Chapter 26: Fortunes of War, or the Clueless and the Dead

Dharkuntis council of advisers stared to the west, stunned, and some looked like they were still waiting for the Bhoreghan to rise anew. The Emperor’s emaciated face was expressionless, only the gleam in his watery grey eyes betrayed his emotions - anger. The silence was broken by the sound of applause, a solitary pair of hands clapping in a leisurely rhythm. Dharkuntis slowly turned and saw the High Priestess approaching. She was accompanied by a young amazon.

“That was nicely done, why the disappointed faces?” The tingling laughter in her voice was as mocking as the applause.

“Is there a reason for your happiness?” The Emperor asked between clenched teeth. “It was your council to summon the Bhoreghan and they wiped it off the sky like a bothersome insect.”

“I’m glad you headed my advice. It served more than one purpose. One was to strengthen our forces, and that goal is achieved, even more after the Bhoreghan’s demise. You’ll realize that soon enough. The second goal is equally important. I need you to realize whom we are fighting! An army cannot defeat Ghania, Eyna and Zeroth. There is not enough power in this world. We have to lead them to destroy themselves,” Kassja told them, undeterred by the Emperor’s anger. “Of course we have to be careful giving directions, or they’ll destroy everything else as well,” she added with a smile.

Dharkuntis watched the High Priestess. Her hooded black cloak wasn’t closed in the front and showed that she no longer dressed in the white robes of her order. Kassja wore a red gown with a deep décolleté, and a crystal shard pendant, shining in brilliant colors, decorated her bosom.

“Then go and lead, but remember what I am here to achieve. I want Iane, nothing else matters.” The rattling breath of the Emperor made his command sound like a snarl.

“Iane will follow her master, and her master soon will go wherever I go,” Kassja replied.

She tenderly touched the crystal shard lying in the valley between her breasts, and smiled at Dharkuntis before she left.

Hassika, Athea and Menja had watched the Bhoreghan’s nosedive and subsequent crash landing with utmost attention. When its bloody entrails splattered the environment, each of them voiced her personal thoughts regarding the encounter differently.

“Shit!”

“Serves him right.”

“Sorry!”

Athea and Hassika grinned at each other while little Menja looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry about your daddy, it’ll probably start raining pitchforks and hammer handles as soon as I tell him to clean up that mess.” Athea realized her mistake before Menja had formulated her inquiry. “That’s just a saying and means it will rain heavily,” she quickly added.

However, Athea’s explanation didn’t prevent Menja from asking another question.

“Will the souls get wet if it rains or will they stay dry because they are invisible?” Menja wanted to know, looking concerned.

“Which invisible souls are you talking about?” Athea asked, starting to feel uneasy too.

“Ghania told me the Bhoreghan had many souls in its tummy, and now the souls are wandering about because they don’t know the way back to the Underworld.”

Athea stared at the girl and groaned. “You aren’t joking, are you? There are souls wandering around in this bloody mess, how many?”

Fidgeting and tilting her head Menja looked up at Athea from between the lashes of her eyes. “In the Underworld Bhoreghans feast on souls and this one was very old, and a very big Bhoreghan. His tummy was full of souls, but it’s not that bad! Bhoregans only eat the nasty souls, the ones judged to have been bad. They are punished to wander the endless deserts of Denaros - one of the known hells in the Underworld - where the Bhoreghans and other yucky things hunt for them. I think they will like it better here, don’t you think?” Menja concluded doubtfully.

Athea let out another groan. “What are we talking about; a dozen, a hundred or maybe a thousand souls? And what will those souls do if they can’t find their way?” She asked and saw Menja’s eyes growing wide.

“No, YOU made that mess and YOU tell her! ... Well, yeah, but you told me the words and I didn’t know the Bhoreghan would splash, and I didn’t know anything about all those souls in its tummy!”

“Quit the squabbling! One of you will tell me what I need to know and I don’t care who it is,” Athea angrily interrupted the argument.

Menja flinched when she heard Athea’s commanding voice. Her eyes filled with tears and she was trembling as she talked. “There are thousands and they will search for bodies to host them. Bodies without a soul, the bodies of the dead. I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” She was sobbing as she finished.

Athea groaned once more, shook her head and palmed her face. Crouching she took the crying girl by her shoulders. “Listen you two. Stop crying, you did what I told you to do. This is not your fault, it’s mine and you don’t see me crying, do you?” She calmly asked and watched as Menja blinked at her, sniffling, and looking rather suspicious than reassured. “Oh come on, am I really that bad? You are my little sisters and don’t have to be scared of me, not at all. Besides, I already told you that your daddy will have to clean up this mess. I just didn’t know what big a mess it is, so maybe we will lend him a hand or two,” she ended grinning.

“The souls, they don’t know their way. They will come to you, Eyna. You are The Way.“

Hassika, Denyssa and most of the amazons had quietly gathered around them. Athea saw their fear stricken faces as they listened to Menja’s voice but knew it was Ghania talking. No longer smiling, Athea turned her back on them. She didn’t want to see their faces anymore and wordlessly she stared to the west as Bosko licked the tears of Menja’s face.

