SHABAKA

I gasped as cold rain slashed at me. I stood in the courtyard of an abandoned castle, its walls and towers breached by cannon fire and partially rebuilt by our Orku auxiliary forces now standing in ranks, along with the too few human soldiers remaining to us, as the officers conferred.

Captain Waters, a dark haired, thin man who walked with a slight stoop, gave me an odd look. “Lieutenant Goldspear, are you alright?”

I took a deep breath as I drew myself up, the sodden uniform clinging to my frame as thunder boomed, and gave him a firm nod. “Far more than I expected to be, sir,” I said as I glanced at the female Eldarion beside me and smiled. “Naamah’s enchantment worked better than she dared hope.”

Naamah’s marvelous brown face perked up. “The spirit of Apedemak?”

“Is within me.” I reached out and stroked her chin with my calloused thumb. “To be honest, I feel strange, as if I now know things I should not. However, my resolve has been strengthened, and if you will, I need you to begin using your strength to cast illusions instead of saving it to heal.”

Naamah put her hands on her slender hips. “And what bloody good is that going to do? If you think for a moment I’m going to waste my energy on something that can’t cause damage, you’re in for a rude-”

“Peace, Old Spear-Tongue. This is what I want you to create.” I bent down and whispered what I wanted in her ear.

When I finished, a grim smile had taken over her face. “I need corpses to model them on, the more rotted the better.”

“Corporal Torg,” I said to my Orku orderly, “go with the Eldarion and get her whatever she wants.”

“Aye, sir,” Torg growled as he saluted, motioning for Naamah to follow him.

Captain Waters frowned. “Lieutenant Goldspear, what on earth are you about?”

“We do this my way or we all die… Sir,” I added after a moment. “I need access to the armory where all the swords and other hand weapons the Orku scavenged are being stored.”

“Swords? Not at all proper. I fail to see how…” I glared at the captain and he faltered. “I… alright then, swords it is. Sergeant Peterson,” he said to the sandy haired veteran standing a respectful distance away, “you heard him. Open the armory and let the Orku rabble take whatever weapons they want.” He glared back at me. “That is all well and good for the cannon fodder, but the humans of this outfit will fight like proper British soldiers or not at all.”

“Let me explain my plan to everyone and go from there.”

“Explain?” He began to splutter as I strode towards the ranks. “A proper British officer does not explain. He gives orders.”

I ignored him as I walked down along the gap between companies until I reached the well in the center of the courtyard and climbed up on it, using the wooden beams holding the rope and bucket for support. “Time is short,” I yelled, the Orku breaking ranks to crowd around me while the humans remained where they were, listening as I said, “so I need your attention.”

I waited for their silence to surround me, with only the rain hissing as it fell, before continuing. “I have no words of false hope to give you, for every male before me knows the odds we face. I can only give you words of death. Their death,” I shouted, stabbing with my finger in the direction the Gupta army was approaching from. “We are not without allies this night, for Naamah has summoned spirits of destruction to charge out with us and slay everyone in our path until they are dead or running for their lives.”

The silence of the Orku was sharp enough to hear the uneasy murmurs of the men behind them as I continued. “We do not charge out as British soldiers,” I shouted, raising my hand over my head and clenching it into a fist. “We do not fight with rifles, or march in massed formations. Tonight, we fight as your grandfathers did, with sword and spear, hammer and axe.” Beyond the walls, lightning smashed a tree into flaming pieces while thunder roared like an explosive shell, as I added, “ And with fists and teeth if that is all we have left to fight with. We are the storm coming for the Gupta.”

Ghashnarok was the largest Orku I had ever known, a few inches shy of seven foot and muscled like an ogre. He had an ogre’s temper as well, and would have already been hung had our situation not been so dire.

Now, he leaped up onto the well opposite me and raised his warty fist as I lowered mine. “The prophecy,” he bellowed in his deep voice. “From the loins of the golden spear shall come the Destroyer King, who shall bring to us the angel. When the angel dies, then lives again, the time of the Orku will be at hand.” Lightning flashed, and thunder echoed his roar, “The storm is coming!”

