do not call this a fight,” Amnelis answered, her beautiful lips curled into a cruel smile. “This is a slaughter of beasts—just a monkey hunt.”

Indeed, the contest could hardly be described as a battle. The Sem had finally lost their desire to fight. Abandoning any semblance of order, they became more monkey than human, and milled about wildly in a last ditch effort to survive. Despite the efforts of some of their leaders to marshal their forces, their followers tried only to escape, screaming fiercely and bumping into one another as they fled, hiding behind each other’s bodies to avoid the sharp swords of the Mongauli. Most of those who remained alive were already drenched in the blood of their fellow Sem.

“Fight, fight!”

“Stand fast! Don’t run!”

The commands of the chiefs were swallowed up by the shrieks of the others.

“Ayeeaaa!”

“Yeeee!”

As the Sem raced frantically back and forth, they collided and pushed each other to the ground and trod on their fallen fellows. The Mongauli were laughing as they chased after the monkey-folk; free now of the fear of battle, they had cast aside their helmets so they could breathe more freely and more easily see their victims. The tips of their swords shone red in the light of the torches, and the same flames illuminated the blood lust on their faces. The Mongauli troops were no longer satisfied with simply slaughtering the Sem; they had begun to play sadistic games using their vanquished foes. Horrible acts of violence were carried out everywhere.

“I will chop off this one’s hands!”

“I will take the legs!”

“And I will take the eyes!”

The Mongauli cursed the fleeing wildlings and chased them with waving swords, competing to see who could cut off or gouge out named Sem body parts the quickest. One group caught a screaming ape-man and, purposely setting aside their swords, killed it instead by hitting it between the eyes with a heavy rock, crushing its face to a pulp even as it looked up at them in terror.

“Count Marus burned alive!” a soldier screamed, as red-faced as if he were drunk. “They will taste the same!”

He caught a Sem and doused its head with vasya oil, then ignited the fluid with the torch he carried in his other hand. A band of nearby soldiers laughed uproariously as the Sem became a fireball and rolled around screaming on the ground.

“How many taal will the next one go before it burns to death?”

“I will bet one raan on ten taal!”

“I will bet one raan and one bottle of honey wine on five!”

“Ten taal—I will wager my spare armor!”

Howling like fiends, the band went looking for other Sem that would be suitable for their game. The soldiers waved their torches as they ran after the wildlings, exchanging guesses about which ones would burn well, and favoring the ones with the thickest coats of fur.

In another area a bunch of soldiers had begun a contest to see who could cut off the head of a Sem and leave it hanging by the smallest flap of skin. When a neck was severed completely by mistake, a Mongauli clicked his tongue and kicked the head casually aside as if he were playing a game of Yan ball.

The Sem’s monkey-like appearance had made it easy for the Gohran soldiers to fall into merry, unrestrained brutality. They gouged out Sem’s eyes and peeled off their skin as casually as if they were killing dogs and cats. Some were cutting off only the tails of the wildlings, and piling them up into a heap. Some were laughing as they held down the poor little ape-men to pierce their arms and legs with their swords. Some took the Sem’s poisoned darts and used the wildlings for target practice with their own weapons. There were heads without eyes, torsos without heads, arms without fingers, faces with the skin peeled off, gouged out eyes everywhere. Leaking brains, intestines, and blood flowed over the ground in a gruesome stream; the ground had become so slimy with offal that the soldiers needed to step carefully as they picked their way over the carcasses of their foes. The terrible reek of slaughter rose high into the air.

If the Mongauli had not been so focused on the violence they were wreaking, they would have noticed the shining blue eyes of wolves looking out from behind the rocks on all sides. The creatures were so excited by the smell of blood that they had lost their fear of fire, and watched with curled lips and drooling mouths. Fortunately for the soldiers the blood and meat of the fallen Sem were enough for all the wolves that lived on Dog’s Head Mountain. The slavering canines slunk out quickly and seized carcasses and severed heads to drag back with them behind the rocks. The revolting sounds of bones being crushed and warm blood being lapped up were heard from all around.

“The last day of the Sem” was played out in a scene of living hell—and still the Mongauli were not sated with killing, but rampaged on, all semblance of discipline, self-control, and reason among them gone.

“Ohhhh!”

Nobody paid any attention to Rinda, who was screaming with horror as she clung tightly with both hands to Remus' shaking shoulders. The twins had been tied together at the ankles and forced to stand at an improvised cavalry hitching-post. Rinda’s cheeks were wet with tears, and she was wretching repeatedly.

Ahead of her, the furry little simians she had known as happy and carefree were now screaming in pain and writhing in agony as they were slain by swords or held down to be skinned alive.

