LORD RIVA
THE SARASINIAN 5th ARMY
SOUTHERN AHRENIA
BORDIS
The Battle of Bordis had proved a decisive victory for Virgilio, and the bloodiest page in the annals–however brief they were–of Riva’s military life. A great many Ahren warriors perished in the conflict, and more had quit the field for good. In the days that followed, the purple shields pursued some of the vanquished north, butchering thousands of souls on the banks of the Asfour and capturing the Eratii leader, Secreen. Men who had been there spoke of the river flowing red, and of untold numbers drowning in the waters as they tried to get away.
To the frustration of the Sarasinians, Riva and his Herenians won themselves even greater glory. Backed by the Candrans and Romelians, they seized not only the Ahren wagon train but another of the enemy chieftains, Baros. Leaving the Candrans behind to guard his prizes, Riva harried what remained of the shattered northern army to the outskirts of Bordis, fighting until darkness fell.
Just after dawn the next day, the reunited Fifth descended on the city. The two words that best described what happened were thus: epic slaughter. After a spirited stand, Julanten, the last of the Ahren leaders, tried to negotiate a surrender. He was beaten, he argued, and with thousands of civilians trapped in Bordis there was no need for further suffering. Virgilio disagreed. Smarting from the loss of a tenth and more of his forces, he was disinclined toward generosity. “Until midday,” he said, “I say let the men do what they like.”
The southerners overran Bordis, howling like lunatics. With Julanten and his men lying dead in their wake, homes were looted, temples defiled, and the city’s ordinary folk duly set upon. Few of the invaders were unimpeachable, but it was the Sarasinians who committed the worst atrocities, raping and murdering not only women and young men, but even the elderly and children. Riva gave his warriors free rein as well, although later he came to regret it. At the time he was too drunk on victory to care, and perhaps half-insane from having lived through the blood and horror of the shield wall.
It was mid-afternoon and Riva stood in the baking sun. A trickle of red spilled down the corpse’s face as it lay on the ground, spine twisted, arms stiffening. The man responsible stood there dumbly, a smith’s hammer clutched in one hand.
“Next!” shouted Nohrt.
Another captive was brought out. “Please,” he said, terror contorting his features as he fell on his knees. “Please don’t do this.”
Nohrt looked at the man with the hammer. “Will you spare your brother’s life?”
The man nodded. “Yes. Gladly!”
“Fool.” Nohrt shoved him to the ground. He snatched the hammer, held it out to the newcomer and said, “Kill him.”
“And if I refuse?” asked the kneeling man.
“Ever been fucked by a dog?”
The man thought about it for a moment. Then with a strangled cry he jumped up, grabbed the hammer and used it to break its former owner’s skull almost in half.
“Well done,” said Nohrt. At his feet, blood and brains leaked out of the newest body.
Unable to help himself, the man let tears fall. “I...” he said, but nothing more came from his mouth.
Nohrt grinned. “You killed him with one blow. No small mercy, that. But you can always give the hammer back if you want.”
The man clutched it to his chest, sparing Nohrt a baleful look.
Nohrt laughed. “That’s the spirit! Bring out another one!”
Another captive was fetched. Nohrt forced him to his knees, looked at the man with the hammer, and asked, “Will you spare your brother’s life?”
The man shuddered and took a deep breath. “No.”
“Well then, do what you must.”
With tears streaming down both cheeks, the man lifted the hammer and swung. His victim closed his eyes slightly ahead of its iron face punching through his left temple, and a moment later he was down and rolling on the ground, his mouth opening and closing like a freshly landed fish.
“Finish him off,” said Nohrt.
The man obeyed without a word; more brain matter splashed across the ground.
“That’s two,” said Nohrt, grinning at the scene. “The record is sixteen. Let’s see how you go, eh? Next!”
Secreen turned away from the killing and faced Riva. “Why are you showing us this?”
“Virgilio wanted me to,” said Riva.
The man spat before replying. “And where is your illustrious general?”
“Busy with other things.”