The over-head strike with his great sword had broken the wooden shield and severed the arm below the elbow before it cut the boiled leather armor at the shoulder and tore through clavicle, ribs, breastbone and spine. Ghorn Nakass placed his boot on the chest of his dead enemy and dragged his sword free. He and his Maktar had rushed a unit of skirmishers positioned at the back of a phalanx formation. The skirmishers were not armed for close combat and it wasn’t much of a fight.

Ghorn and his two thousand Maktar were positioned in the middle of the Norgar frontline. He looked around the battlefield and took in a deep breath. The sound of steel clashing against steel was everywhere and bellowed war-cries drowned out the whimpering of the dying and the wounded. Thousands of corpses littered the miles long frontline, and the smell of their blood and feces hung heavy in the air. The orchestra of war played a symphony and the growing audience quietly listened, but they reeked.

This was a Norgar day, a day to fight, to die and so much more. They had seen the end of the world and a monstrous flying beast carrying certain death in its claws. It was a day their legends were made of. The world didn’t end and Ghorn laughed when the beast’s gore and entrails rained down on them. He laughed when he drew his great sword from his back and stormed towards new enemies, and he laughed as he killed them. He laughed because he was a part of what would become a legend, and maybe, because he was alive.

The corpse he left behind didn’t laugh. Its life and soul were gone. The new soul invading the body had no reason to laugh either. His first time on this world had been bad and ended when someone slew him in a tavern brawl. The second time on this world didn’t look any better. Thousands of corpses to choose on this battlefield, but he found himself possessing a mutilated carcass with a missing hand and a severed spine, unable to use the legs. It didn’t matter, legs or no legs, he knew where to go, even if he had to claw his way with his one hand to get there. Blue, red, green, yellow and violet, a rainbow of colors shining in the darkness, and a bell like voice was calling for him. He had to reach the light.

The Norgar attack pushed westward through the enemy formations. Behind them, one by one, the dead were rising, dozens, hundreds, thousands. Walking, limping or crawling they made their way towards a little hill north of Notabir. They all saw the light and they all heard the call.

Roban stood behind the Targhas shield wall as the Ogusi chased along their frontline, drawing their bows and loosening swarms of arrows into the sky. He heard the Targhas grunting their disapproval. Throwing sticks at your enemies was a coward’s way to fight. Roban assumed that the next attack would be more to their liking. In the south thousands of Ogusi riders gathered around their banners and their spear points shone in the sun. However, he wasn’t concerned about the Targhas likes or dislikes.

To the east, the Ghallan clans had taken their position between the Targhas and Notabir. Before the war, the clan warriors didn’t wear any armaments, but since the war began, the clans had used the time to improve on their armor. Many warriors now wore armaments made out of boiled leather, but chain mail was rare and steel plate none existent amongst them. Not enough protection and many arrows found a target. The Ogusi barraging was wearing them down. How would they fare against a mounted charge?

“Vernya is the home of the Ghallan clans and if they die there is no reason to fight any longer. Even if you win this battle, you may lose the war.”

Roban frowned as he heard his thoughts spoken aloud. When he turned around to face Jenaya he spotted someone else. A hundred yards to the north, between the ruins of two burned catapults stood a young amazon. Her hair was raven black and after she loosened an arrow, and lowered her bow, he could see her familiar face.

The arrowhead pierced the chest plate of his armor an inch below his left collarbone. Roban smiled as he fell, he remembered her beautiful, steel-gray eyes.

She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the body by her feet. His presence had always felt like the wind, sometimes a gentle breeze, more often a storm. Now all she felt was calm as Jenaya looked at the body lying on the ground. The darkness had left his eyes and they were pale blue again. The eyes of a boy she had met some years ago, in another life. Jenaya crouched down beside him, placed her hand on his chest and listened. The metal of his armor felt smooth and cool and all she heard was silence. No breathing, no heart beating, no blood rushing through his veins, Jenaya was drowning in silence but a voice called her back.

“You will go and tell Athea that her brother is gone.”

“Don’t you think she knows it already?” Jenaya asked.

“Of course she does,” Iane replied, spread her arms in a gesture encompassing their surroundings. The Targhas had planted their blood red banners all around them and set them on fire. “They all know he’s gone.”

“Then why do you want me to go?” Jenaya asked as she watched the black smoke from the burning flags rose to the sky.

“I’ve no use here for a wailing vampire, but you still can be useful to me. The moment you tell Athea that her brother is gone she will become even more furious. Maybe I’d also send Nigulla and Patessa to tell her. I want her raving mad with fury,” Iane answered musingly. Nigulla and Patessa, standing by her side, looked decidedly unhappy about the prospect to become Iane’s messengers.

