Chapter-1-2

⁠—⁠—⁠— II ⁠—⁠—⁠—

The deep cold night dragged on.

It was the third night since the Mongauli army had marched into the Nospherus interior. In the camp, the men waited eagerly for dawn, swallowing their unease and the faint longings for home that inevitably crept into their hearts whenever the sun sank below the horizon.

There was only a twist of the sand clock to go before sunrise. The small campfires spluttered under the black tarpaulins that had been rigged to hide their light from distant enemies. The faint, shrill hissing of the embers provided a staccato treble to the bone-chilling rumbling bass of the desert wolves’ howls that came from afar across the sands. The night was the domain of the desert-dwellers. The men huddled close, casting their thoughts ahead to morning.

A knight sat up from his sandy pallet with a scraping of armor that woke the man sleeping next to him. The second man’s eyes opened wide.

“What? What is it?”

All of those who were not on duty were trying to sleep. They had to rest, if only a little, to prepare for the coming long march. More than that, they knew the battle that would surely come during the day ahead would exhaust them even further. But the nighttime raids had put their nerves on edge. Desperately though they wished for it, many felt all hope of rest slipping away.

They were filthy and uncomfortable. The army’s scouts had yet to find an oasis where they could replenish their crucial water supplies, and so water had been severely rationed; the men were forbidden to wash their faces or hands. Caked with dust and blood, the once-resplendent Mongauli knights looked worn and diminished.

The sitting knight rose to his feet.

“Nothing. Can’t sleep. I’m going to walk the bounds.” His horse, sleeping at its tether nearby, gave a startled snort and then dozed again.

“Better not,” grunted his neighbor. “It’s dangerous. Never know where those wildlings are hiding.” He sat up. “Want me to come with you?”

“No. No need. I’ll be right back.”

The wakened knight furrowed his brow. Saying nothing more, he settled his body, still encumbered in his heavy, uncomfortable armor, back down on his pallet and closed his eyes with a sigh of resignation. Maybe he’d be able to get a little sleep—a little peace—if only a twist’s worth… But his tongue was rough and dry in his mouth, and his eyes stung with sand. He quietly adjusted the steely helm that served as his pillow and tried to coax the slightest bit of comfort out of his hard bedding. No matter how robust the men of Mongaul were, he thought, two more days of hard marching and they would all look like a child’s toy soldiers made out of mud, exhausted and useless for any purpose.

The knight who had risen took off his helmet and let his face feel the cool night air. He ambled slowly between the black huddled shapes of half-asleep horses toward the outskirts of camp. His fellows, lying curled up on the ground as they sought fruitlessly to steal sleep from the relentless night, heard his foot-falls crunch in the sand and lifted their heads. Only when they saw that he was neither a foe nor a messenger come to tell them of some attack did their heads sink back down into postures of sleep. Even in the darkness the knight could sense the tension and irritation all around him.

He reflected on how much the army had changed in a scant few days. He could almost hear the soldiers laughing as they had on the many nights before when they sat around the watchfires, talking of their homelands. Those nights, some of the men had even pulled out flutes and played the merry tunes of camp and tavern. But tonight, the Mongauli army was as silent as the night was black.

Skirting around the sleeping men, the knight moved toward the camp perimeter.

“Who goes there?” came the sharp voice of a spear-wielding sentry. The Sem night raids had taught the guards to be suspicious of every sound.

“Name’s Eku, Troop Argon, Marus Corps.”

“Your business?”

“Just getting some fresh air.”

“Don’t go too far, sir.”

“I won’t—I know the rules.”

The blue knight frowned. He hated being treated like a child—he was a soldier, experienced enough that he did not need to be reminded of his orders. He yawned and ostentatiously marched off in the opposite direction.

He kept along the outskirts, walking at a leisurely pace. The cool air on his face was refreshing.

“Hey.”

A low voice sounded from the shadows. Eku started, then turned to peer in the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me. Hey, can ye lend me a hand, here?”

“What?” Eku searched for the speaker, his eyes squinting suspiciously. He was standing near a small rift that ran through a rocky area just outside the camp, even darker than the open desert. He could vaguely make out some indistinct black lumps in the darkness, but it was difficult to tell whether these were men and horses or just more rocks.

He couldn’t find the source of the voice. Eku craned his neck, opening his eyes wide to see through the shadows. “Something the matter?” he asked the empty night.