“Why kill our people like this?” asked Baros. “Why not sell them instead?”
“We fought bravely,” said Secreen, fuming, “and you’re having us hit each other with hammers? At least give us better deaths, man! We’re warriors. Haven’t we earned that much?”
“Have you?”
“He’s right,” said Baros. “A warrior deserves better than to be put down like an animal, Riva. To say nothing of dying at the hands of his own kinsmen.”
Riva watched as Nohrt’s latest hammer-man, still crying, cracked another skull. “Mmm.”
“I’ve no wish to see any more,” said Secreen bitterly. “Kill me, too, and be done with it.”
Riva gestured at the buildings around them. “Granted. But before I do, I want to know something of this city. Of Bordis.”
Secreen tossed his head. “Go fuck yourself.”
“It’s just a city,” said Baros. “The name means–”
“River City,” said Riva. “I already know. Tell me something of its history.”
Baros shrugged. “It’s just an ordinary city. Nothing to tell.”
“No. Not true.” In the centre of Bordis, a squat building thrust upward and then inward, like a truncated pyramid. Overshadowed by the drab grey squares surrounding it, the untrained eye would have found it odd, perhaps slightly out of place. Foreign, but not especially remarkable. But Riva knew differently. Buried in Istome’s copy of On Philosophism was a sketch of a building that looked almost exactly the same. He would have to ask her about it later. “Was it always yours?”
Baros shrugged again. “No. We took it from the Alcala.”
“We?”
“Don’t tell him anything more!” hissed Secreen through clenched teeth.
“Our clan,” said Baros, looking at Secreen. “The Ulse. My clan. Me.”
“And you didn’t think to fortify it ahead of the battle?” asked Riva.
“Why would we?” asked Secreen. “Ahren don’t cower behind walls.”
“Mm.” Riva snorted. The man was mocking Herena’s land walls. The tribes had done so for generations. She was nothing without them, or so the saying went. By way of reply, he gestured at the northern bodies littering the streets. “How many of them died with spears in their backs?”
Secreen clenched his jaw. “Dog.”
“What will you do with the place?” asked Baros. “Raze it?”
Riva shook his head. “No. We’ll settle here. It’ll make a good staging point.” Let Secreen choke on those words, he thought. “So, what are you not supposed to be telling me anything more about?”
“Say nothing,” hissed Secreen.
Riva glared at the man. “Baros will tell me. If he wants to die a good death. Because I can make your last moments in this world utterly miserable... or not. The choice is yours.”
Secreen was unintimidated. “Do your worst, Riva.”
Riva turned to Baros. “Answer. What is it that our friend here doesn’t want me to know? That you pushed another clan out of this place? It doesn’t sound like some great secret.”
“There are ruins here,” said Baros. “Below. Old ones.”
“What ruins?” Was he referring to the pyramid, maybe?
“I know nothing about them beyond what I just said.”
“How come? Is this your city or not?”
Baros looked at Secreen, who narrowed his eyes in response. “There was another city here once. Bordis was built on top of the ruins.”
“I thought you said it was just an ordinary city?”
“And it is. It’s just that a large part of the old city was underground. A tiny portion of it is still intact.”
“And?”
“And,” said Baros with a sigh, “some of our people have taken refuge there.”
“Who?”
“Women and children, mostly. All we ask–”
“Mostly?”
“There are warriors guarding them. But not many.”
“I see. Waiting until dark for the chance to cut our throats?”
“A handful of warriors, Riva. Useless against the army you’ve assembled here.”
“I believe you. So, the undercity–how do we reach it?”
Baros hesitated, but then bowed his head. “I can show you where the entrance is. All I ask is that–”
“Idiot!” shouted Secreen. “Why did you have to open your stupid mouth? He’ll kill them!”
Baros ignored him. “Can you find it in your heart to spare these people, Riva? Please...”
Secreen spat. “You think he will? He won’t. You’ve seen how he treats his prisoners. This man has no heart!”
“Not true,” said Riva.
“So you’ll spare them?” asked Baros. “If I show you where they’re hiding, will you let them live?”