I had no idea what Ghashnarok was yelling about as the Orku chanted back his words, and wondered what the bloody hell hornet’s nest I had just stirred up, when he jumped down off the well, turned to me, and gave me the sharpest salute he had ever given anyone. “Lieutenant Goldspear, permission to arm the males, sir.”

I saluted him back. “Granted. Assemble the auxiliary in front of the gate when everyone is ready.” He saluted again before barking orders in their language, the courtyard emptying of Orku as they followed him to the armory, leaving no more than fifty or so humans.

“Gather round,” I yelled, and they broke ranks to do so. “Once the Orku are armed, gather up all the Aethyr-Terramagica grenados we have, along with your rifles and ammunition, and follow a good ways behind us. We will be moving fast, so any soldiers you see regrouping will be an enemy. Throw your grenados at any group large enough to warrant them and we will see if their morale will shatter for good.”

“But sir,” one of the soldiers called out, “this is bloody suicide.”

“If you believe that, the Gupta will as well and not be ready for it.” I bared my teeth in a savage smile. “They just fought a great battle, and we know their leader, Kacha, the one with the Artifact swords, pushed them hard to get here.”

Hope flared on more than one face. “They’re bloody exhausted.”

I nodded. “Just make sure you remain behind us. We may die tonight, but let us see how many of the bastards we can take with us.”

The men cheered and followed after the Orku as I jumped down from the well, looking up as Sergeant Peterson came running towards me with a pair of swords in his hands, almost impaling me as he slid to a stop. “Saw these hanging on the wall when I opened the armory, and, ah, thought you might want them, sir.”

The swords were Indian Khandas, steel relics from an age long past. “Let me guess,” I said as I took one in each hand, “someone told you to give me these.”

Unease spread over his face. “Looked all around, but no one was there. Sir, I mean no disrespect, but someday we’re all gonna regret doing this.”

“Dead men have no regrets. Go load up on grenados and remember, keep the men well behind us.” He saluted and ran off.

In short order I was standing in front of the heavy wooden gate, the rain running down my blades onto the sodden muck the ground had become. I knew I had never wielded swords before, such things being outmoded except by cavalrymen, yet I had memories of fighting with rattan weapons that used metal strips connected with Terramagica batteries, causing a shock when the blade hit something. Making sure I was well away from the assembling Orku, I began making practice swings as I waited for the weather to worsen.

Chain lightning streaked overhead, the roaring thunder a storm god’s voice filled with rage as the wind picked up behind us, making the rain lash at our backs like an icy whip. The time had come. With the tips of my swords I motioned at the gate guards, who unbarred the doors and pushed them wide open. We marched through them in silence.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

As the wind and the bitter rain howled at our backs, we reached the edge of the hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. Not far ahead was a growing circle of lights from pilfered Terramagica lanterns and sheltered fires, while farther off I could see more bobbing lanterns and guttering torches moving towards us in a ragged line. I smiled as I realized the bulk of their troops were still arriving.

I started us off in a slow jog, conserving everyone’s strength until we got close to the encampment. Movement above me caught my eye and I glanced up. Dark shapes rode the winds above us: Naamah’s illusions, flying silently overhead as the slap and squelch of broad feet behind me picked up their pace.

I literally stumbled over the Gupta scouts. They were huddled together with their backs to us and the rain, and as I fell over one, sliding in the mud as the man yelped, Ghashnarok and the leading edge fell upon them with sharpened steel. Thunder rolled over their screams, and we left the bodies laying in the mud as I led us forward once more.

The encampment was getting close when the spirit of Apedemak stirred within me. “Ghashnarok, it is time. Keep your lads well back, because those who run with me are not under my hand and might kill you by mistake.”

The brow of the Orku furrowed. “Who are ‘they’?” Wild laughter bubbled up from inside me; I turned, and took off running towards the closest of the green-tinged lights straight ahead.

