Chapter-4-3

⁠—⁠—⁠— III ⁠—⁠—⁠—

The Mongauli army continued its pursuit of the fleeing Sem.

The sun was high in the sky, soaking the white ash of the wastelands with harsh white light, casting small, dark shadows under the knights’ horses. The troops rode fast and no longer in formation; their columns had stretched into long lines, and in places, no more than two or three rode abreast. It seemed to them as if the battle with the Sem had gone on forever, but in truth the entire conflict had lasted no more than a twist.

At the front of the lines, the captains shouted their throats sore in the rising dust.

“Give chase!”

“Don’t let them get away!”

Only half a tad or so ahead of the leading knights rode Guin, with Siba and a thousand of the other Sem warriors running fast on their short legs behind him. They looked like a phantasm born of a desert mirage, Guin riding his massive black steed across the barren waste, the Sem flowing behind him like a wild tide across the parched ground. Truly, it was a scene out of legend. Guin kept strict control of his steed, slowing the great stallion so that he would not leave Siba and his band behind. The blood that covered his muscled body was now streaked with runnels of sweat as the high Nospherus sun beat down upon him. His mask glistened crimson and gold.

“Siba! How fare you?” the leopard-man yelled back over the sound of pounding hooves and pattering feet.

“Riyaad! We all follow you!”

The shouts of the Mongauli army came to them from behind, carried on the desert winds.

“Stop them! Stop them!”

“Don’t let them escape!”

“Keep up the chase!”

Guin growled. “Siba! We have almost reached the first landmark.”

“Yes, Riyaad!”

“Then it is time!”

As he ran, Siba stuck a hand deep into a bag at his waist and brought out a small, round fruit. Holding it over his head, he covered his nose and mouth with his other hand and screwed his eyes shut. Then with great force he crushed the fruit in the air above him.

There was a slight cracking sound, and a burst of juice spilled out in a surprising gush from the small fruit, soaking his head and neck and trickling down to his waist.

Siba howled. The juice stank powerfully of ammonia, its fumes spreading out behind him in a great cloud. All around him, the other Sem pulled out similar fruits and administered the same foul baptism to themselves. In moments, the Sem troop was transformed into an almost comical band of red-eyed warriors, weeping and coughing at the stench. Yet they did not slow their pace in the least.

Siba looked up through tearing eyes and noticed a change in the scenery around them. “Riyaad, we will soon reach the Devil’s Anvil!”

“Good! Then we must run faster, brave Sem!” howled Guin. He raised his horsewhip and brought it down hard on his steed’s flank. Though bewildered by the stench all around it, the horse responded to this harsh treatment with another burst of speed. The Sem pounded across the loose sand to keep pace.

The Devil’s Anvil was an area of hard white sand, baked by the sun during the day and cold and exposed during the night. It lay lower and flatter than the surrounding desert. Guin, sitting tall on his horse, was the first to see it as they arrived to its edge. The desert before him seemed to boil, and all at once he could make out the shapes of a giant colony of yidoh. They were the same white color as the sand, lying flat under the baking rays of the sun. They seemed to cover the entire expanse of the Anvil in a white sea of jelly, trembling, waiting for some unwitting prey to come and ease their blind, eternal hunger.

Guin and Siba’s band were charging right into their midst! Instantly, the yidoh rose, disturbed by the intrusion, and began to undulate toward them. It was a hellish sight, one that would chill the blood of the strongest warrior in an instant.

Guin’s eyes grew bloodshot and the short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His strong body broke out in goose bumps, reacting with natural instincts of fear and disgust that even a warrior such as he could not suppress. Siba and the others were similarly affected. Their faces contorted with fear, pants and curses tumbled from their mouths. Yet when the yidoh that had surged toward them caught the scent of the yidoh-bane that the warriors had spread upon themselves, the shapeless monsters recoiled violently, pulling back like a receding tide and forcing their cousins who gathered behind them even further back. Thus a path was opened for Guin’s mad dash, as if he were some improbable prophet and the living sea had parted before him.

Yet the racing warriors had a long distance to cover to cross the Anvil, and the Nospherus sun shone down mercilessly upon them. Soon its beams had dried and evaporated the juice of the alika plant which they had squeezed over themselves to ward off the yidoh.