Riva nodded. “I don’t kill women and children, Baros. I can’t guarantee the safety of anyone else, though.”
“It’s enough,” said Baros, though he looked far from happy.
“It’s enough?” shouted Secreen. “It’s enough? No! You cannot trust a thing this man says. He’ll kill them! You’ll see! He’ll kill them all!”
Riva turned to where his officers stood awaiting orders. “I have no further use for this one.” He flicked a hand at Secreen. “Do as we discussed.”
The men removed the chieftain to a hill on which a tall post the thickness of a man’s thigh had been prepared. Around it, they placed bundles of wood interspersed with pine needles and old straw. Secreen was made to stand on one of them, after which he was secured to the post with a riveted iron collar. A soldier was chosen to pluck out the man’s eyebrows using the very tweezers presented to Virgilio some days earlier. More bundles of wood were then heaped around him until only his head was visible.
Baros spat. “He deserves a better end than this.”
“I’ll bet you’re glad now you gave me that Owic statue,” said Riva.
“You’re doing this because he insulted your master?”
“Virgilio isn’t my master, Baros. And Secreen never offered anything except insults. Like begets like. Besides, what would you have done with me had our fates been reversed?”
“Hard to say,” said Baros, stroking his beard. “Strangled you, maybe?”
“Is it a quick death?”
“It is when done properly.”
“It doesn’t sound particularly honourable.”
“The opposite,” said Baros, inclining his head at Secreen. “But it’s better than this. You only do this sort of thing to the worst kind of men.”
“Better to have died on the battlefield and not been captured then, eh?”
“On that we are agreed.”
“How is it that you didn’t die with your men, Baros?”
“Because I surrendered when I had the chance. Fool that I am.”
“You could have cut your own throat. I didn’t give you that dagger for no reason.”
“So that’s what it was for?” Baros grunted. “I thought about it, I admit.”
“Perhaps the gods meant you to live a while longer.”
“Perhaps.”
At Riva’s signal, the bundles around Secreen were set alight. The pine needles and straw inside flared straight away, crackling and belching thick clouds of grey smoke. Secreen stood motionless, even when the first flames licked at him. He struggled against the collar as his hair and clothes caught alight, but he did not cry out. Deprived of their fun, the watching soldiers booed him.
“Ha,” said Baros, enjoying their displeasure. “Good for him.”
As the fire engulfed the chieftain, his skin bubbled and part of his face sloughed off. Although he must have been in excruciating pain, he still didn’t make a sound. Eventually he stopped moving.
“I didn’t like him very much,” said Riva. “But that was brave. I hope I meet my end even half as valiantly as he did.”
Baros shifted. “And I suppose I’m next?”
“Why? Are you in a rush to see the Otherworld?”
“I don’t know. No.”
Riva looked at him. “Well. Unlike Secreen, you’ve been courteous. And you may be of use to me yet. So when the time comes, maybe I’ll cut your head off?”
“I’d prefer that to burning.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something, Baros. Near the end of battle the other day, you sent in men with axes and coats of good double mail. Where did they come from?”
“The men or the gear?”
“I want to know about the mail coats, especially,” said Riva, ignoring the joke. “Where did you get them?”
Baros laughed. “That’s the best part. We got them from you!”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning southern traders supplied us.”
“No,” said Riva, looking Baros in the eye. “That’s not possible.”
Baros met his gaze. “It’s the truth, I swear.”
“Well I want the names of those traders, then. There’s a prohibition on selling arms to northerners for a reason.”
“I never dealt with them personally, so I can’t give you any names. And it was a few years back, anyway. Julanten might have been able to tell you more. Or Secreen, maybe.”
Riva stared at Secreen’s pyre. The chieftain’s body was visible through the flames, black and burning. Every so often the wind changed direction, bringing the delicious smell of meat to his nostrils. “Would I have gotten anything useful out of him, do you think?”
“Probably not. He always was a stubborn bastard.”
Riva snorted. “If you’d had more of those coats, you know, I might not be alive.”
