Chapter Thirty-Four

What was left of the army could not fit into the fort at Golconda. A ragtag camp had been made around the outside of it instead. Gorst had not come into the fort until makeshift pickets and defences had been arranged. Only a handful of carts holding ammunition had been kept safe and dragged up the hill. There was little in the way of food left. Water was taken from the cisterns of the fort and distributed freely to soldiers and colonists alike. The last of the carts were unloaded and then broken down for fuel to provide warmth. Few officers were left. Very few above the rank of lieutenant. The snipers of the enemy with their jezails had been highly effective.

Colonel Gorst leaned against a parapet and looked up at their goal. One last climb to the top of the pass. Two towering snow-laden mountains loomed like gatekeepers to either side of it. A bit of snow had come down and covered the whole landscape in a fresh layer of white. Down here at the pass, it was not deep, but up in the peaks of the mountains, it was thick. Hood, Dryden, Pugh, Mar, Captain Khathan, Lieutenant Koen of the rangers, and a handful of other infantry officers stood along the ramparts with their commander. Captain Khathan, being a sepoy, would not normally have stood with the rest, but there were so few officers left, and he was now the ranking sepoy. Beyond that, they had been blooded together, so they did not deny him a place.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Gorst asked the group of officers.

“It’s going to be damned bloody,” Hood replied. It was obvious, but he said it like it was a revelation.

“That cavalry is going to return and harry us again. They’re going to drive us like cattle into that makeshift wall. They’ll have those jezails massed behind it. I’ll tell you, we can’t seriously fight in two directions going up that slope. We’ll need every man for the assault.”

“So, straight at them, then. Hard and fast, like always. That wall can’t be strong, can it? It’s low and made of piled rocks. Good cover for their snipers, but if we get up into them, it won’t hold.” Dryden added.

“If we don’t deal with those cavalry, it won’t much matter. There won’t be enough of us left to make the final assault.” Pugh insisted.

“So, someone stays behind at the fort and mans the guns. The guns can cover the rear easily enough,” Dryden replied.

“You will want a rear guard, yes? Someone to die holding them back?” Khathan asked grimly.

“Aye, that we will,” Gorst agreed sadly.

“I suppose it will be us,” Khathan added, “It is always us.” Gorst started to object, but Khathan cut him off, “No. It will be us. They will taste our khukuris.” The man grinned through his thick moustache. There was something wicked in the Guludan’s dark eyes. A desire for revenge, and perhaps a desire to die as well. Dryden knew that many of the sepoy wives and children had been among those who had died or returned to Vurun to be slaves. He didn’t know if Khathan’s own family was dead or enslaved. He did not ask the man, but the Captain’s countenance told him it was one or the other.

“If you need someone to take the lead, sir, then I volunteer.” Koen of the rangers said.

“Agreed,” Gorst replied to both men.

“Colonel Gorst, sir!” A shout came up from the other side of the rampart that overlooked the main gate which faced south. It was not a large fort, and the rampart went around the whole top of it. The group of officers walked around to the southern side to see several riders approaching bearing white flags.

“Should we let them in, sir?” The soldier asked. The soldier was wearing the red and white uniform of the original Golconda garrison.

“No. I think Hood, Dryden, and I will go to meet them.” Gorst replied.

They went down the stairs from the wall to the courtyard and then the gate was opened and they went out. A kind of avenue had been left open out of the fort. Makeshift tents were erected on either side, where soldiers sat with hungry sunken eyes, eyes filled with exhaustion and rage and fear. Three Vuruni riders approached. Dryden recognized one. Kal’kuris, the emissary.

Gorst strode up. He too knew the emissary. His face was full of fury, and he shouted when he spoke, “You dare show your face here after you broke faith under a flag of truce? After your king broke his promise of peace?”

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The emissary got a sad look on his face, “I was not aware of these betrayals before they happened.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Gorst shouted.

“No. It is true nonetheless. I am sorry for how these things have happened. I told you once, that war makes no promises. That is still true. Kings do as kings will. Yesterday he willed that we fight. Today he wills that I negotiate.”

“Why?”

Kal’kuris shrugged, “Who can say?”

Colonel Hood stepped forward to stand next to Gorst, “Tell us then, what does the king want today?”

“Today he wishes to demonstrate his mercy.” Kal’kuris declared, “The land speaks to him, and through him, the gods are given voice. Give over your civilians to our protection. We will return them safely to Vurun.”

