short ride through the woods would bring them from the camp to the city’s outskirts, and from there they would strike like a spear into its heart.
Next to Keshlik and Lashkat, Juyut’s horse snorted. “What are we waiting for?”
“Bhaalit. He’ll send up his signal before he attacks, and we must not precede him.”
Juyut grunted in response and gripped the reins tighter than he should. The poor youth. He still had not learned patience.
The dawn drew gradually brighter, and the mists dissolved. Then Keshlik pointed—a line of black smoke trickled into the sky to their north.
Juyut tensed. “Now?”
“Bhaalit’s just begun. Wait a bit longer.”
While he was still speaking, a drum began to sound in the north, as quiet and urgent as a heartbeat, the sound whispering through the morning air. Someone had raised an alarm in the city. “Draw the men up around me,” he said to Juyut. “I will remind them why we fight.”
Juyut nodded. He whistled and shouted the order, and the whistles rippled away through the crowd. The men pulled closer, dismounted, and grew quiet. They were a forest of black-and-red-striped faces, with the bronze teeth of their spears above them, a force vast and unstoppable.
Keshlik’s heart began to pound. His voice carried clearly through the still morning air. “Warriors of the Yakhat! Warriors of Golgoyat! Let us remember why we are here!”
Grim attention sharpened their faces. Every Yakhat child knew the history he was about to recount, but their hunger to hear it again gleamed in their eyes.
Keshlik pounded the butt of his spear on the ground. “In a moment, we will ride into a great city, which has been built here by a civilized people unknown to us. Most of you do not remember when we ourselves lived in settled villages on the marshes and hills of the Bans. Most of you are too young to recall when the Kourak, who lived in cities such as this one, came and evicted us from our homes, destroying our villages, and casting us away to the edges of the marshes, where we lived like rats and wished to die. You do not remember it, but I do. They came to Khaat Ban during the Wedding of Golgoyat and Khou, when all of the tribes were gathered under the bond of peace, and they broke our peace and shattered the sacred marriage.
“You have heard this story from your fathers and grandfathers, but I was there, and I need no one to tell me about it. I saw Khou’s maiden stolen from her bridegroom, and I saw her raped and killed and her body cast naked into the marsh. I saw my brothers and uncles and grandmothers slaughtered. I saw the marsh water run red with the blood of every Yakhat tribe. I stand before you as a witness of the Sorrow of Khaat Ban. Hear and remember, warriors of the Yakhat!”
The men shouted agreement and stamped their feet.
“Yet we survived,” Keshlik continued. “We fled to the hills, without the zebu our parents raised, with only the memories of the Bans we had loved. We salted our food with our tears and cried out to the Powers we served, despairing that they would hear us. And there, where the storm clouds rolled off the high plains and poured themselves into the marshes, Golgoyat came to my father Keishul. He blessed him with the strength of the thundercloud, and commanded him to lead the Yakhat to avenge his sorrow.”
The army roared. “Avenge the sorrow!” and “Remember Khaat Ban!” tore the air.
“Tell me, warriors of the Yakhat, was our sorrow avenged when we rose up from the place of our despair and seized the herds of the plainsmen?”
“ No !”
“Truly, we were not avenged! With the herds we merely fed ourselves that we might not starve. But were we avenged when we struck the Kourak who had persecuted us and burned their city to the ground?”
“ No !”
“Truly, we were not avenged! With their deaths we merely paid back a tenth of the debt of blood they owed us. But were we avenged when we made war against all of the tribes of the
Next to Keshlik and Lashkat, Juyut’s horse snorted. “What are we waiting for?”
“Bhaalit. He’ll send up his signal before he attacks, and we must not precede him.”
Juyut grunted in response and gripped the reins tighter than he should. The poor youth. He still had not learned patience.
The dawn drew gradually brighter, and the mists dissolved. Then Keshlik pointed—a line of black smoke trickled into the sky to their north.
Juyut tensed. “Now?”
“Bhaalit’s just begun. Wait a bit longer.”
While he was still speaking, a drum began to sound in the north, as quiet and urgent as a heartbeat, the sound whispering through the morning air. Someone had raised an alarm in the city. “Draw the men up around me,” he said to Juyut. “I will remind them why we fight.”
Juyut nodded. He whistled and shouted the order, and the whistles rippled away through the crowd. The men pulled closer, dismounted, and grew quiet. They were a forest of black-and-red-striped faces, with the bronze teeth of their spears above them, a force vast and unstoppable.
Keshlik’s heart began to pound. His voice carried clearly through the still morning air. “Warriors of the Yakhat! Warriors of Golgoyat! Let us remember why we are here!”
Grim attention sharpened their faces. Every Yakhat child knew the history he was about to recount, but their hunger to hear it again gleamed in their eyes.
Keshlik pounded the butt of his spear on the ground. “In a moment, we will ride into a great city, which has been built here by a civilized people unknown to us. Most of you do not remember when we ourselves lived in settled villages on the marshes and hills of the Bans. Most of you are too young to recall when the Kourak, who lived in cities such as this one, came and evicted us from our homes, destroying our villages, and casting us away to the edges of the marshes, where we lived like rats and wished to die. You do not remember it, but I do. They came to Khaat Ban during the Wedding of Golgoyat and Khou, when all of the tribes were gathered under the bond of peace, and they broke our peace and shattered the sacred marriage.
“You have heard this story from your fathers and grandfathers, but I was there, and I need no one to tell me about it. I saw Khou’s maiden stolen from her bridegroom, and I saw her raped and killed and her body cast naked into the marsh. I saw my brothers and uncles and grandmothers slaughtered. I saw the marsh water run red with the blood of every Yakhat tribe. I stand before you as a witness of the Sorrow of Khaat Ban. Hear and remember, warriors of the Yakhat!”
The men shouted agreement and stamped their feet.
“Yet we survived,” Keshlik continued. “We fled to the hills, without the zebu our parents raised, with only the memories of the Bans we had loved. We salted our food with our tears and cried out to the Powers we served, despairing that they would hear us. And there, where the storm clouds rolled off the high plains and poured themselves into the marshes, Golgoyat came to my father Keishul. He blessed him with the strength of the thundercloud, and commanded him to lead the Yakhat to avenge his sorrow.”
The army roared. “Avenge the sorrow!” and “Remember Khaat Ban!” tore the air.
“Tell me, warriors of the Yakhat, was our sorrow avenged when we rose up from the place of our despair and seized the herds of the plainsmen?”
“ No !”
“Truly, we were not avenged! With the herds we merely fed ourselves that we might not starve. But were we avenged when we struck the Kourak who had persecuted us and burned their city to the ground?”
“ No !”
“Truly, we were not avenged! With their deaths we merely paid back a tenth of the debt of blood they owed us. But were we avenged when we made war against all of the tribes of the
Similar Books