The storm seemed to follow as lightning lit the sky. Thunder cracked like a War god’s whip, one after another, as the air shimmered on both sides. Then the spectral forms of jaguars, large as the biggest Shire horse imaginable, began to appear, racing along beside me as they became more and more solid, their fur turning black as the night. Their massive paws churned the earth as they ran.

Slave laborers were digging a defensive trench across our path. We leaped over it together, the workers gaping as we passed overhead, and fell upon the soldiers beyond. Men in mud stained uniforms turned in surprise as I raised my Khanda sword and slashed at a young man no older than I, slicing the blade across his throat before he could shout. Blood spurted and he fell back as the jaguars began to kill.

Screams became thunder became screams again as I slashed with both swords at more soldiers, the icy rain lashing everything as the jaguars ripped men apart with claw and fang, the spirit of Apedemak not letting me pause but pushing me ever onward, ever deeper into the camp.

The encampment descended into chaos. Smelling the stink of predators despite the rain, horses shrieked and went mad, trampling men in their panic to escape, while the illusions Naamah had cast flew over the soldier’s heads, cackling like a coven of nightmares.

In the light of a lantern I caught sight of one as it turned towards me. Like a Valkyrie of death, the illusion of a woman in tattered robes bearing a sword, her face the eyeless, rotted spectre of a corpse, flapped ragged wings and laughed as it flew at an officer trying to organize soldiers into a group. It shrieked over the voice of the storm as the officer looked up at the horror approaching.

He turned and bolted away in terror as his men did the same, the death-angel laughing as it searched for more victims while the jaguars and I raced on. Bullets whizzed past like angry hornets, yet none touched me, my swords dripping bloody bits of gore as I slashed at the soldiers in my path, the jaguars beside me doing the same, no longer stopping to kill but pushing on. Searching for something…

A flash of lightning revealed a hill ahead and off to the right, with a large tent set up upon it and a cluster of tents all around, like a planet with a cluster of little moons. I changed course and ran straight towards it. For the tent flew the battle flag of the Gupta leader, Kacha, the one man keeping the rebellion a single nation and not a scattering of tribes. The jaguars moved with me and followed like monsters out of hell.

Around the hill a defensive perimeter had already been set up, with sharpened stakes like a porcupine’s quills surrounding the tents and a rudimentary gate of hewn logs in front of the entrance. Here, the soldiers were organized, and as our storm rolled towards them, there were shouts of alarm and the crackle of gunfire. Bullets snarled past me as wild laughter burbled up inside, and I ran straight into the volley of steel teeth.

White fire scored my temple as a bullet dug a furrow along my skull and I staggered, but the spirit of Apedemak ran his tongue over it with a touch like ice and I straightened up, the pain abating as the jaguars raced ahead of me and leaped upon the wooden gate.

It burst apart in a clatter of falling logs. We poured through the opening, soldiers in soggy, mud splattered uniforms screaming as claws like long knives disemboweled them, their rifles, held up in a desperate attempt to block their blows, torn apart like matchsticks. Fangs dug into chests, ribs crunching as still beating hearts were pulled out, and shoulders crushed as screaming men were ripped apart. The spirit of Apedemak no longer commanded me to run. The spirit now commanded me to remain here and kill until no one remained alive.

Killing every human consumed me. We swept through the soldiers standing their ground, even as the death-angel illusions swooped around them, the soldiers shooting or wielding their rifles as clubs at the monsters tearing them apart. The jaguars shrugged off their wounds and continued hunting men like lions among deer.

Out of the tent rushed a large man with an Artifact sword in each hand, and as I crossed my Khandas over my head to block a rifle butt swinging down, I heard him bellow a word in Eldarion. The Artifact swords burst into flame as if covered in oil and set alight.

Stepping back, I thrust my blade into the soldier’s chest and let him fall as the large man rushed towards me. A dozen or so soldiers bearing steel swords came out with him, but the jaguars swept around the large man to attack them as he raced towards me with a face filled with hate.

