The Imperial Legion is about to launch its campaign to wipe out the Karkatim people, whose only hope are the elite but hopelessly outnumbered Keshu Deathmen. The Keshu are a force of assassins sworn to following an ancient death cult, and their leader is Takuri, an ancient but deadly warrior and political powerhouse. Takuri is about to make one last effort to convince the Legion commander to turn back.
***
The night was clear.
Only the watch fires marred the
perfect darkness. Not a single star was
veiled from sight – the constellations were stretched out in the sky as if in a
painting.
It was very cold.
The legions had been force-marched
for weeks, finally reaching the Southern borders in a weary wave driven by
terror, rage, and the twin promise of revenge and spoil.
“We’ll give those Southern pagans
a whipping they’ll never forget,” the coarse veterans promised trembling
recruits. “They’ll never know what hit
them.” Alcohol and hashish had eased the
young men’s fears, filling them with foolish bravado. Shiny breastplates, newly forged swords, and
young blood now lay below the stars in a great mass of humanity. Tomorrow, they would be marching deep into
Karkatim territory, and war would be unavoidable.
General Valerian was hardly
concerned with great thoughts, however, for he had just received word that his
camp was about to receive a visitor. The
Sixteenth Legion, vanguard of battle, had been notified by Karkatim outriders
that a delegation approached. Whether
spies or negotiators, the General hardly cared.
His response would be the same in either case – his orders were clear.
He stood straight as a statue in
the semi-darkness of his tent, the fire burning gently in its brazier. Reports lay scattered on his desk, and
bodyguards stood at attention next to the door of his tent. Footsteps crunched in the dirt outside. Taking a deep breath, Valerian stood to
attention.
A gigantic Karkatim warrior
entered the tent, tall enough that his linen turban scraped the top of the
tent.
“His Greatness, Lord Takuri,” the
man rumbled as he turned and bowed deeply.
A short man entered behind him,
richly robed. The small man wore many
rings on his fingers. Valerian had to
suppress a gasp – the famous man before him was the Viceroy of the Parvai
himself. The small man had the ear of
the Supreme Ruler, the Chief Priest, and the Prophet. It was rumored that his wealth and power
rivaled that of the disappeared Lord Tyrian himself during his days of
power. His age was unknown, but it was
said that he was a strong warrior in the days of Ytrian the First.
Takuri returned Valerian’s deep
bow. When they were seated, Valerian
took a bottle from an attendant.
“Wine, my lord?”
Takuri denied the offer with a
courteous gesture.
“We sit together on the edge of a
precipice, General.” The old man’s dark
eyes glittered. “It is my intention to
offer a solution before either of us chooses to jump.”
Valerian sipped at his wine,
shrugging.
“Neither of us is entirely free,
old man. We both serve the whims of those
who are greater.”
Takuri’s laughter was brittle.
“Speak for yourself, child. I have lived longer than you think, and take
my word for it, this war is even now not unavoidable. If you finish your mission, the hammer blows
of God will shake the earth itself. At
least,” the old man sighed, “that’s what our dear Prophet keeps telling
us. Frankly, few of us really believe
him, but the results of your little campaign would be catastrophic
nonetheless.”
Valerian finished his wine and
tossed the goblet aside.
“You’re starting to bore me,
friend.” He knew he was in the presence
of a far greater man, but was determined not to show it. “You know we won’t turn back, and you know
we’re stronger than any current force you could possibly have mobilized in such
a short time. What will you fight us
with, camel herders? If you sue for
peace, perhaps we can come to terms, but otherwise, I’m quite busy annexing our
new kingdom.” Valerian gestured at the
cluttered desk. “Actually, I’m still
working out a dilemma. How many wives
shall I take from the daughters of your people?
Or should I do as the ancient warriors and take a harem?”
Takuri smiled coldly. His bodyguard growled, hand rising to the
hilt of his scimitar.
