The contingent from Harsit arrived at the camp just before sunset, the chariot at the forefront stopping a mere spears throw from the gate. Like the army they were greeting these two thousand infantry and five hundred chariots had come a long way over difficult terrain. Unlike the soldiers of Aritcherts, these men weren’t excited to be here.
As Mursilis stepped down from the lead chariot he paused to regain his composure after the long ride. As a prince of Harsit he had to maintain a certain decorum no matter what the circumstances. He took the gold colored helmet off of his head and allowed his long, shoulder length hair to blow about freely in the breeze. The brown, fur plume that dangled from the pinnacle of the helmet bobbed about slowly in the light breeze that was blowing. The armor that protected his body was of scales that were colored in alternating rows of blue and gold. The armor ran down to his knees in one piece like a robe and was tied closed at the back with a sturdy cord. His shield bearer was holding the spears that he used in combat leaving him with only the long bladed dagger that hung at his hip. The prince walked away from the safety of the chariots and toward the gate. With the practiced eye of a veteran warrior he examined the camp before him.
The enclosure in which the army of Kkarrt was encamped was circular in imitation of the great sun that traveled the sky every day. Surrounding the camp was a wooden palisade that stood behind a shallow ditch. The prince noted the numerous soldiers who stood at intervals along the perimeter. Each staring intently out into the night for any sign of attack.
Standing guard at the entrance in front of him were a dozen soldiers. All were Shemshu Tep; the common infantry that made up the majority of the Kkarrt army. Half were dressed in the padded armor and carried the cow hide covered wooden shields of infantry. These were armed with long spears with heads of hardened iron. Nakhtu-aa - strong arm boys were what the Kkarrt called them. The prince agreed that it was an apt name for these men.
The remainder of the guards were Raau Nuf – far eyed killers, the archers. Dressed in a skirt and shirt their only protection was the bows they carried. The prince had to admit that although the Kkarrt might be indifferent charioteers, their army had superb infantry. The Raau Nuf would soften up a target with showers of arrows and the Nakhtu-aa would charge in and finish the enemy with spear, axe and mace.
The soldiers guarding the entrance stared at Mursilis as he strode purposefully up to them, his sandals slapping against the hard packed earth. Following in his wake were a dozen nobles dressed and armed just as he was. They like himself were the sons and second sons of their people. All were brave, and tough veterans of many battles.
“I am Lord Arvikt Mursilis, second son of King Marutulis of Harsiti,” the prince said calmly out loud for all to hear.
No sooner had he spoken those words then a figure appeared out of the darkness of the camp like a ghost in a ruined fortress. The person was dressed in a white linen robe that fluttered about like the wings of an ibis as he moved at a slow, stately pace. To the prince the figure reminded him of an evil spirit in some half remembered dream. The man headed straight up to Mursilis like a slow moving javelin thrown by an enemy. Two paces from the prince he came to a dead halt and gave a short, curt bow. Now being so close the prince could see that the man had a head shaved bare and wore only one item of jewelry; a large brooch shaped like a flying hawk. In his right hand was a gold staff as tall as it’s bearer, the large ruby at the top marked it as the staff of Navish. With a start Mursilis realized that the figure was Irtish; Aritcherts vizier.
“My lord,” the vizier started. “Great, powerful, and all conquering warrior of the known world, ruler of the three kingdoms, ruler of the Learent, great Peraya Aritcherts II to whom be life, prosperity, and health. Greets his fine and courageous brother. He bids you welcome and asks that you be brought before him.”
Mursilis nodded, “My people have come a long way, they need food, drink and rest,” the prince said.
Straightening up Irtish nodded and smiled broadly, the lines of age crinkling his face into a multitude of crevices. The man was old and had served two generations of Kkarrt royalty before Aritcherts. Rulers came and went but this wrinkled old man was always there, guiding, advising and ruling in the Peraya’s name while he was away campaigning. He was the second most powerful person in the entire world. “Of course my Lord. We have prepared a place for you and your people; tents, food, fine wine, beer, and slaves to serve you.”