“Yeah. Can ye lend a hand? Me horse here caught his foot in one o’ these blasted crags and now he’s stuck.”

“Ach,” cursed Eku, spitting. “He’s got a peasant for a rider, no doubt.” The voice was coming from the darkest shadows, just between two dim circles of light made by the torches of two sentries far off to either side. Neither sentry was paying Eku any attention, if they could see him at all. “Hey, where are you? How am I supposed to see you in this blackness?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry. I’m over here—look, I’ll come get ye.”

One of the dark lumps Eku had taken for a boulder suddenly split into two halves, and one of the halves stood up. Eku could now see the shape of a tall man walking towards him.

“Fine place to have a spill—I’m surprised the Sem didn’t find you,” Eku grumbled. As the man approached, he could see that he, too, wore the armor of a blue knight. Eku relaxed, his initial feelings of suspicion beginning to abate.

The man stooped a bit, looking in Eku’s direction, then he bowed slightly in thanks. From under his helm, obsidian-black eyes glinted in the light of the torches. He straightened up and took another step forward. “Who were ye, again?”

“What? I’m Eku, of Troop Argon. You?”

“I’m from Talos Keep. Look, we’d better hurry. Me horse won’t stay still-like. Any longer and he’ll break a hoof, he will.”

“What were you thinking? If your mount breaks a leg in this desert, you’ll have nothing to look forward to but a hell-march. Unless you want to be a footsoldier, eh?”

“There’s naught I can do ’bout it. If me horse is battered up too bad, well, I guess I’ll just have to take one o’ our fallen comrade’s mounts. He won’t be like to miss it!” chuckled the man, grabbing Eku by the hand. “Come on, then.”

“Eh? Where’s this horse of yours?”

“Here, right over here.”

“What were you doing this far out of camp? The sentries will have a harsh word with you, for sure.”

The man rambled on, “Guess ye could say I’m a loner o’ sorts. Don’t like being stuck in with the rest o’ the men, see? Too crowded. But it’s no worry, me troop’s used to it by now.”

“Where was your horse again?” asked Eku, looking around. “I don’t see any horse around here.”

“I’ll be damned. That’s bloody odd. He didn’t get loose himself and run off, now, did he?”

“Well I see nothing, not even a sand flea—hey…” Eku squinted suspiciously. An uncomfortable thought had just occurred to him. “You’re from Talos, right? What did you say your name was? Wait!” Now Eku stopped. Talos Keep was garrisoned by black knights, not blue, and the black knights’ section of the camp was well to the north! Eku was about to question his errant friend when the man called to him with urgency in his voice.

“You, Eku. Quickly! Here, take a look at this!” The man turned away from him and stooped down to pick something up off the ground.

Eku walked over, trying to see what it was. He noted that the man’s armor was indeed that of a blue knight, like his own, which made him wonder all the more why he claimed to be from Talos. All of Marus’ men were garrisoned at Tauride!

“Listen—” he began, leaning in to see what it was the man held in his hand.

He never finished his question. Something flashed silvery in the blackness, and there was the beginning of a scream, hurriedly cut off by a hand that darted to cover Eku’s mouth.

Then, for a while, there was nothing but a quiet so complete it was stifling. Finally there came a soft thud, much like the sound of a heavy sack of stores falling flat upon the sand.

“Hey!”

A suspicious sentry glanced over toward the sound.

“Something the matter over there?”

There was no answer.

The sentry held up his torch and moved nearer, peering into the gloom between the boulders, but seeing neither the glinting of Sem eyes nor some other horrible Nospherus creature come to feed on human life, he soon went back to his post. He was sure that if he dared to investigate much further—if he went to look out upon the gently rolling dunes, extending like waves across the ocean of night beyond the camp’s edge—some unknown horror would emerge and drag him off to the sandy depths.

The sentry made the sign of Janos with his hands and muttered a few words in the old runic tongue. Thankfully, nothing did come out of the desert at him, and convincing himself that what he had heard was a trick of the wind, he went back to his watch.

Back in the camp, the blue knight who had been woken by his fellow rising to go for a walk was still unable to fall back into sleep. That Eku sure is taking his time. He had spent several long uncomfortable moments wondering whether he should go check and see whether aught was amiss when at last a blue knight appeared, walking slowly back through the huddled men. His hood was drawn fully over his face and his cloak was buttoned against the chill.