“Child, we both know you are less
than my shadow on the ground. Were I to
say the word, you would be killed before the night was over. I possess powers that you cannot even begin
to imagine, and my people remembers the ancient arts of Takur and all his
servants. Have you no understanding of
my land? The Desert itself rises to
defend her children, and the ghosts of the past breathe fear and death into the
hearts of invaders. I am old enough to
remember your predecessor, if you can believe it.” The old man smiled. “Would you like to meet him?”
Valerian shook his head
uncomprehendingly.
“What?”
“Ninety years ago, before your
grandfather was done sucking at his mother’s teat, Ytrius Noventus invaded
these lands in a final bid for victory in the Great Wars. He was defeated, and he retreated, leaving mountains
of the dead to lie rotting in his wake.
His great commander, the mercenary Urbus, was taken prisoner. My father personally crucified him there, in
the desert. But the desert has magic,
child Valerian, and he was preserved. Do
you believe me? He still lies as he lay
almost a century ago. I warned him, as I
warn you, on a night long ago that was not unlike this. But he was a fool, and he did not believe me
when I warned him of the Keshu, the Wrath of the Night.”
Valerian narrowed his eyes and
half rose from his seat, pointing angrily at the door, but before he could
speak, Takuri rose and beckoned.
“Come with me, General! The night is beautiful, and you want to see
me on my way! Or do you wish to order
your men to ambush me?”
Valerian, gripping the hilt of his
blade, rushed after Takuri into the night – and skidded to a stop. The watch fire burned brightly, but his
compound guards were nowhere to be seen.
Before the fire, a wooden cross was erected. On the cross, illuminated by the yellow flames,
a dried corpse hung from its wrists, nailed to the wood. The horrible creature’s leathery flesh was twisted
in a frozen grimace of absolute suffering.
The naked body’s hide was completely tanned, and holes had been torn all
over it by vultures over the decades.
Dried guts bulged through the holes.
A legion tattoo identified the man as an Imperial, but the mark was too
faded to tell anything else of his identity.
And the mouth moved.
“Kill me,” the creature croaked.
Trembling, Valerian drew his blade
and swung at the back of old Takuri’s turban, a scream on his lips. Before he could utter it, the old man whirled
with inhuman speed, a fierce smile on his slips. Swatting the blow aside, his hand came out in
a blade and chopped Valerian on the throat, depriving him of breath and
speech. Gasping and choking, the general
fell to the earth with the momentum of his own strike, falling to the feet of
the cross. The barely living corpse was
dripping gore, and some of it fell in his face.
Takuri swooped down, pinning the
general to the ground, his smile never wavering.
“This man is you, General, if you
continue your invasion. Don’t worry, I
and my men will see ourselves out. If
you continue your attack, I will drive the nails into you myself and I will watch
as you mummify on the highest hill in the desert. Have you heard the legends of the Keshu? How they stalk the night, and eat the hearts
and drink the blood of their still-living victims? Believe them, General, for I am Keshu. Let me help your faith.”
And with those words, Takuri
reached up to the body and drove his hand into the corpse, driving a final
shriek from the twisted form. Up through
the belly, he gripped hard and pulled.
In a shower of fluid, the heart came free. Keeling face to face with Valerian, the old
man raised the heart to his lips. It was
still beating as he took a large bite.
Above him, the now dead body gave an unearthly groan as the lungs
distended of their own accord.
“Bland. Like all imperials’ blood. I warn you, my lord, do not tempt the wrath
of God.”
He spat the meat out and threw the
heart into Valerian’s petrified face.
“Come! Gather the brethren! We prepare for battle!” Takuri cried as he rushed into the night with
his men.
And then there was no sound but
the whistling of the wind, and Valerian knew true fear. They had left him alive, had left him in
command of an army.
Because they were having fun.
And there by the dying fire, under
stars that had already seen so much of war and death, General Valerian wept
like a child.
Starshadow Part I: Dreams and Shadows is available on Kindle. I'll be sharing more excerpts here in the weeks to come. Free copies of the novel are available in return for online reviews. Cheers!
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