Turning to look behind him the vizier pointed to a group of figures who stood in the shadows of a nearby tent. “See to the Prince’s people,” he ordered.
A shadowy figure in the group bowed and then disappeared from view. The vizier turned back to the prince. “If you will follow me Prince Mursilis I can lead you to my great Lord, Aritcherts II,” Irtish asked.
“Of course,” was the princes answer.
Bowing again the aged man turned and began to walk into the camp at his slow pace and the prince followed behind. In a moment they were past the barricade at the gate and into the camp itself.
He walked slowly through the camp moving at the same unhurried pace of his guide. It was if he was paying a leisurely visit to Mur Shel instead of an army camp a months march from the palace. At least the slow walk afforded him the chance to see the forces that Aritcherts had brought.
At the edges of the camp, just inside the wooden palisade was the Shemshu Tep. Their hide tents were arranged in neat, rows that ran off into the darkness. Aside from the occasional form moving about intent on some private mission the camp was still. There were countless ranks of tents and even accounting for their slow pace it was a long time before they passed the last of them. “How many has the Peraya brought with him?”
“Thirty thousand foot and three thousand chariots,” was the answer.
The prince was surprised, “Is that not the entire army of Kkarrt?”
“Most, but not all. The Peraya in his great wisdom knows that we will need all of Kkarrts warriors to defeat King Sennacherib,” was the answer from the vizier.
“It’s not the army of Mintiri that is the threat.”
“Now that the Peraya has the Five, the enemy will be crushed,” was the boastful reply.
“Then the rumors are true.”
“What rumors have you heard?” the old man asked in an innocent sounding voice.
“I have been told that Kkarrt symbol shapers have crafted an answer to the Spear.”
The Vizier gave a broad smile, showing a row of white teeth. “Long has Kkarrt been the leader in such magic.”
“Oh? If so then what of the Spear? Who shaped that?”
Irtish just glared in response and stalked off with the prince following close behind. The rest of the journey was made in silence.
The prince soon found himself walking amidst the chariots and tents of the Ne’arin. As the elite division of the army of Kkarrt they had cloth tents to sleep in and servants to serve them food and drink. But the prince saw no one drinking this night, and few were sleeping. Instead some were gambling, others praying, a few were making half hearted attempts to rest. He saw that many were keeping busy by grooming their horses or checking their chariots. What ever else they did Mursilis noticed that they all shared two activities; they checked their armor and weapons and nervously waited for battle.
Soon a large object loomed up in front of him. There in the center of the camp, towering over everything around it was an immense tent. Well over a spears throw in length and as wide as a chariot with its horses is long. It was colored a dark burgundy and decorated with the gold pictures of hawks, lions, jackals, hyenas. Golden hawks and falcons decorated the tops of the poles supporting the cloth, looking down at all who deigned to pass beneath them.
As they got closer he could see that one whole side of the tent was covered with scenes of battles. Aritcherts victories were depicted in gold and silver, advertising for all to see just how truly great it’s occupant really was.
Reaching the clearing around the great tent, the Vizier turned and moving along its length, headed for the far end. As they walked the prince got a close up view of the scenes that decorated the cloth.
First scene he saw was of the battle of the plains of Muresh. The panel was a confused jumble of soldiers, chariots, and horses all fighting or dying. He noted that most of the dead were Arysnian. Figuring prominently in the center was Aritcherts himself fully twice the size of any other person. He was riding in a typical Kkarrt chariot a great bow in his hand, an arrow nocked; a pose that seemed more at home in a painting then in any real battle. About him lay scattered the countless corpses of the defeated Arysnian army. He noted that the dead Arysnian king was done in blue and red and lay headless at the Aritcherts feet. The remnants of the defeated army was scattered in all directions in a complete rout. Arching over this was the thick blue-green ribbon of the river. Mursilis noted there were small figures floating face down in the river. The prince had little interest in Aritcherts self aggrandizing art so he left the rout of the Arysnian army behind and kept moving.
Instead of a battlefield the next scene the tent portrayed was set in the throne room. There was Aritcherts, twice life size seated on the gold, alabaster, and jewel encrusted Great throne of Kkarrt. He was holding the staff and rod of true power in his hands and their was a look of true arrogance and utter confidence on his face.