“We could only get two hundred.”
“They were very fine, though.”
“Good axes, too. The best steel.”
“And who trained you?”
Baros offered him flat look. “Ha! Give us some credit, Riva.”
“Mm.”
“Do you really think we could have beaten you?”
“Virgilio said as much. He didn’t think you’d have done it easily, but he did say it would have been possible.”
“How? With more mail coats and axes?”
“No,” said Riva, shaking his head. “Although it would have been a good start. No, your shock troops worked well together, but otherwise you lacked cohesion. Each man was left to do his own thing in his own way.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s a lot, Baros. But no, that’s not all. Your entire strategy seemed to rest on overwhelming us with frontal assaults. Moving in a single direction, and always against our strongest point.”
“I suppose that’s true. It seems so obvious in retrospect.”
“It always does. Not to mention our cavalry catching you unawares. You weren’t paying attention to your left flank. Virgilio waited until you were fully committed before he unleashed them. You could have prevented that, if you’d been of a mind. Instead, he destroyed you.”
“So how could we have won?”
“Hard to know. I will say that if a few thousand men had suddenly dismounted off our right flank half way through the battle, the outcome might have been very different. Although we’d probably have made a fighting retreat into our marching camp.”
“Ah.”
“But we knew you too well, Baros. Didn’t we? We knew you’d make only frontal charges. And we knew you’d ignore your own horses. Because of those things, your clans are gone.”
Baros shook his head. “The clans are not gone. We live on yet, Riva. Plenty of survivors made it over the river.”
“On that topic, we’ll speak later. For right now, I want to see this underground city of yours.”
“Now? You want to see it now?”
“Yes.”
“I will take you to the entrance, then,” said Baros, though he grimaced as soon as the words were out.
More often than not, a victorious army is monstrous to its enemies. The streets of Bordis were practically choking with blood and death. Down one alley, Sarasinian youths were torturing captured Ahren fighters, breaking their limbs with staves and rocks and forcing them to watch as women were raped and mutilated. Crying children begged them to stop.
Baros paled at the sight of the fate that had befallen his people. “This,” he said. “This is…” But he was unable even to complete his thoughts.
“This is why you cannot lose battles,” said Riva.
Baros reacted as if he’d made a sick joke, but Riva was serious. Before either of them could say another word, a Herenian spearman ran over and spat full in Baros’s face. He darted off again, whooping, and seized a captive Ahren boy. Grunting with effort, he swung the little fellow by the ankles and dashed his head against a wall. The skull burst, smearing the bricks red. “This is what you get, huh, fucker?” screamed the man, jabbing a finger repeatedly at Baros. “Fuck you! Fuck you!”
“Kill that man,” Riva told his officers.
“Ay, what?” said the man, shocked at seeing friendly blades drawn against him. He backed away, then tried to run, but Riva’s men caught him and hacked him to pieces.
Baros stared at Riva. “Why did you do that?”
“He spat on us,” said Riva, pointing to a bit of phlegm on his arm. “And who was he to spit on kings?”
“Kings?” asked Baros, but Riva merely motioned that they should walk onward.
They ventured deeper into the city until Baros pointed out a semi-circular tunnel framed with black stones. Set into a wall, Riva mistook it for a drain until he realised it lacked a channel beneath for conveying storm water. The dark mouth, he also noted, pointed away from the cut-off pyramid.
“We need to go in there,” said Baros. “I should warn you it’s a few hundred steps long and black as night, but it leads to an antechamber. And the antechamber marks the only way into the undercity.”
“If it’s black as night,” said Riva, giving the tunnel a dubious glance, “how will we see?”
“It’s not necessary. The way is easy, and the antechamber is cunningly lit. You’ll see.”
“Go,” said Riva, indicating a pair of his men. They disappeared into the tunnel, hands pressed against the sides to feel the way ahead. It wasn’t long before they returned.
“Was it not as I said?” asked Baros.
“It was,” replied one of the men.
“Very well,” said Riva. “Now we shall all go.”