I rushed forward to meet him. He swung, and I blocked his blow to my right side as I slashed down with my left. He threw up his blade to catch mine, the Artifact sword pealing like a bell as steel hit it and bounced off, and I used the Khanda’s momentum to whip it around and strike at his leg.

He managed to block my blow, but I drove the Artifact blade against his thigh and he hissed in pain as the fire burned him. It drove him wild, the large man going into a windmill attack I was barely able to block. Then I slipped in the mud, banging my shin against a rock as I went down to one knee. He raised both fiery blades and slammed them straight down.

I crossed my swords over my head. Steel rang on black Artifact blades as he drove my swords down, the flaming edge only inches from my skin as my flesh burned. I yelled in pain a moment before the icy touch came again and it stopped, the boots of my enemy squelching in the mud as he stepped back a moment, regarding me. Slashing rain cooled my face as he swung his fiery swords at my head again, and again I crossed my swords to block him. His right hand blade hit steel and rebounded.

His left hand sword chopped off my right forearm at the elbow. I screamed in pain, the wound hot, then cold as the spirit within me touched it, cradling the stump as I glanced down a moment at my hand still clutching the hilt of the Khanda sword before me in the mud.

Kacha laughed as he stepped backwards, throwing his head back to get the drenched locks of hair out of his face, then whirling the flaming swords in a grandiose display of skill as I struggled to regain my feet.

My boot found the rock, immovable as I put weight against it, and I knew I had only one chance as he ran towards me while throwing out his sword to either side to gain momentum for a final, double slashing cut.

I pushed off the rock and lunged at his throat. My blade caught him under the chin and kept going into his skull, the triumph on his face sliding into shock as the flaming swords fell from his nerveless hands. I let go of the Khanda sword as he pitched face forward into the mud, my right eye blurry as I watched him smack into the churned earth, splashing me as he landed and went still.

Looking up, I realized the jaguars must have killed their men, for they stood in a semi-circle around me, watching the soldiers around them scream and point at the large man dead on the ground. A few men shouted what seemed to be orders, but the rest of the soldiers threw away their weapons and ran, and after a moment those few men did the same.

One of the Artifact swords had gone point first into the mud and guttered out, but the other still had tongues of fire flickering along its black blade. I picked it up by the hilt with my left hand, waving it around a few times to rekindle the flames, and then used it to point at the line of lights still approaching. My jaguars formed up beside me in a line as we started off down the hill.

We did not stop until, with a last gasp of thunder, the storm gave way to the dawning sun fighting the darkness for mastery over the day. The spirit became still within me and I stopped. Dead and dying soldiers lay all around and behind us in a trail of carnage, while what remained of the Gupta’s shattered army fled in all directions.

My sodden uniform dripped with mud and strings of clotting gore, the fire dancing on my sword now extinguished, and the Artifact blade cracked and useless. The stump of my right arm was black as pitch.

The spirit of Apedemak loosened his grip as the jaguars lost their darkness and became ghostly once more, pain creeping in as I began feeling more like myself again.

I knew the memories of what I had seen, the horrors of what I had done, would continue to haunt me in brooding thoughts and nightmares for the rest of my life, and even an ocean of forgiveness could never wash away the stains of darkness blackening my soul.

I knew this and did not care. Naamah would have the daughter she was promised, the half-blood she wished with all her heart to bear, and I would sacrifice my own dreams to embrace hers. Once our daughter was born, I would find a wife among the Maya people and embrace my new life among them, watching my children, and grandchildren, and if God could find me even a scrap of mercy, my great-grandchildren, grow up free of the curse hanging like the Sword of Damocles over our heads. It was enough.

The blood-darkened ground rushed to meet me and I knew it had to be enough.

In the British Museum of Military History, you can find the… slightly sanitized, exhibit of this attack, in the section devoted to the history of the battles in India. Shabaka Goldspear’s shadow box is there, along with weapons and uniforms preserved by the Orku auxiliary left behind, including Shabaka’s ruined one.

What you will not find is any mention of supernatural aid or Star-Jaguars. Funny, that…