Kneeling at the feet of the victorious ruler was the battered and down cast King of Sashim, his arms raised in supplication and pleading. With his army killed or scattered, and his city pillaged and burned, all King Tarchel could do was plead for mercy. Aritcherts had eventually granted that mercy, but a great cost. Hundreds of horses, spices, silk, gold, copper, tin, timber and ivory had been the cost. Such was the price of defeat.
As he was staring at that scene the nobleman couldn’t help but think ruefully thought of the battle of Hartuf and the price his own people had to pay for being defeated by Aritcherts. What had almost been a victory for Harsit instead it had ended up a bloody debacle with no winner.
There was really only one person to blame for all the Kkarrt dead; Aritcherts himself. Deceived by a pair of flattering spies into thinking the enemy was retreating away, the Peraya had split up his forces to pursue them. With a quick and daring attack by chariots the Harsit had attacked Aritcherts with his army badly scattered. The Do’Kora division had simple melted under the surprise attack, swept away in a few brief moments. Those soldiers who weren’t killed in the initial attack panicked and fled in all directions only to be run down and killed. Quickly the Harsit chariots swept towards the camp where Aritcherts himself was.
Outnumbered three the one the King hadn’t fled in panic like so many others did, instead he stood his ground and fought like a true warrior. In the end all that had saved him was blind luck. Intent on the Kkarrt in front of them the Harsit hadn’t seen the Kammaloth Division approaching from behind until it was too late. In a moment a brilliant victory had turned into a brutal rout. All that had saved many of the Harsit had been night fall. The blessed darkness had allowed many to escape the wrath of a vengeful Aritcherts.
The great Peraya held the field at the end of the day, and he claimed victory. Indeed the army of Harsit had been shattered, but a quarter of his own army lay dead on the field and the rest were weary, wounded or scattered. Both sides had claimed victory, but those boasts had been hollow and everyone had known it.
The next morning when King Marutulis had sent a messenger to Aritcherts asking for day long truce to allow for the burial of the dead, the great Peraya had readily agreed. When that day had ended the Kkarrt hadn’t attacked, instead the army had simply stayed in camp. The great Peraya it seems had seen enough blood shed. All that day and the next messengers had passed back and forth between the two armies. Eventually the two rulers had agreed to meet face to face in the city of Gurmela a month later.
Mursilis hadn’t understood why his sister had demanded to come along to that meeting. After all what could a woman do at a meeting of kings? He truly didn’t know what she had intended until the first meeting of the kings had occurred. Marutulis, Mursilis, Aritcherts and all the other warriors had come dressed in their finest armor and carrying their best weapons. Each side trying to bluff and impress the other with an impressive display of strength.
At first Aritcherts had been harsh, full of anger, obviously out for revenge for having lost so many good soldiers and for being made a fool by being tricked so easily. The demands he made were immense, there was no way that they could meet them. Then the Marutulis had introduced Abeb to Aritcherts.
She had deliberately arrived late, while the Kkarrt leader was in the midst of a tirade and as was due to courtesy he had to pause to allow the princess to be introduced. The Kkarrt ruler was merely being polite to her, showing her the courtesies her rank deserved. Then he had returned to his ranting, but her arrival has disrupted his train of thought and he was slow to take up again with his demands. When he did it was in a calmer, more controlled tone, gone was the edge of harshness, and revenge. Just her presence had softened the angry monarchs harsh words. What happen next all started with a simple comment by her on how she had heard Aritcherts was such a great charioteer. Suddenly he seemed less interested in how much gold, silver and horse he could force out of Harsit and more on how she was an avid fan of racing. Within the hour he suggested a break for the noon meal. The prince wasn’t surprised when the Kkarrt ruler had invited his sister to take the meal with him.
She spent the entire afternoon with him being given a personal tour of the great army of Kkarrt. The next day she had given him a personal tour of the army of Harsit in spite of the fact that she new almost nothing about it. When next the two king met Aritcherts was different. Instead of harsh and impossible demands he readily agreed to more modest tribute, one that her people could meet without being left totally destitute. Within a week he had agreed to an alliance with Marutulis to be sealed with his marriage to the princess.
