Baram laughed weakly. Jandu hear him sniffling in the darkness.
“Although if you stay, I still get the bed,” Jandu said softly. “I’m a girl now. I’ve got tender skin.”
Baram snorted. Jandu heard him wipe his nose, heard him pull himself back together.
“Okay,” Baram said at last. “I’ll leave you and your reputation alone. I’ll go sleep in the kitchen, where I’m supposed to.”
Chapter 31
T
HE FULL NOTE OF
T
AREK’S CONCH SHELL BLEW OVER THE CITY
of Jezza.
Outside the brown brick walls of the city, Tarek’s army waited for the Jezzan lord to show himself. The Jezzan army remained out of sight, tucked inside the city’s fortifications. Tarek surveyed the walls and saw they had been designed for defense but not offense. There were no raised platforms from which archers could mount an attack.
Tarek stood in his chariot, just outside the city gate. Behind him, fanned out, were his commanders. Beside him, in his own chariot, was Regent Mazar.
Mazar had joined Tarek only the evening prior, bringing along a contingent of Prasta soldiers. Tarek was surprised that the grizzly old warrior would journey so far from the palace after all these years of peace, but Mazar explained that he felt it his duty. He, too, had taken a vow to serve the king of Marhavad.
Tarek had only known Mazar as Regent, had only seen him in silk robes. Now, donned from head to toe in ancient-looking armor, the old man appeared fierce. His silver breastplate and helmet glinted in the unforgiving sunlight.
“If King Darvad cannot be with you,” Mazar had told him, “then I consider it an honor to fight in his stead.”
Tarek bowed. “Your skills and experience will be a great asset, and the honor is mine.”
Now eight units of foot soldiers and archers stood behind Mazar, Tarek, and Darvad’s general. Tarek was proud of the order of his men, the clean lines of their ranks, the fierceness of their appearance. The colored banners held beside the unit commanders flapped furiously in the hot, dry wind of the plain. Over two thousand men stood ready to follow Tarek into these walls.
Tarek looked back at the barred gate.
“I challenge Lord Sahdin to bring forth the traitor, Lord Kadal, and to surrender!” Tarek bellowed, hoping his voice carried deep into the city. “Tell your lord to show himself!”
Tarek’s heart beat wildly. He prayed Sahdin would be brave enough to face Tarek alone. It would save lives. But as the silence stretched into minutes, he realized that there was little chance that the lord would willingly give up Kadal, or the safety of his palace.
One arrow, ignited, flew over the city wall, falling short of Tarek. Its message was clear. If Tarek wanted Kadal, he would have to take him.
Tarek signaled to his commanders and then Tarek sounded his conch shell one more time.
Mazar and the other Triya in chariots blew their horns as well, and the sound of the notes rising brought the hairs on Tarek’s arms up on end and sent a thrill of expectation through his veins. Adrenalin flooded his system.
“I can break the wall,” Mazar shouted at Tarek.
“Then do it,” Tarek said.
He watched as Mazar pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and then aimed at the wall. Mazar closed his eyes and whispered a sharta over the weapon, the words strange and dangerous, beyond Tarek’s comprehension.
Mazar loosed his string and the arrow whistled as it flew.
The arrow hit the wall. Stones exploded in a shower of dirt and flame. Dust burst upon the army and the echo of the detonation pealed over Tarek in a roar. Jezzan soldiers screamed as shrapnel bombarded them. The force of the impact carved a basin in the dry soil.
Before the Jezzan troops inside could react, Tarek charged into the gap. A roar went up from his troops as chariots filed in behind him, with his foot soldiers following suit.
Tarek’s horses trampled over the explosion’s crater and took off at a gallop towards the center of town. He raced for the palace. Once he killed Sahdin and Kadal the war would be won.
Dust blinded the Jezzan soldiers. Many stood, too shocked from the force of the sharta to react. As Tarek’s soldiers poured through the hole, they took advantage of the Jezzan’s surprise, cutting them down like sheep. Tarek had ordered two units to stay and safeguard their exit. The rest of his soldiers fought through the Jezzan defensive line.
Tarek only witnessed the beginning of the melee, as his view was quickly swallowed by the high walls and winding streets of the city. His charioteer rounded a corner and he briefly glimpsed the chaos left in his wake. Arrows clanged against helmets and breastplates. Screams rang through as the points found limbs and faces. Hand to hand combat broke out in a flurry of individual battles around the wall, down the narrow streets. There was no escape for the Jezzans, no ground to retreat to, and as his own soldiers continued to pour through the hole in the wall, the Jezzans, outnumbered, began to die in great numbers, struck down by spears, maces, and swords. The assault was monstrous and fast. Dragewan soldiers charged forward towards the Jezzan Palace, slashing a way through the remaining terrified Jezzan troops and following their lord into the streets of the city.