The way was easy enough, though Riva did not particularly enjoy having to half-walk, half-crouch without being able to see even his hand in front of his face. At least the air was cooler inside the tunnel than it was outside.
“There used to be pit traps all along here,” came Baros’s voice in the darkness. “But we filled them in.”
Finally they reached the antechamber. Built out of thousands of tiny bricks, it resembled an upturned vessel. The ceiling was perhaps the height of five men, and featured a curious aperture in its centre. Dust motes turned lazily in the air, illuminated by a single shaft of pale sunlight. Riva looked up. “It opens to the sky?”
Baros craned his neck to see. “It must do, but we don’t know how.”
“What do you mean?”
“You would think that if you stood directly underneath it you could see outside. But you can’t.”
Riva did exactly that, and saw for himself that Baros was right. Despite the beam of light coming from the aperture, he couldn’t see the sky. “How is this possible?”
“Mirrors? Or some other canny trick?”
“What happens at night?”
Baros nodded. “Well, it’s darker at night of course. And on moonless nights it’s completely black in here.”
“So then it must open to the sky?”
“It must,” said Baros, spreading his hands. “But the how of it? We don’t know. When it rains, this chamber stays dry. We can’t find where the opening comes out in the city, not without destroying it. And even if we did, I’m not convinced it would give up its secret.”
“Intriguing.” Riva pointed out a section of wall adjacent the tunnel. “And this? There was something painted here, once. What was it, do you know?”
Baros shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. It was like this when we found it.”
“Jevad the Destroyer built places like this.”
“So he did,” said Baros. He gestured to the far side of the antechamber, at a slab of polished orange metal. “And there is the door. It leads to the first of the rooms below.”
Riva walked over and bent to examine the door. A tiny thing, as if built for children. “Copper?” he asked, running his hand over a surface thick with raised inscriptions.
“Orichalcum, I think.”
“Ah. And this writing is all in Jevad’s tongue, obviously.”
“Yes,” said Baros, nodding. “Though we have no idea what it says.”
Riva knew nothing of the alien script, either. At least not for the moment.
Baros leaned in. “I don’t think a Sarasinian has ever laid eyes on this door. They’d have melted it down otherwise. How many mirrors will Virgilio make out of it, do you think?”
Riva shook his head. “None. This is one of Jevad’s holy places, and it will remain intact.”
“Good luck convincing him of that!” laughed Baros.
“So,” said Riva, ignoring him. He took his hand away from the door. “What’s on the other side?”
“Rooms, mostly. Like this one. And tunnels. And there are some collapsed sections we’ve not been able to clear. We actually made maps of everything...”
“And where are those maps now?”
“I don’t know.”
“A pity. And who will I find down here, Baros? Your family, perhaps?”
“No.” Baros shook his head. “I sent them over the river after the battle. I told you the truth about who’s down here.”
Riva nodded. “How many wives do you have?”
“Two.”
“Children?”
“Four sons. Three daughters.”
“Will your eldest son succeed you?”
Baros seemed surprised by the question. “If he was elected, maybe? Not that I think it ever likely to happen!”
“No?”
“No. He’s a weakling. Or at least that’s what his mother says. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. He has a younger brother who would make a better candidate.”
“The clan would… elect… the younger over the elder?”
“Of course,” said Baros, laughing. “You’ve been a Sarasinian too long, Riva! You’ve forgotten our ways.”
“Enough. Moment of truth–what’s really on the other side of this door, Baros?”
Baros blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You have a tell, Baros.”
“A tell?”
“Yes.” Riva nodded. “You said there were mostly women and children down here.”
“Which is true.” Baros spread his hands. “And some guards, maybe? I think I said as much before, didn’t I? This is not a trap, Riva, if that’s what you’re thinking. On my honour, I haven’t set you up.”
“It’s not that,” said Riva, shaking his head. “There’s something else you’re not telling me. I can feel it.”
Baros’s face fell. “Well, I was just about to tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“I just hope you will show her mercy.”
“Her? What are you talking about?”
“Among the wome