He wondered about the marriage. It wasn’t the first marriage of politics and he doubted that it would be the last. But was she really happy? Her letters had spoken glowing praise of her new life, instead of being a princess she was now the queen of Kkarrt one of the greatest kingdoms under the sun. Her life must be fine indeed, but lingering doubt remained. He would always worry about her, after all she was a woman and his sister and needed to be watched over.
Suddenly his musing and walking stopped as he stared at the scene portrayed on the tent in front of him. It was the battle of Hartuf, there was no doubting the identity of that twin humped city on a hill. That the battle was boldly depicted did not surprise the prince, it had been an epic battle that would be remembered for all time. What surprised him was how the battle was depicted.
Over the entire breadth of the scene Kkarrt and Harsit soldiers fought bitterly with spear, sword, sling, bow and even with bare hands. At the left corner of the scene, far from the city was the Kkarrt camp, or what was left of it. Dead bodies of men and horses lay scattered amidst the burning wreckage of the camp. Spread out below the camp and the city countless bodies were scattered in all stages of death and near death. Shattered corpses lay amongst overturned chariots and wagons. With a start the prince realized that many of the dead depicted were Kkarrt not Harsit. That was surprising enough but it was the depiction of his father and Aritcherts that stunned him. He had expected to see Marutulis kneeling at the feet of the Kkarrt ruler like the King of Sashim, pleading for his life. That was far from what he saw. Aritcherts was standing on the ground, behind him lay his over turned chariot, the horses sprawled in death with their driver. The Peraya was larger then Marutulis but only just slightly, and instead of being on his knees the Harsit ruler was shown boldly and heroically fighting with spear and shield. This wasn’t the image of a lesser being dispatched like some bandit. It was a display of two great warriors fighting as equals.
He stared at the image of the two kings fighting for a long moment, surprised that Aritcherts would ever openly admit that someone would be close to being his equal. He didn’t move until the vizier stood in front of blocking the princes view.
“The Great Peraya is not to be kept waiting,” was the terse comment by Irtish.
“Of course not,” the prince commented. He was feeling more relaxed now. Somehow the image of the terrible Tha An didn’t seem so terrible. The prince was reminded that the Great Peraya was still just a man, who made mistakes no matter which god he claimed as an ancestor. He also realized that Aritcherts himself was aware of that fact too.
At the entrance to the tent he found three sets of guards standing in attendance. First to meet his gaze were the members of the Sherdan; the elite guard. Their scale armor and broad rectangular shields gave them superb protection in a fight. And the prince had no doubt as to how well they could fight. When all else had fled these warriors had stayed by Aritcherts and fought like lions. He shivered for a moment as the memories of the bitter fighting amidst the burning tents of the camp came to him. Many a Harsit warrior had died then, most the prince had know personally, some had been his friends since childhood. The cold hard gazes they cast on him told the prince that there was no love for him amongst the guard. He realized that many of the Sherdan had died then. They too had lost friends and comrades in that fight. Mursilis didn’t return those gazes, as a prince he was supposed to be above such petty emotions.
Standing behind and towering over the human guards was a huge figure of a person. The creature was over three times the size of any of the Sherdan and it seemed to bristle with muscles and raw power. The tremendous metal axe it carried in its gigantic hands was as big as the princes whole body. The creature was rumored to be able to cleave an ox in half with a single stroke. For armor he wore was made of strips of leather each as wide as Mursilis’ head and tied together with thick wire. The armor alone weighed more then the prince’s whole body.
How Aritcherts had gained the command of such a powerful mountain spirit was a mystery to the prince. Perhaps it was bound by magic. The creature fixed the Harsit noble with calm indifference. It could either ignore him or kill him in mere seconds if the Great Peraya so ordered. The monster would carry out either order without any hesitation, it honestly didn’t care if the prince lived or died.