“Ohh…! How could this… Janos, Janos, have mercy!”

Rinda could not stop screaming. She clung tightly to her little brother’s body, as if he could somehow save her, or return her from this nightmare to some less awful place.

“Ohhh… Please stop, stop!” she babbled, barely coherent. “What did they do to deserve this? What sin did they commit? This can’t be!”

Glimpsed in the torchlight, the brutally slaughtered carcasses of the Sem began to overlap in her mind with the bloody tragedy that had befallen the noble folk of Parros in the Crystal Palace. To Rinda’s eyes, the colors of the Mongauli’s armor burned like a sigil of evil, and in her bewildered imagination the Sem who were dying in agony became her dear relatives and the people of her country.

“Stop,” she groaned as though disgorging blood and buried her face against Remus' chest. How could this be permitted? How could the gods let this be? Guin, why aren’t you coming to help us, Guin!

“Rinda.”

She was so filled with sorrow and desperation that she was not aware of the low voice that had quietly spoken her name. Remus was the first one to take notice.

“Rinda!” the prince whispered anxiously, and nudged his sister.

Rinda raised her face in surprise. A red knight was standing nearby, gazing at both of them meaningfully. Through the visor of his helmet bright black eyes seemed to be sending them a secret message.

“I…” Rinda swallowed, unable to say more. A giddy wave of hope suddenly flooded her heart.

“I’ve been looking for you. You silly kids gave me a lot of trouble,” Istavan of Valachia whispered to them with a suppressed smile. He casually resettled his helmet and glanced around to make sure the soldiers nearby were totally occupied with the slaughter. Then, concealing himself behind the horse that was tethered beside them, the mercenary bent down and cut the rope that secured the twins’ ankles. As soon as he was finished, the two children tensed as if to bolt, but, before they could move, Istavan seized them by the arms.

“Don’t run! You’ll draw attention. Move slowly—just slip from behind this horse to the shelter of that boulder, and then keep going, from rock to rock. While they are busy—slowly, all right? You understand. Suni is hiding behind that rock over there. I told her to steal a horse. Lead it to where you can ride, and escape.”

“Istavan, what are you going to do?”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll take care of myself,” Istavan declared self-consciously, as if he was determined to make up for slipping away from the oasis and leaving the twins behind. “All right, now—go!”

Rinda hesitated, intending to ask again what Istavan planned to do, but he put his hand over her mouth and pointed along the escape route he had chosen for them.

“I said, ‘Go!’ Keep your body low, crawl like a worm if you have to! Don’t show your faces above the rocks. And don’t waste time! It’s almost sunrise. Once the sun is up, everything will be over.”

“I-I understand.”

Remus pulled at Rinda’s hand as she continued to hesitate. At last she turned to follow him, but, even as they began to move, an exclamation from somewhere chillingly close stopped them short.

“Wait! What are you doing? Why did you cut the bindings of the twins?”

The severe voice made the twins shrink down in dismay. Istavan’s whole body grew stiff.

Again the voice spoke commandingly.

“You are one of the red knights! Do you belong to Astrias Corps? What is your name? Or are you an agent of Parros?”

“No, not at all. There is a reason…” Istavan started to explain as he turned to face his interrogator, then whipped out his sword.

But that was exactly what his enemy expected. Istavan’s foe, an experienced combatant, had drawn his own blade as soon as the mercenary had turned. Now the Valachian saw that his adversary wore fine white armor and a helmet with a captain’s trailing tassel. The helmet’s visor was up, revealing the serious, angular face of Feldrik.

“You are as dull-witted as you are inept!” the white knight exclaimed. “I will put you to the question in front of the lady!”

Feldrik was a famous master of the sword. With an artful feint he neutralized Istavan’s pass and darted the tip of his blade forward to cut the bindings of Istavan’s helmet, causing it to fly off the mercenary’s head as he jerked back to avoid the blow.

Doalspit, he’s good! Istavan cursed inwardly. An instant later the point of Feldrik’s sword was at Istavan’s throat.

“Your name! Who are you? Why did you release the twins of Parros?”

Istavan’s eyes darted right and left, seeking some means of escape. Feldrik’s hard face grew harder still.

“If you do not speak your name, I will put this sword right through you!”

The white knight pushed forward, and Istavan, panting, was forced back into a corner among the boulders, his face pale and contorted.

“Speak your name!”

Feldrik began to press the tip of his sword into Istavan’s throat. Then—

“Ohhhh!”

A wave of sound washed over them as hundreds of Mongauli troops shouted in sudden amazement.