Siba thrust his hand into his bag again, and, grimacing, he broke another alika fruit above his head, showering himself once more with its noxious juice. The Sem behind him followed suit, and Guin squeezed two alikas in his powerful hands, dripping their juice down onto his horse’s forelegs.

Yet these were the last of the fruits they had carried with them. If this juice dried, the hurrying troop would be left defenseless in the middle of the sea of yidoh, and theirs would be an unspeakably horrible death.

Now fear settled upon them, making their throats tighten and their legs go weak. Already they imagined the dread sensation of their bodies being absorbed by those sticky, slimy creatures, and they ran for dear life. The Devil’s Anvil seemed to stretch out forever before them , and, natural desert runners though they were, the Sem found their breath coming ragged, and their shoulders heaved desperately.

At last they saw what they had been hoping to see.

“Quick, this way!”

“Riyaad! You are safe!”

It was the women of the Tubai, apparently standing knee-deep in the endless sea of yidoh, right there at the far end of the Devil’s Anvil. They held long staves in their hands, which they waved at Guin’s party. Swiftly Guin’s force turned to approach them, and as they did, the Tubai women took their long, strangely shaped staves and thrust them out into the boiling yidoh. The yidoh quickly parted to either side. Led by the staff-wielding women, the fighting force swiftly passed through the rest of the yidoh colony upon the Anvil.

The Tubai women gathered around them. They were dressed strangely, legs sheathed in bark moccasins that rose up to their knees, and hats on their heads also made of tree bark. From the belts at their waists many black fruits hung by threads, and from their furry hands and feet came the strong smell of ammonia, an odor that also emanated from the staves in their hands and spread across a wide area around them.

All that they wore and carried was made out of alika wood: the shoes, the hats, the staves, and even the belts which bore the alika fruits. The Tubai were also known as the yidoh-kin, for they did not fear the horrible yidoh of Nospherus, but rather herded and used them. They knew how to control the creatures’ movements and raised them in the middle of alika groves, the very thing that yidoh hated more than anything else.

“We did as you said!”

“Will this be enough, Riyaad?” the women asked, clustered close to Guin. The leopard-man stood among them like a father surrounded by his children and nodded, looking out at the sea of yidoh.

“Very well, this is enough for now.”

“We’ve never gathered this many together at one time before. We feared that we’d run out of alika fruit!”

“I think half the yidoh in Nospherus might be here,” said another.

The Tubai women laughed like delighted children.

The sea of yidoh that buried the wide Devil’s Anvil ended at the edge of that flat place. Beyond it, the ground was rockier, and among those rocks the main force of Sem now waited, the warriors resting their tired bodies.

“Riyaad.” Loto came running up.

“How is it with our troops? What are our losses?”

“They are not so severe as they might have been, Riyaad. Well under a thousand. Perhaps six or seven hundred.”

“The losses of the oh-mu are much greater!” Ilateli exclaimed excitedly, brandishing a stone spear in his hand. Ilateli had suffered a Mongauli sword-cut across his left shoulder. He wore many poultices and a disgruntled expression, but he had lost none of his fighting spirit.

“Were you hurt, chieftain?”

“It is but shallow! We of the Guro think nothing of wounds this size.”

Guin turned back to Loto. “So—at least half of our force is unwounded?” he asked.

“Perhaps more than that,” the Raku leader replied.

“Not bad. If we had had more casualties, then the next stage would have been difficult.” Guin drank deeply from the bamboo tube that Siba handed him, and with wads of soft moss he wiped the blood and grime off his sword and body. Then he went quickly to inspect the Sem army gathered among the rocks. There were many wounded, and he did not consider their wounds light, especially considering the disadvantages they still had to overcome. Indeed, despite Ilateli’s strong words, there were many Sem now lying on the rocks being tended by their friends. Yet the wildlings’ morale at least had not been damaged. They believed in Guin, and in their conviction did not doubt that he was sent by the gods to save them from the Mongauli who sought to trample them into oblivion. Surely Guin would bring them victory. They remembered the words that he had spoken—“We are few, but we have a strong ally, Nospherus”—and those words still gave them strength. None questioned the power and purpose of this barren land. It was their home, and was indeed their ally.