“You’re mad,” Gorst said. His tone was cold and intense. A different kind of fury had taken him.

“No!” Kal’kuris spoke, his voice impassioned and pleading, “To continue is madness! Winter is here, and storms come. Snow and ice will take the pass. You have no food. You have no shelter for so many people! You must see this! Your people will all die if you stay! They will die if they press on!” He was speaking not only for Gorst but for all the thousands of people who remained and surrounded them on the open rocky fields around Golconda, most of whom were the colonists.

Gorst did see it. Dryden saw it in his eyes as the emissary spoke. They all saw it. But to give up their people was to dishonour themselves, to disgrace themselves. It was admitting defeat. They had come so far on the promise that they could see their people over the pass and to the freedom of Andaban.

Pugh stepped forward, “Colonel, sir.” His eyes were pleading, “We must. They will die.”

Gorst turned to him, “Captain, my daughter is among our colonists. She is everything to me. I cannot give her over to them, to see her raped and defiled by these barbarians. Better to die…”

“She will be protected.” Kal’kuris interjected, “Your noble daughters will enter my household. They will be as my own daughters. Not one man will touch them, I promise this.”

“What of the rest?” Gorst asked, his tone showed he already knew the answer.

“I cannot protect them all,” Kal’kuris said sadly.

“What assurances do we have?” Hood demanded.

“None. The only assurance is that if they stay, they will die with all of you. If they come with us, there is life.”

“What of Roxana?” Dryden asked. He knew the answer, he only asked to make Kal’kuris say it aloud.

“She will be the wife of Kurush. This is the king’s will.”

“She will not be harmed?” Dryden asked.

“No more than any bride on her wedding night.” The man replied.

“Gods damn you.” Gorst replied, “Fine. I will hold you to it. You will protect the noblewomen as if they were your own daughters.”

“I will.” Kal’kuris replied, “Let us take your people away from here. Once that is done, we can resume our feud.”

Then the three riders turned and rode out of the encampment and off towards the place where the enemy was camped, just over the next ridge. Gorst was shaking with some combination of rage and helplessness as they watched them go. Dryden looked out over the assembled people. Nobody was moving. Everyone had heard the exchange. There were no secrets here. Nobody wanted to give the orders to start this great happening. Dryden turned to a sergeant who was watching for someone to order the mustering of the colonists, “Make it so, sergeant. Gather the colonists. They’re to be handed over.”

The man hesitated, “Sir. My wife and child…”

“Damnit man, it’s everyone’s wives and children. Make. It. So.” Dryden clenched his jaw as he said it.

The sergeant turned and began bellowing out orders. The cry was taken up by the soldiers who began to herd the confused colonists towards the edge of the camp. A group of enemy cavalry appeared soon after, riding slowly and under a white flag. They were led by Kal’kuris and they rode under the gold and black banner of An-Beya, the clan of the king.

Shouting came from the side of the road and Lady Julia Gorst elbowed through a line of soldiers who were pushing civilians towards the road that led back down the hill, “Father!” She shouted. She ran to him in her plain travelling dress, still filthy from the dust of the road, “They say we are to be surrendered! Tell me it isn’t so!”

Gorst’s face blanched. His eyes were full of grief. She turned away from him towards Dryden. He shrank back.

“John! Tell him this is madness! You cannot let us go! You know what these men will do!”

“Lady Julia, I…”

She slapped him in the face, “How dare you, sir!”

His face was like stone, he did not react. The slap stung, but more his pride than his cheek, “You and the other ladies will be protected. Kal’kuris has promised.”

She slapped him again, harder this time, “You are all such brave men, and we are ever so grateful for it!” She shouted at all the officers this time, her voice full of scorn.

“Julia, please.” Gorst stepped towards his daughter and put his hand on her shoulder.

She brushed off his hand and stalked off full of righteous anger. It was the last time she would see her father alive.

As she walked away, Gorst turned to Dryden, “John, if you live through this and I do not, bring my daughter home. Bring them all home.”

Dryden only nodded in answer.

They watched as their colonists left under escort by horsemen. They were led slowly down the same road that they had just climbed the day before. A road filled with death. Dryden, for the first time, looked back at the road they had come up. The road from the city of Vurun. They could not see the city, nor even the plains below, for the skies behind them were pitch black with carrion birds, silently circling, waiting patiently to pick clean the bones of war.