“What…”

Feldrik stiffened, momentarily distracted. The Crimson Mercenary didn’t miss his chance, slipping away from the tip of his enemy’s sword and putting distance between them with a quick handspring.

“Wait!”

Feldrik started to run after him, and then froze in midstep. His mouth fell open, and his eyes stared in disbelief at what he saw. By the look of surprise that spread across his features, he was afraid he was losing his sanity.

“Wh-” his mouth moved unconsciously, leaking a faint sound. “What is it?” he managed at last. The same words were repeated as screams from many Mongauli mouths.

“Ohh!”

The long and bloody night of slaughter was drawing to a close, and the sun was rising over Dog’s Head Mountain, shining indifferently as if it knew nothing of the inhumanity in the world. The scene it illuminated with its yellow-gray light was like an image from the depths of Hell. The lights of the torches were suddenly subdued to smoky flames, as faint as the glow of fireflies before a great bonfire. The entire mountainside had become a spectacle of misery and brutal cruelty. Blood, freshly severed heads, entrails, brains—and in the midst of this, all who remained alive, whether Mongauli or Sem, commander or common soldier, were gaping uncomprehendingly at a point higher up on the slopes. Like the citizens of Kanan as they were changed to stone by the legendary witch Cyclope—with jaws dropped and fighting forgotten, they stood staring in wide-eyed shock. Rinda felt her heart leap with amazement.

“Gu…”

At last a voice—and, until it sounded, not one among them had moved. Some grasped their bloody swords, and some stood poised to strike a blow, but they were all frozen by what they saw. They could not move.

“Guin…”

“Guin—”

“Guin!!”

Then the cry of this first voice spread like a ripple—like an echo sounding deep in the mountains and growing and multiplying among crooked crags.

“Guin!”

“Riyaad!”

“Riyaaaaaad!!”

Siba was the first to move. As if seized by a sudden madness he began to run, uncaring that his eyes were flowing with tears. A moment later Rinda also jumped up and ran toward the figure of the leopard-man, now visible in the growing light. Remus followed close behind her.

“Guin!” The name burst from Rinda’s mouth like a sob. “Guin… Oh, Guin. Guin!”

It was as if her screams and her careless, headlong movement had lifted a curse from the frozen men. The baffled lull of silence became an ear-splitting din as the Mongauli soldiers expressed their disbelief, and the few remaining Sem cried out in joy.

“From where… where in the world did he…”

“What is that? What…”

“Guin…”

“Riyaad! Riyaaaad!”

The shouts of the Sem blended into a single enormous cheer.

“Riyaad! Riyaad! Riyaad!”

At the same time, the Mongauli voices began to falter as their minds struggled with the impossible sight before them. High above the battlefield, on the slope of Dog’s Head Mountain where a broad crag jutted out from the surrounding rocks, the muscular leopard-headed warrior was standing with both arms folded across his chest, surveying the catastrophe through his mask of yellow and black as if he were an incarnation of the god of destiny controlling the world’s vicissitudes.

On either side of him stood a group of magnificent giants larger than the leopard-man himself.

The giants had the look of fighters, fearless as the stalwart troops of the gods when the hero Cirenos led them, and just as valiant. The awe-inspiring sight was made even more unearthly by the fact that the giants’ numbers were steadily increasing— the towering figures seemed to appear from nowhere, like the soldiers of Valgos who were said to spring forth from dragons’ teeth hurled to the ground. One after another they stepped forward and formed up behind Guin. The ever-growing divine army was wrapped in the glory of the morning light at its back. The giants were marvelous in their shining beauty. Their soft-hued manes and the fine, downy hair that covered their bodies illuminated by the backlight of the sun, they looked almost translucent, or as if they emitted a hot light of their own. In their big hands they held heavy cudgels, and their hips were girded tightly with thick wolf-hide belts.

One figure, the biggest and most striking of them all—a veritable giant among giants—stood just behind Guin with his arms crossed upon his chest, glowering like Balbas, guard of Cirenos. Below his narrow brow and severe scowl the great giant’s eyes were shining with a fire that seemed capable of burning down anything.

“Lagon…”

“Lagon—”

“Lagon!”

As their initial shock faded, the Mongauli realized the astounding truth: they were looking at a tribe of phantoms, long regarded as the merest legend, coming to life in front of their eyes.

Guin’s hand rose up very slowly. He was grasping something strange, an object that shone a bright silver in the sunlight.

The mouth of the leopard gaped open. From within, an earth-moving, gut-shaking roar issued forth: “Sem—

“Sem!”

“Sem!!”

The giants were chanting in chorus. The earth rang.

Then, with Guin at their head, the Lagon began their charge down, their footfalls causing the very stones of Dog’s Head Mountain to tremble.