Chapter Twenty-Three

Cold wind blew down from the Shan Mountains and through the Black City of Dau whipping at Dryden’s hair and jacket. His jaw clenched. Across from him stood Aisa the witch and several others. He had not truly expected to find anyone there in that shadowed ruin, but insofar as he had expected to find anyone at all, it would have been her. The other face he knew he had never expected to see again. Chatham, the translator of the Bloody 13th, the half-breed who had been at his right hand through all of his two years stationed in Vurun. He was so stunned, that nothing at all was said. They simply stood staring at one another for a time. They had ridden out together from Vurun with the army, hoping to make Andaban. That had not happened. In all the fighting he had lost track of the man and had assumed him perished, his fate unknown. Now here he was. He looked at Dryden with an expression on his face that the major could not identify, was it guilt, shame, pride, or some mixture of them all? It took longer than Dryden liked to gather his thoughts.

Dryden was the first to speak, “Chatham, it is good to see you alive. How come you to be here, in the company of this sorceress?”

“I am also pleased that you survived, John,” Chatham had not used his given name before now, it sounded odd from his lips.

“Answer the man, Chatham,” Mar’s tone was deadly serious,” How and why are you with that woman?”

Chatham struggled to find the words, and Aisa spoke instead, “He is my brother.”

There was silence again. Most of the men present did not know Chatham. Dryden and Mar, the two who knew him, both stared at her as if she had gone mad.

“My half-brother, truly, and a bastard at that.”

“How can that be?” Dryden asked, shocked by the revelation.

“Do you fools not understand how children are made?” Her voice was mocking, though she winced at her wound when she spoke.

Chatham finally broke his silence, “I am sorry, for everything. I did not think it would come to that, truly.”

“Come to what?” Dryden still did not understand.

“I did not think so many would die. I thought perhaps you would flee from Vurun and you would all just leave. When my half-brother made you his promise of safe passage, I believed him. I never meant for any of this. I did not know… “ Chatham trailed off.

“You bastard,” Mar muttered under his breath.

“Yes, that is what I am,” Chatham said sadly, “A bastard of Vastrum and Vurun.”

It finally dawned on Dryden what Chatham was speaking of, “You passed them information. Every order, every movement, the whole of our situation. Every bit of knowledge that passed our lips or entered our ears went through you. I wondered that they could know so damned much,” Dryden’s rage began to return, “I ought to throw you all into this pit and be done with it.”

“You ought to, yes,” Aisa replied, her eyes flashing with hate.

“Why do you hate us so bloody much?” Dryden demanded, rounding on her.

“Only an arrogant man of Vastrum would ask such a question. When you have suffered as we have, the only thing left is hate.”

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“Suffered how?”

“When I was a girl, young, before I had flowered, we lived in a good village far to the north of here, in the hills against the Shan. Then Vastrum men came, killing and raping. Do you wonder how my brother was made? Wonder no longer. Violence is all you know, may it be visited back upon you a hundredfold.”

It was Dryden’s turn to be sorry, but he said nothing for he was an officer of the King’s army, and of the Bloody 13th, the Butchers of Vurun. He knew that he was everything she hated, and she had a right to hate it. He knew for certain that Vastrum were the villains in this land. Aisa, the hero. Kurush, the rightful king. The Fyrins, liberators. For a moment he wondered if, perhaps, Jaqu was even a good man. All his doubt and guilt flashed before him. He was an officer of the King’s army. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. He wanted to apologize for everything that men had done, but he could not. It would have been hollow at best, no matter how well he meant it. He could have done nothing to change the past, or even, he suspected, prevent it in the future. Rape and pillage were abhorrent to him, to be punished even, but a man could not fix every ill in the world. He knew that a King’s officer had duties in direct opposition to what was good and right in the world, and he was nothing without duty and honour. No man under his command would do such things, he thought, no man he served with. But he knew that it had probably happened without his knowledge, and would likely happen again. He could only follow his orders. Today, those orders were to follow and catch the witch Aisa, so she could be tried for crimes against the empire. Now he had her and it was time to leave this place.

“What must we do to leave?” Dryden asked Ugruz, “What must we give to the pit?”

“Something which holds a great memory, gold will not suffice,” The grizzled easterner replied grimly.

The strange demon-cry came again from above with the sound of beating wings. All looked upwards, eyes straining to see the black monstrous shape. Clawed hands stretched out from the writhing dark of the thing as it swooped in on the squadron. Muskets fired but seemingly did nothing. The thing was enormous and it crashed into the men, plucking up two and flying away again into the dark swirling mirk of the sky above the city. Mar pulled one of his aethium cigarettes from his pouch, lit it, and took a drag.

Dryden knew they could not stay, lest the demon kill more of his men, “Must we all sacrifice alone, or can we all make one together?”

Ugruz shrugged, “That I do not know. When I escaped, there were only a few. We each gave our own memories to that pit. I’ll begin.” The big man took a scarf from his neck. It was made of bright red silk, “A lover gave me this when I was a young man. It still smells like her.” He dropped it into the pit. The wind whipped through, grabbing the cloth and taking it away down into the dark.

Lieutenant Albans took a small painting from his pocket. It had a face on it, “My sister. Dead of pox ten years now.” He tossed it away. The wind took it too, snatching it from the air until it was lost to the dark.

One at a time soldiers came to the pit. Each one clutched some minor keepsake tightly in their grip. Pocket-sized paintings of loved ones, handkerchiefs of sweethearts back home, and other small heirlooms. Even the captured Vuruni dropped things into the pit. Chatham took a ring from his finger and threw it far out into the chasm. Most men were done. Captain Khathan took an earring from his ear and threw it into the pit, “The earring I was given at my Udrashan when I became a man.”

Dryden, Mar, Aisa, and a few others were left to go when the demon returned, swooping down from the sky. This time Mar was ready. Dryden smelled ozone, a flash of light broke the sky and a huge bolt of lightning tore through the beast as it flew down from the storm clouds. Dryden’s ears rang at the enormous sound. The beast fell and crashed near the squadron, the ground shook with its impact.

“Is it dead?” Lieutenant Albans asked.

Captain Khathan shook his head, “I do not think even that is enough to kill such a thing.”

“Dead or no, he has brought it down. Perhaps that is enough,” Dryden drew his sabre and strode forward towards the demon, his face grim. The sword in his hands glowed darkly, the runes etched in the blade shone like embers. He felt the blade drawing him forward towards the demon. It wanted to drink the demon's blood. He did not know if letting it was wise, but there was nothing for it now but to let it, if any blade here could kill the thing, it was the Styranian blade given him by Colonel Gorst. But, as he approached the hulking demon of shadow, the thing stirred and began to rise, then with a furious cry it stood, rounded upon Dryden, towering over him. He saw its horrible face, wicked fangs, and many eyes, steeled his nerve, and with a shout of defiance raised his hungry blade.