Jezza’s streets were filthy gray, its buildings coated in decades of dust. Tarek’s charioteer negotiated the tight corners and precarious angles of the stone buildings. Tarek ordered his charioteer up the main avenue while Mazar and the other charioteers split up through the other streets, each of them charging towards the palace. Two units followed Tarek. The yellow banners showed that one of the units was under Anant’s command.
The road opened to a wider thoroughfare. Tarek spotted an enemy chariot racing towards him. Tarek notched an arrow and aimed at one of the two horses pulling the chariot. He loosed the arrow and the horse fell with a scream. As the horse fell, the other steed screeched in panic as the chariot bounded over the dead animal and flipped over on itself. A second chariot behind this swerved to miss the wreckage and charged Tarek. The Jezzan warrior inside shot a flurry of arrows but most flew wide.
Tarek didn’t bother with his shield. He returned his own volley of arrows. The chariot flew past him and then circled around, seconds later coming back to attack Tarek from behind. Tarek took careful aim, bringing down first the archer and then the charioteer.
As Tarek raced to the palace, more chariots charged, but their forces split as they turned down different roads to challenge Tarek and Mazar separately. Chariots flew toward Tarek, but he dispatched one with another volley of arrows. The other chariot was taken down by Tarek’s foot soldiers, who stabbed the horses with spears.
Tarek rushed to the palace gates.
Mazar arrived a moment later, rounding the corner of the other road. He recited over another arrow and shot this at the palace gate, and once again the masonry shattered in a discharge of mud and stone. Tarek’s horses whinnied in fear but continued forward.
Tarek’s chariot was overtaken by Anant’s men, who pushed themselves at a sprint towards the enemy, butchering Jezzans to open a passage for Tarek.
Tarek abandoned his chariot. There were too many bodies, too much chaos to navigate a wheeled car. He slung his bow over his shoulder and grabbed his sword and shield, and jumped to the ground, pushing through the crowd of his men to make his way into the palace. Immediately his own men closed in behind him, shielding him from attack.
The palace courtyard was bricked in and small, with a pool and a statue of Prophet Tarhandi looming in the center.
Skirmishes blossomed across the courtyard, as man fought against man, soldiers falling, clubbed to death. Execution took mere seconds once the soldier was on the ground.
Given the hopeless situation, Tarek expected the Jezzans to run. But now that his forces had penetrated the palace, there was no place for the troops inside the palace to go. So they battled on, hand to hand combat bringing the men together in couples, a gory dance of blades and maces. The walls of the palace closed in the sound of the battle, creating a roaring echo which shook the ground as men screamed, as metal clanged metal, as bodies fell upon the hard stone. The dead lay in piles, especially around their broken entrance, where Tarek’s men killed the Jezzans trying to flee.
Someone grabbed his arm and Tarek spun fiercely, sword raised.
Mazar panted beside him, his armor stained with the blood of his victims.
“Be careful!” Mazar said. “ Sahdin knows the Pezarisharta. If he releases it, he could kill every living creature within the city!”
A Jezzan soldier charged at Mazar. Tarek and Mazar both attacked, cutting down the man in mere moments. Mazar dashed into a nearby melee.
Tarek climbed onto the base of Tarhandi’s statue in the center of the courtyard. He slung his shield behind him and used his bow to cut down men from his vantage point.
To his right, he saw Anant hewing his way through a crowd of men. Two men attacked Anant at once. He dodged and managed to slice the back of the knee of one of them while evading the other. Disabled, the Jezzan fell, and Anant thrust his sword through the other soldier’s neck. Blood sprayed for a dozen feet, covering Anant’s armor in red. Anant wiped his eyes and surged on.
Tarek leapt down from the statue and blew his conch. Anant and his men immediately flanked Tarek.
“I need to get to Sahdin,” Tarek commanded. At once Anant and his cadre of soldiers surrounded him and hacked their way into the palace. Men, both Jezzan and Dragewan, fell. But soon Tarek reached the entrance of the great hall. Few of his bodyguard remained and they spread out, wary of the dim spaces in the hall.
Suddenly a man called out.
“Judge!”
Tarek turned just as a wild-eyed Jezzan soldier, a commander, swung his mace. Tarek had no time to react.