“Riyaad, what are we to do now?” Siba asked. The Raku youth had assumed the role of leader of Guin’s personal guard.

“We will do as planned,” the leopard-man responded curtly. “It will not be long before our Mongauli pursuers enter the Devil’s Anvil.”

“Ah, Riyaad!” one of the Sem warriors watching from atop a high rock shouted down.

“Are they here?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Tubai!”

“Yes, Riyaad!”

The Tubai women showed a sudden rush of activity. “It is our turn now! Yii yiii yyii!”

Yelling excitedly in their shrill voices, they brought out a number of glazed earthenware jugs that they had prepared. Each Tubai dame carried one to the edge of the sea of yidoh, and the jugs were spaced evenly along that edge.

The pots were full of the pure juice of the alika fruit. It had been the role of the yidoh-kin women to strain the fruits and fill these pots the night before. The Tubai did not raise the yidoh for food, nor did they keep them for any other purpose of husbandry. Their village lay in a place so infested with the creatures that they had learned these skills mainly as a way of controlling the damage that the yidoh did to them. Now their skills would be put to a new use.

“Yii yiii yii!”

Screaming as one, they tossed the contents of the pots toward the yidoh. At once the overpowering smell of the alika juice spread out in a cloud that made even the Tubai Sem blanch and cough and rub their eyes. The effect on the yidoh was incredible. With the strength of a stormy sea they rose in trembling waves, seeking desperately to escape from the horrible stench that assailed them. Gathering speed, the monstrous tide rushed toward the southern edge of the Devil’s Anvil. This was exactly as they had planned. Even so, the Sem watched in trepidation, collectively holding their breath.

“Alphetto,” Loto muttered in an amazed half-whisper.

Guin, however, did not seem moved by the scene at all. He raised and lowered his hand to signal the next phase of his plan.

Now the Tubai women pulled their carven alika wood hats down in front of their faces and fastened them behind their heads with strings. Small holes to see through had been cut in the tops of the hats, which thus served as crude wooden masks. They looked very strange, these tiny bark-garbed people with featureless, round faces, but they did not remain still for their remarkable appearance to be admired. Swiftly they snatched up new jars and ran in the wake of the yidoh, chasing the rustling bulbous forms and throwing more juice at them to drive them farther along.

The rushing mass of yidoh, having gathered momentum in its fear, was moving incredibly fast, and now the sickening creatures crawled over and under each other with a chaotic, boiling motion as each raced to escape the foul alika. So precipitous was their movement and so indistinct their forms that even the Tubai could not have said where one yidoh began and the next one ended. What mattered, anyhow, was that they were all joined in frantic, headlong flight.

With apparent calm and indifference, Guin watched the eerie, spasmodic sea receding. When he judged that the time was right, however, he turned with great rapidity to the Sem behind him and spoke out sharply.

“Siba!”

“Yes, Riyaad!”

“The next stage!”

Immediately Siba and several other Sem took off at a run. Guin watched them flash across the desert, making sure of their timing.

“Haa!” came a happy shout from the Tubai women around him. “The Tubai have used up two years’ worth of alika!”

Astrias and Leegan, at the heads of the two columns of red knights who now formed the vanguard of the Mongauli army, led the pursuit of the rapidly retreating Sem. They rode hard; and yet, even though they were on horseback and their enemies were on foot, they couldn’t close the distance between themselves and the wildlings. Their horses’ hooves sank deep into the hot sand, and oftentimes their steeds wallowed almost belly-deep in the loose dust. The fact that they carried fully armored knights did not help.

“Hyaa! Hyaa!”

The knights yanked on the reins incessantly, urging the animals forward with spur and whip.

Compared to the horses’ iron-shod hooves, the flat, lightly furred feet of the Sem were perfectly adapted for running across the desert sand. Moreover, the wildlings knew the lay of the land and its many obstacles and pathways. In order to confuse their pursuers, they ran in measured zigzags but took care not to lose the Mongauli entirely in the vast sea of sand. None among the Mongauli force was aware that they were carefully being led toward some place—none save Count Marus, the keep-lord of Tauride, the commander of the two thousand blue knights who were bringing up the rear behind the foot soldiers. His thoughtful face had borne a look of deep concern ever since the Mongauli had begun their long pursuing charge.