“You want Athea to explode and me to be busy trying to survive the eruption, so neither she nor I will have time to wallow in sorrow. Thank you, Iane,” Jenaya said and stood up, but looked down at the body once more. “The wound by that arrow couldn’t have killed him, was it poison?” She asked.

“No, it was no poison. Poison I could heal, but I can’t heal a body without soul,” Iane answered.

“You asked me to tell Athea that he is gone, but you never said he died.” Jenaya stated and looked at Iane, the question in her eyes.

“I don’t have an answer for you, Jenaya. Destruction is immortal, he cannot die, and Roban told me they are one. Two or one, it makes no difference, there is no soul in this body. It is gone. That’s all I know.”

“What will you do now, Iane?” Jenaya asked.

“I’ll serve my master, as I always did, and always will.”

Jenaya saw the sole tear running down the cheek of the beautiful blond goddess, and looked away. She was about to leave but Iane called her back.

“Wait,” Iane commanded and Jenaya saw her pulling the arrow out of Roban’s chest. “Give this to Athea when you tell her about her brother,” she said and handed Jenaya the arrow.

The arrowhead was a crystal shard. Colorless clear it was sparkling in sunlight, flawlessly, almost. A tiny shadow was enclosed in the center, tainting its perfection.

Gillyn was kneeling beside her youngest brother and tending his wound. An arrow had struck his right shoulder close to the neck. The wound was bleeding profusely and difficult to bandage. She turned her eyes of the wound to look for her sister. Ynerca was standing close by, motionless, and staring westwards where smoke was rising from the burning banners of the Targhas.

“I need your help, Ynerca. Press the cloth on the wound to stop the bleeding, so I can bandage it.” Gillyn yelled at her sister, but Ynerca didn’t react. “This is your brother, Ynerca, and he needs your help! Stop staring, Roban is...”

Ynerca spun around and interrupted her screaming, “Don’t you dare say it! Roban is a god, and gods don’t die!”

“Maybe they don’t, but your brother will if you don’t help me,” Gillyn replied, no longer yelling, but softly.

Ynerca fell to her knees aside Gillyn and cried as she pressed the cloth on the bleeding wound of her brother. While the sisters bandaged their brother, two riders cantered across the field where the clans had brought their wounded. They stopped close by and Sinheyd Dohougney jumped off her horse, ran the last few yards, and crouched down at Gillyn’s side.

“The Ogusi stopped their attack and sent a messenger. Rhogunata offers for us to surrender and demands an answer within an hour,” Sinheyd whispered out of breath.

Gillyn didn’t respond to Sinheyd and continued to bandage her brother.

“Gillyn, please listen to me. I talked to the other clan leaders, without Roban we can’t withstand an Ogusi charge. They will ride us down. The battle is lost and it never was a fight of man. The dead are rising in the north, thousands, and they are marching towards Athea. Let the gods fight their war, but we need to flee or none of our families will survive this day.”

Gillyn wiped her bloody hands with a piece of cloth and rose to her feet.

“We swore an oath, Sinheyd. Athea is the High Protector of our clans, and we owe her loyalty. Her brother fell as he fought for us. That’s where loyalty ends, when you are dead. I will not leave her alone in the face of her enemies, may they be man, the dead or gods, but I will ride and talk to her.”

Gillyn Canbierra took the reins of Sinheyd’s horse, mounted and rode to the north.

Ghorn Nakass and most of the Norgar clan chiefs stood on a rise a few miles northwest of Notabir. Their warriors were still pushing the crumbling Manthakin army towards the western mountains, but their chiefs were looking east.

“It’s a shame, I really liked the boy,” Igen Bjerek, the Tuhak chief, said and spit on the ground.

“He killed the usurper, and led us into a war. He was a Chieftain and I’ll drink on his funeral,” another Chief agreed.

“He was young and left no son. The dead are slow but they are marching. They will reach the hill his sister is on within two hours, or less. I don’t believe she will flee,” someone mentioned.

“The Chieftain’s sisters were always stubborn and I’ve heard this one is even worse.”

“Worse she might be, but her son will become our next Chieftain.”

“If we can get her off that hill before the dead will reach it.”

“I’m not afraid of the dead, but it seems stupid to fight them. We already killed them once and that should have been enough.”

“Ghorn, you know her best. Take your Maktar and bring her to safety at the coast,” the Tuhak chief suggested.

Ghorn watched the faces of the men around him. Hard faces, their eyes as cold as the north, studying him, and they were waiting for an answer.

“You decrepit sacks of rotten bones, do I look like your bloody fool? The Chieftain died and Athea is his Blood Born Sister. I’ll lead the Maktar to that forsaken hill, and we’ll defend it against anyone and anything. That’s how brave I am, and that’s what I will do. Here is what I won’t do, because I am not brave enough. I don’t tell her anything. I don’t ask her anything. I won’t even look at her and I’ll pray she won’t look at me either. That’s it. Find someone braver if you want more.”

Silence followed Ghorn’s exclamation. They stood and stared at each other, until Igen Bjerek broke the standoff.