Directly behind the great creature yawned the entrance to the tent. The portal to the great rulers tent was wide and tall enough for the great monster to enter without disturbing any of the fabric. It was there at the portal itself that the prince came upon the third and final guards protecting the Peraya. Flanking either side of the entrance, sat two massive, stone sphinx, each as tall as the tent wall. The figures stared out at the world with the glowing red eyes made of fist sized gems. The stone they were carved from had the same tan color of a lions skin, making them look almost alive. Five wickedly sharp claws each as long as a mans hand were prominent on each of their paws. The creatures seemed to gaze at him with an intensity that bored right through him, laying bare even his slightest flaw.
He found it hard to return that gaze, instead he looked towards the walls of the tent. His eyes fell upon the image of a silver and gold hyena fighting a similarly colored falcon for possession of what looked to be a short blue and white striped rod. He vaguely recognized the scene as being from Kkarrt history but the details eluded him, something about two brothers fighting to become the first Peraya. He couldn’t concentrate on the images, he could still feel those stone eyes bearing down on him.
Irtish walked past all three sets of guards without a moments hesitation. The darkness of the inside of the tent simply swallowed him up. “Oh great Peraya, powerful, all conquering warrior and ruler of the known world. To whom be life, prosperity, and health,” came the Viziers voice from inside the cloth tent. “Prince Mursilis of Harsit has arrived.”
“Bid him enter,” came a second voice.
The Vizier appeared momentarily and waved the prince in, before disappearing back into the darkness. Putting on his best air of calm Mursilis stepped into the tent and into a different world.
The first thing he that came to him was the sounds of music played so softly as to be barely audible. Just dancing around the edges of his consciousness were the sounds of flute, lute, lyre and harp. It heralded the oddest scene he’d ever witnessed on a military campaign. Spread out in front of him was a scene straight out of the Royal palace.
If the outside of the tent had been impressive to the prince it was easily put to shame by the interior. Everywhere his eyes wandered was art, all the walls, floor even the roof over his head was completely covered with bright, vibrant art. Leaping leopards, soaring hawks, roaring lions, racing cheetahs and countless other animals were everywhere. One whole side of the tent was filled with a scene of lions hunting zebra, done life size and in great detail. Under his feet was the image of the broad river flowing through a land of tall orchards, vast fields of wheat and fat, healthy cattle. Looking down at his feet he found that his sandals were resting on the image of a fat cargo ship, and the harbor it was anchored in. With it was a detailed depiction of the coastal city of Kamraya, at least that is what the inscription next to it said.
Off to his right, less then two paces away was a small orchestra of five girls. Long, straight, black hair that shone like burnished silk, flowed down around faces with the soft roundness and warmth of youth. All were dressed in floor length robes made of the sheerest material that hid nothing of their smooth, alabaster bodies. In spite of their youth and beauty the music that flowed from their instruments was as beautiful as they were.
The girl playing the double reed pipe glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and a faint smile crossed her face. She was slightly taller then the harp player but shorter then the lyre player. There was a certain set to the way she held herself that made her stand out from the rest like a camp fire burning in the desert night. He returned the girls smile with a faint nod of the head and reluctantly turned his gaze back to the carpet beneath him. His eyes swiftly followed the path of the river to its source and his eyes alighted upon Aritcherts.
A kilt of blue and gold stripes that was wrapped tightly about his legs was the rulers sole clothing save for the bead decorated sandals upon his feet. About his neck was a broad collar of turquoise, garnets, and alabaster of countless colors that sparkled in the light. Gold rings decorated each finger and upon his head rested the white, spire shaped crown of Kkarrt. The gold hawk, its wings out spread rested prominently above the rulers forehead. It’s jeweled eyes staring out at the world with a fierce gaze. In his left hand was the gold and black colored rod of Kkarrt. In the right was the blue and silver staff of life.
The Great Peraya, was seated upon a throne made of the finest cedar and oak covered with gold and silver leaf. The great rulers hands rested upon lion head arm rests made of obsidian and whose eyes were sparkling amethysts. The legs of the throne rested upon lions paws of gold with electrum claws. The throne itself rested upon a palanquin just as richly decorated. This set him a full arms length above all else in the room.
