C1 Chapter 1
The Battle of Isaf
We marched through the ruins of what had been an old city, past the ruins of a fort and then a haystack, and up a dirt road past some more ruined houses. There were no sights beyond those.
The country was quiet and eerie. In the distance, beyond the hill, was a line of the dusty, red, empty fields that, as far as I could see, had grown more costly and hard by the season for as long as we had occupied the country. Not too long ago, the fields had been green and rich with yellow wheat, but that had been long ago. We marched slowly along, eyes ahead, the sky a ruddy blue-grey, and the earth falling white to either side of us as we carved a wide and shallow road through the hard-packed desert. The air was full of dust and it was hard to breathe. At the end of the march, behind the grain fields, a town. There was no sign but we knew it was Isaf, and Ulfhrem knew. He gave a signal and we halted.
The prince stood on the hill. The village was below. I stood behind the prince and two other captains, Rygg and Ragnir. Brenn Ragnir wiped sweat from his eyebrows and Rygg passed Ulfhrem a canteen. When Ulfhrem had finished drinking, Brenn held out his hand for it but Rygg took it and put it away. Brenn's hand fell to his side.
”Where are they?” Brenn asked.
”Who could say.” The prince sucked his teeth in thought. ”Could be having a sloom under the sand, for all we ken. Cheeds love the sand.” He spat. The short brown grass at his feet slurped it down.
”Ne'er can ken those cheeds,” said Rygg. ”Whether they hide in open sight or beneath the sand.”
Brenn look at him. ”Could they be beneath the sand, then?”
”Best not be a wisehead, reidr.”
”I see only a few barns yon.” Brenn licked the salt from his lips. ”They're playing with a ball, 'hold it?”
Ulfhrem shrugged. ”The cheeds were here in the oughten, ere the sun arose. The forwards 'held them batching the villagers out, wresting away any trowless or Weroklans.”
”It's not yet midday,” said Brenn. ”How could they have come fullframe so quickly? And the village looks whole.”
”Whole, he says.” Rygg laughed and a few drops of spit flew from his mouth. ”Behold that pile of back they call a village. It's naught but one-room houses built of soap and grass. I don't even see a Stackhouse. They all likely mithe on their own floors and let the hounds lap it up.”
Brenn turned to the men behind him. The lines were broken and sloppy and the men had taken to sitting in their scalding armor with helmets and chestplates removed. They passed canteens among themselves.
”Maybe the forwards were wrong,” Brenn told Ulfhrem. ”There's outright no one here but the village folk.”
Rygg said, ”I led the undertaking myself. The prophet himself was one of them, unless some other cheer has been wearing that black mask.”
”The way you name them cheeds, you'd think they'd all be wearing them.” Rygg grunted at that but Brenn spoke on. ”In another hour we'll all be seared. Behold there at the men. If we were going to have ourselves a wye, we'd have to come fullframe before midday. But the Soduqir wyemen aren't here.”
”Go back to camp if you will, boy,” Rygg said. ”Go sit beneath a sunshade and have some iced tea. When we return, I'll gift you a foot rub.”
Brenn's yellow beard dripped with seat onto his metal chest plate and the drops sizzled away in tiny puffs.
”Aetheling, we aren't needed,” he said. ”Those yon barns look to be in right bliss. I don't see how they'd be playing if they'd just seen wyemen wrest off or kill their friends and kin.”
”You're e'er one to make known your weeping, aren't you, boy?” said Rygg. Ulfhrem stood between Rygg and Brenn, and Rygg had to crane his neck around to look at Brenn. ”As a wyeman, you have no weening. You do as you're told. You'd be a lordswike, else.” He clenched fingers around his sword's hilt and his mouth moved up at the corners.
Ulfhrem said nothing to the two arguing men and spun to face his soldiers. ”On your feet!”
The men stood and there was much sound of metal rubbing against leather and feet shuffling in fine dirt as armor was buckled back on in haste. Sweat glued their hair to their faces and those with helmets waited still to put them on and held them under their arms. They moved into neat lines and the sound of their labored breathing was heavy in the wide empty desert.
Ulfhrem drew his sword and the sunlight that shot off from it caused the men to turn away and blink.
”Looth all you can carry! Carve down anyone who stands in your way!”
The soldiers raised their weapons in unison with a sweeping grinding sound. Spears pounded into dirt and swords pounded against shields.
Brenn's eyebrows came together. Rygg gave Brenn a smirk.
”You can't,” Brenn said to Ulfhrem, but the prince let out a bellow and the army echoed it across the sands.
The soldiers ran down the hill with swords drawn and spears pointed forward like elk with heads down and antlers primed for attack, and their voices boomed with the warning of death. Brenn stood still as hundreds of men ran past him. He looked down at the village where a small red ball rolled across the dirt, and he sprinted.
While Ulfhrem still looked down from his high place, Farod kicked a leather ball to his sister.