“Eku, that you? Where in Doal’s name did you get off to?”

“Ah, didn’t go too far,” the blue knight grunted back in a voice stuffy with lethargy, as though he had finally attained true sleepiness on his walk and was unwilling to speak too loud and thereby wake himself up again.

“Hmph. You’re an odd one, Eku.”

The waiting knight’s lips were pursed with annoyance. He was on the verge of berating Eku for going off like that and leaving his comrade to worry about what had befallen him, but in the end he just let it go and lowered his head back down.

Dawn would be coming soon. Already, the eastern sky was lightening, as though a thin leaf had been torn from the long book of night. When the morning arrived, they would have another hard march waiting for them, beset on all sides by the wildlings and the creatures of the sand. He would need to conserve his strength. It was not long before he had completely forgotten Eku’s strange nighttime stroll.

“Prepare to march.”

“Prepare to march!”

Dawn had broken on a night many of the Mongauli thought would never end. The desert mornings, like the nights, came unexpectedly swift and resplendent.

The giant fiery sphere of Ruah lifted above the horizon and into a harsh blue sky, revealing a landscape softened by no beautiful veil of morning mist, graced by no chirping birds, cheered by no green of dewy grass. Here there were only endless bright waves of sand, linking and shifting and blurring into the distance.

The commander’s pavilion was dismantled and packed away and the familiar orders for breaking camp were passed along. Here and there, horses stood waiting for their masters, snorting and scraping the sand with their hooves.

The Mongauli had lived through another Marches night, and their exhilaration at merely being alive spread like a rainbow through their hearts—only to fade, when they remembered that another Marches day was beginning. And day meant that once again in full wakefulness they would have to confront the question of who among them would live, and who among them would have the ill fortune to fall. They did not doubt that this would be another day overwhelmed with cries of war, and billows of burning sand, and the dancing sparks that leap when blade strikes blade, and the sighs of life escaping from dry, swollen lips. Not one among them expected less than painful death.

Already, Death’s bleak colors were seeping across the clear Nospherus dawn. The men could sense it. They went about their chores without speaking.

Solemnly the knights gave their horses water and feed, each careful to save one draught for himself, and they chewed their meager breakfasts of jerky and dried fruit. With their supply of water so low, they were unable to prepare their customary morning meal of kneaded-flour gati balls; nor were they permitted to light fires for stewing. The dried meat was so tough that it stuck in their throats no matter how much they chewed. Grimly in the morning light they looked into each other’s emaciated faces, then mounted their horses or knocked sand out of their hard boots and tied them on tight for the long march ahead.

“Hey there,” the blue knight Ewan of Marus Corps turned nonchalantly to the man next to him, who had already climbed upon his steed. He frowned. “Hey, Eku.”

“Eh? Ah?” Eku responded, startled.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating? The road is long, don’t want you collapsing.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not hungry right now,” replied Eku through the lowered faceplate of his helm.

“Aye, but you should eat all the same. You need to get something in you. ‘Can’t fight on an empty stomach,’ they say. Right?” Ewan quickly tightened his horse’s girth, continuing to talk as he checked the fastenings on his saddle. “If you’re having trouble getting that jerky down your gullet, I can break you off some of this vasya fruit. My house runs an orchard, you know, and we make it ourselves. It’s a might juicier than the bone-parched stuff you get from the company mess.”

“Nay, that’s fine—I’m fine now. Thanks,” replied Eku in the same gruff voice.

Ewan—it was Ewan who had called out to Eku the night before—was a well-meaning sort, if inquisitive. However, he was not the shrewdest of men, nor one who might boast of his soldier’s intuition. Thus even as he stood there wondering at his comrade’s odd behavior, not once did he draw a connection between it and the strange walk during the night, nor the fact that his companion had kept his faceplate down fully ever since the morning light had broken.

Still, he was curious, and so he asked again, heedless of Eku’s attempts to avoid him. “Say, what is it? Not feeling well, are you?”

“Really, it’s nothing,” the mounted knight replied. “I’ll be fine if I stay still a bit. Just leave me alone, will you?”

“Ah, so you are feeling ill! I see. Maybe a touch of the dust-waif fever, eh?”

Eku hastily urged his horse into motion, backing it away as Ewan approached. “Get ready, we’re marching!”