Lieutenant Garanth, Marus’ right hand and a veteran of similar age and experience, now approached to ride alongside his commander. “Lord Captain! You have a look of worry, sir. What are you thinking?”

“Those Sem run too fast,” Marus replied, rocking slightly in the saddle as his horse adjusted to a change of terrain. “Or maybe it’s that they’re going too slow. They’re moving too slow to completely evade us, and yet they’re running faster than they would if they really wanted to stop and fight again before they are exhausted. It doesn’t make sense. There is much that does not make sense about the Sem actions we’ve encountered on this expedition.”

“Perhaps you are reading too much into it, my lord.”

“I hope that is the case, Garanth. But if this feeling of impending danger turns out to be caused by more than just my old nerves, we may not be able to simply shrug it off—not if we find ourselves in the midst of some trap or ambush. Ever since you and I were boys of fifteen, I have been in countless battles, from skirmishes to giant wars that determined the fate of nations; if there is one thing I have learned from all that experience, Garanth, it is that battles are alive. Battles are living things. As with beasts, you must try to know them, you must handle them with care and some love, but you must never take your eyes off them, or they will go for your throat. Battles are wild beasts that can never truly be tamed, Garanth. You need both a whip and meat if you want them to turn on your foes and not yourself. The general… does not understand this.”

Garanth was silent.

“The general is young, and, more importantly, she has never tasted defeat. She is a beast trainer who has never been bitten.” Saying that much, Marus closed his mouth and rode for a while in silence.

A while later, however, the count looked intently at the white cloud on the horizon and muttered out loud, “I do not understand it.”

“What, my lord?”

“If I knew, I would not be so troubled. This time, I fear, the creature known as ‘battle’ is rather unhappy with us. Wait!”

“What is it, my lord?”

“Look! What is that?” A frown creased Count Marus’ craggy brow as he pointed toward the horizon.

“Is that not the white cloud of dust which shows us where the Sem are?”

“You cannot tell, Garanth? The way the dust cloud is rising—it is different from the way it moved before.” The count bit his lip and thought for a moment, then suddenly pounded his saddle in exasperation. “Ah! I see now!”

“What is it, my lord?”

“We had forgotten! This is Nospherus—and Leegan and Astrias are in danger!”

“What?”

“Garanth, go! Ride ahead to Astrias and Leegan and give them the order to stop! You can inform the general later. We must halt as quickly as possible. Go!”

“Yes, sir!” Garanth galloped off promptly, still uncertain as to exactly what was going on.

“Halt! All troops, halt!” Many of the blue knights now rode ahead bellowing their revered captain’s order.

“What is this?” Amnelis demanded, surprised. “Those are Marus’ knights, are they not?”

“Yes, General.”

“What are they doing, giving orders to halt? I am the general here! Has Marus gone mad? Orders! Orders! Get Marus here at once. Quickly!”

Feldrik himself hurriedly galloped toward the rear guard.

Meanwhile, Garanth was moving forward along the advance lines of red knights as fast as he could go. “Lord Astrias! Lord Leegan, stop! Halt, now! Wait!”

Pollak heard the hoarse voice of the old knight.

“Captain!”

“I think I heard it too,” Astrias said. “Someone is—”

“Garanth, Count Marus’ lieutenant.”

“What is he saying? Stop? Is that an order from the general?” Astrias furrowed his brow unhappily. “Very well. All troops, halt!” he shouted.

The knights of Astrias Corps demonstrated the quality of their daily training by slowing to a standstill without waiting for a second command.

Leegan Corps, however, kept up its headlong pursuit. Garanth had been racing along the right side of the vanguard of red knights. His shouts had been heard by Astrias and his men on the right, but pounding hooves and clanging armor had prevented the order from being heeded by the left wing.

“Leegan! Leegan, stop!” Seeing his friend galloping on unchecked, Astrias shouted with all his might.

It was just then that someone shouted in horror, “What in the world is that?” The fear in the voice was so palpable that the cry was impossible to ignore.

It made Astrias start. He followed the shouting knight’s gaze—and froze in terror.