”Are they demons?” Ameena asked. The sun illuminated the tall figures on the hill. ”We should tell Baba.” She kicked the ball back, and it left a small trail of lifted dust as it rolled.
”Don't believe those stories,” Farod said with a smile. ”Uncle likes to scare you with them. They're only men.” He kicked it back.
Ameena knew better than that. At eight years old, she knew what a man looked like, and the enormous pale beings on the hill were something else. ”They're so tall. Look at their staffs.”
”They're only looking,” Farod said. He picked up the dusty ball and held it under his arm. ”No need to be scared. Come on; it's time to pray.”
Umi and Baba were already kneeling when Ameena and Farod came into the house. Umi was flustered. Baba's eyes were closed.
”You almost missed prayer,” Umi said. A thin grey scarf draped over her head and dangled below her shoulders.
”There are men on the hill,” Ameena replied. She took her spot on the rug between her parents. Farod knelt on the other side of Baba. ”I think they're demons.”
”Ameena!” Umi snapped. ”We're about to pray! Where did you hear such things?”
”Uncle.” Ameena put a finger in her nose, and Umi smacked it away.
”Do you hear that?” Umi asked, turned toward Baba. ”Do you hear what that brother of yours is telling your daughter?”
”We're running late,” Baba pointed out. ”Let's pray, my dear family.”
Baba had only spoken a few words of the prayer when there was a knock at the door. He rose from his kneeling position, knees crackling, and shuffled to the door. Ameena, Farod, and Umi remained on the rug.
Baba opened the door and said, ”Kareem, what are you doing? You should be praying.”
”Sorry for interrupting,” said Kareem. He was not wearing his cap and had not tied his shoes. ”Imam Hafat has asked all of us to meet outside for prayer.”
”All of us together? Why on Earth?”
”Have you not seen? The tall men from the north are on the hill!”
Baba looked back at his family, then walked outside and looked to the south. Ameena looked at Farod with a look of pride. Umi grabbed her arm.
Baba returned and said, ”You all stay here.”
Umi said, ”But doesn't Imam Hafat want us to—”
”I'm telling you to stay here.” He went to their small kitchen and selected a large knife, then placed it in his belt.
”What are you doing?” Umi demanded. She stood and rushed to him.
”They're coming. Keep the children hidden. Barricade the door.”
”Are you going to fight the tall men?” Farod asked. He jumped to his feet. ”I'm coming too!” He ran to pick a knife of his own.
”You'll do no such thing!” Umi shouted. She grabbed Farod's wrist and jerked the knife away.
”Stay with your mother and sister,” Baba said. ”Keep them safe.” He took the knife from Umi and gave it back to his son. ”Do not leave this house.” He kissed Umi on the forehead and closed the door behind him.
”Help me, Farod,” said Umi. She and Farod pushed the family bed across the rough wooden floor to the door. Umi gathered her children and sat with them in a corner on the opposite side of the small house.
Outside, the low hum of shouting rose like a sandstorm. Umi brought Farod's and Ameena's heads against her chest. Outside, a dog barked, then yelped, and was silent. Ameena knew it was Kolbo, the village dog who belonged to no one and everyone. Screams joined the angry shouting and mixed with the clang of metal and dry thuds of large meaty objects falling in the dirt.
Umi stroked her children's heads and sang with a soft and shaky voice.
Hail the dove who is to come
Rejoice, for she comes
Blessed is she among women
The mother of God's son
Holy dove, mother of God's son
The time is near for you to come
The mother of God's son
God says, She is my dove
The northerlings crossed into the village and for one moment that seemed far longer than a moment Brenn watched and didn't know what to do. Many people stood out in the village's open middle, kneeling as a group in prayer as a man with a white cap spoke to them in a loud voice with his hands raised to the sky. As the northerlings neared the prayer group, the imam's voice rose louder over their battle-cries and the crashing sounds of the armor, and several villagers jumped to their feet and fled into their houses.
Brenn's knees bent against his will and he sank behind the corner of a small wooden building. His sword jutted up against the ground and pulled his belt tight against his waist, so he unbuckled it. The sword vibrated in its sheath, begging Brenn to use its Power.
The shouts and screams of the village were such that before long it became a low hum with no distinguishable parts. A small brown spider crawled up the wall beside Brenn. Brenn watched the spider.
On the other side of the house where he hid, Brenn heard a Kalaean man say in the local language, ”Go! I'll kill you! Don't—” and then there was a clang of a blade on someting hard. Brenn forgot the spider and ran around the house to see a man of middle age squaring up against one of the northerlings. The northerling was twice the size of the villager and smiled as the Kalaean man did his best to try to keep the soldier from entering the house. The villager slashed at the soldier with a kitchen knife and the knife glanced off the soldier's chestplate. The soldier laughed and struck the man across the face. The man fell into the dust and bled from his mouth and nose.
”Stop it,” Brenn said. His voice did not sound like his own as he saw that he drifted toward his fellow soldier without any control of his limbs, and he knew that he was in a mild state of shock.