“The black knights are riding front today. We’ve got plenty of time before it’s our turn,” replied Ewan, now stepping closer and reaching out to get a look under Eku’s faceplate.

Just then, a scream shot up from someone—probably one of the sentries—at the edge of camp.

“Wha—” Ewan whirled around to see what the matter was.

As soon as his back was turned, Eku’s horse lunged forward, propelling him into the passing stream of riders until he was lost amidst the crowd of knights, rows and rows of men wearing identical blue armor, helms, and cloaks.

Another wordless scream sounded across the sand. The knights stationed near the eastern edge of camp turned in time to see a sentry stumble backwards, his arm pawing the air around him as though he were struggling in some invisible morass. He tried to shout something, but before the words came out, he tripped and fell full length upon his back. The soldiers who were nearest saw a black arrow of familiar design stuck in the very middle of his forehead.

“The enemy!”

“To arms! The Sem have come!”

In a flash, the Mongauli camp was a broiling sea of action.

The knights grabbed their swords and lowered their faceplates, trying to swallow angry sighs of “Not again!” as they fended off the poison arrows that now fell around them like a venomous rain. None had truly believed that the day would pass without incident, but the raids of the night before had been so wearying that they had hoped for at least a brief respite before the new day’s battles began.

The way in which the nighttime raiders had struck and then pulled back before the knights could put up a proper defense had clearly been the strategy of one well schooled in the arts of the battlefield. Each attack had come at just the moment when the invaders had decided that there would be no more assaults that night; and then when the knights stood to arms, ready to meet them, the wildlings became scarce as spirits, hidden off in the desert somewhere. It was a tactic intended to exhaust the Mongauli, and it had worked brilliantly.

Marus saw the bleak shadow of fatigue and dismay in the eyes of his men, and he gave a great shout. “Rise, brave warriors of Mongaul! Our enemies are few in number! Crush them now in one blow, and drive these crafty monkeys from the sands forever! Today is the day we win!”

“Mongaul!”

The cry went up from all sides as a ripple of excitement passed through the troops. Just then, another voice rose up from the crowd. A knight stood with his arm outstretched.

“The leopard-man!”

All the knights turned in the direction he pointed to see the one whose name was a curse to all the men there.

Whether or not Guin had ever been human, he had now become a god of death in the eyes of the Mongauli. The leopard warrior, mounted on a great charger, was poised alone on the top of a sandy rise high above the Gohran army. His bestial head, silhouetted against the rising sun, streamed like a mane of fire along his mighty neck and gleamed upon the half-bared fangs in his mouth. Huge and hungry, brilliant as the sun itself, he looked down on them with greedy eyes.

“Guin…”

Standing in the heavily guarded center of the camp, Amnelis, the Lady of Mongaul, drew in a sharp breath and muttered a curse against his name. Across the landscape of rushing soldiers, at the head of a line of red knights, the young Astrias saw him, too, and growled between tightly clenched teeth.

“Freak!” Count Marus, his eyes shrouded in wrinkles, but burning no less brightly for his age, swore and spat upon the sand.

All eyes were turned to the strange leopard-headed warrior, as though Guin were the statue of some deity whom the entire Mongauli army had come to worship. Their eyes were filled with hatred, shock, fear, alarm, and burning battle-rage. For that moment, to the more than ten thousand Mongauli who watched him, it was as though their fate had taken form and now shone down on them from the height of that ridge. Whether they wished it or not, they would be led to whatever destiny the beast-man’s arms placed before them, like the young boys in the ancient fable who ran off to follow the kitara player to dooms unknown.

The bright, dazzling desert under the white morning sun stretched out to infinity, and the knights and footmen, gazing about, saw themselves in that instant as nothing more than a bleached, ephemeral mirage-army. They were stricken as one with the dread feeling that their destiny might be to chase that sun-drenched, galloping half-man half-beast god until they dissolved into nothingness among the shifting dunes.

It was Marus’ hoarse shout that broke the spell and brought them back from their ill-omened hallucination. “What are you doing? He is but one rider! Charge! Take him! Charge!”

Even as another rain of arrows fell upon them, a great shout went up as the Mongauli focused their energy and directed their charge towards the rider on the dune.

Quickly the men drew their swords and fell into ranks. It was the beginning of another day of war, blood, and death in Nospherus.