Out of nowhere, Anant sprang between them. The mace smashed into the side of Anant’s head. He crumpled to the ground. Tarek lunged forward, driving his sword into his assailant’s belly.
Tarek heard Anant groan on the marble floor. Tarek knelt beside him.
“Anant!” he shouted. A shrill buzzing filled Tarek’s ears.
“My lord! It’s Sahdin!” someone called. Tarek swiveled to see Sahdin emerge from his throne room. His eyes burned in fury. He was fitted in his armor, his sword in his hand.
“Suya whore!” Sahdin hissed. He raised his sword.
Tarek raised his own. Unlike that evening at Druv’s house in Prasta, Tarek could now fight fairly, on equal terms. Tarek blocked Sahdin’s blows easily. The moment he saw Sahdin’s mouth contort to form a sharta, Tarek swung with all his strength and sliced off Sahdin’s head in one, clean stroke.
Only moments later, Kadal himself emerged. He wore armor as well, but it looked too small for him. He was clearly terrified.
“Royal Judge!” Kadal stuttered.
Tarek thrust his sword into Kadal’s side, in between the plates of his armor. Kadal fell to his knees with a cry. Tarek grabbed his hair and exposed his neck, and then sliced his blade through.
A wail emerged from Sahdin’s nearby attendants. The cry was taken up immediately by the soldiers around them, the sound rumbling into a dark roar, throughout the palace, as the Jezzan soldiers dropped their weapons and bowed to their conqueror.
The buzzing in Tarek’s ears didn’t stop.
Tarek called his general to give the order not to attack the unarmed Jezzan soldiers, and to take them as prisoners instead. But many of Tarek’s men were blinded with blood lust, and it was several hours before the last of the skirmishes abated. Tarek meanwhile removed Sahdin’s diadem and had one of his men hang it on the shattered palace gate, a reminder of what happens to traitors of the king.
In the evening, Tarek ordered torches lit and his soldiers worked to stack the bodies of the fallen Jezzans for cremation the following day. The bodies of Sahdin and Kadal were anointed and prepared for a funeral pyre that evening. Tarek allowed the lord’s attendants to complete all formal respects for their former liege, who had fallen honorably in battle.
As final preparations were being made to light the pyre, Tarek addressed the mourning throngs. Tarek appointed one of his generals to oversee the safety of Jezza until King Darvad chose a new lord. He assured the people that so long as they were obedient to Darvad, no further harm would come to them.
Then a shriek, piercing and pitiful, came from a young woman, who rushed to Sahdin’s funeral pyre and threw herself upon it, sobbing. One look at her bosom told Tarek that this was Sahdin’s daughter, the luscious Aisa, Darvad’s desired wife.
Aisa’s attendants pulled her from her father’s body as the pyre was lit. She sobbed loudly, uncontrollably, and her grief stirred the people around them. Jezzan citizens turned cold eyes towards Tarek.
“Get her out of here,” Tarek ordered one of his commanders.
“Where should I take her, my lord?” The commander asked.
A cold, dank feeling crept through Tarek’s bones. He looked at the weeping girl. This was his chance to save her for Darvad.
“Take her where you want,” Tarek snapped. “It is not my concern.”
The commander’s eyes glinted briefly, and then he ordered his men to drag Aisa away. People stirred angrily. The situation was growing hostile.
Mazar, who had watched the proceedings by Tarek’s side, stepped forward.
“On behalf of King Darvad, I offer those Jezzan citizens loyal to our beloved king the riches deserved of such fealty.” He motioned to his waiting soldiers. They began to distribute coins—gold, jewels, the coffers of Jezza’s lord. The crowd’s atmosphere changed dramatically. Now a stampede formed, people vying for their share of the booty.
Tarek smiled coldly. “I trust you have saved enough of the coffers to pay the troops.”
“Of course,” Mazar snorted. He smiled at Tarek. “I may be old and weary, but I am no fool.”
“You were magnificent,” Tarek told Mazar, and he meant it. He wasn’t sure how he would have breached the fortifications in the first place if it hadn’t been for Mazar’s shartas. Tarek realized that having Mazar by his side was, in many respects, more of an advantage than Darvad himself.
After the funeral, Tarek discussed securing their position with his general. He then dragged his exhausted body out to the back courtyard of the palace, where his army’s tents were erected. He drank water like a dying man once he got there, and then inspected the casualties. Two hundred of his soldiers had died, with another three hundred wounded. Tarek walked past men with severed limbs, with slashed faces, with shattered bones. Tarek steadied himself, telling himself it was an acceptable level of casualties for a battle.