The Peraya used that height now to good advantage to stare down at the two men who were kneeling in front of him. Both were dressed in the dirty gray shapeless robes of farmers. They appeared to be young, no older then twenty perhaps. Certainly they were younger then the two Sherdan who flanked them, watching their every move with the disdain of a warrior towards a captive.
Lounging at the foot of the throne was a full grown lion. The massive feline was gazing about as if he was the ruler and all before him were his subjects. His tail flicking distractedly back and forth as his eyes took in the prisoners, perhaps trying to decide if they are food or not. Certainly he had less regard for them then the Sherdan did.
Standing in a semi-circle facing their leader were dozen people, none of them warriors. Some were dressed in the simple clothes of servants or slaves of the court others wore the modest clothes of officials of the government. The princes eyes fell upon a figure seated close to the palanquin on a stool made of some dark wood. The shaven head man was using a stylus to diligently record everything that was happening onto a long papyrus scroll. The scribes hand moved with a swiftness and certainly that the prince found fascinating.
Mursilis recognized all of them as the simple people who made Kkarrt run. The Peraya would give grand commands and make grandiose pronouncements but it was these people who actually brought those commands to life. In this tent was the entire government of Kkarrt.
The prince came forward to properly greet Aritcherts, “Great powerful, and all conquering warrior of the known world, ruler of the three kingdoms, ruler of the Learent, great Peraya Aritcherts II, I Lord Arvikt Mursilis, second son of King Marutulis of Harsiti . . . “ His voice trailed off as his eyes suddenly caught sight of what lay to the left of Aritcherts.
At first he thought it was merely a rack of some sort meant to hold the royal weapons, for indeed there were weapons on it. The rack was shaped like steps with each weapon resting at a different level. The furniture itself glimmered in the torch light with gold and silver, and was studded with jewels of every shape and color. But it wasn’t the rack or wealth of it that caught his eyes. He had seen such things before. It was the weapons that rested upon it that caught his eyes; sword, dagger, hammer, axe, spear. All were jet black, and were as plain as the rack was lavishly decorated. They were the Five, of that there was no doubt.
His eyes ran over dagger that rested on the lowest step, cushioned on a pillow of fine, blue silk. Above it was the hammer, above that was the sword. All three were weapons he used and cherished, but these barely kept his gaze, that was reserved for another. Resting at the top of the rack was the double bladed axe. It’s huge blade was so unlike any other weapon he had ever seen. No matter its obvious power and size it didn’t interest the prince; that wasn’t a weapon for use from a chariot. It was meant for use on foot, like a common soldier, the army of Kkarrt had many thousands of axe men in its ranks, common peasants every one of them. So his eyes swept past that too and settled upon the spear that rested just below the axe.
The spear was a weapon of a charioteer. He could picture himself standing tall in his chariot as it raced across battle field impaling any enemy that dared stand in his way. No army could stand before him, all would be ground into the dust. With such a powerful weapon in hand they would have won the battle of Hartuf.
The prince was brought back to reality by a something touching him on the stomach. Looking down he saw a small slave girl holding a silver tray up to him. On it was a large alabaster cup full of a dark brown fluid, undoubtedly beer. He also became aware of the fact that the music had stopped and the entire room was staring at him.
“It seems, oh Great one,” the Vizier said softly, “that Lord Arvikt Mursilis is admiring your weapons.”
“My apologies Great Peraya,” the prince said trying to cover his confusion. How long had he been staring at them?
Far from being insulted Aritcherts seemed happy. He smiled and waved his hand at the weapons. “They are things of wonder.”
“Indeed,” the prince said taking the pre-offered drink and sipping it. The light, sweet taste of the liquid slid down his throat with ease. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment. “I have never seen their like before. They must be crafted with the old magic.”
“For over a thousand years Kkarrt has been the heart of magic and power in the world, and so it remains,” the Peraya announced proudly.
“Of course, oh ruler of the world. That is clear for all to see. Even someone as humble as myself.”
Mursilis looked towards the speaker; it was one of the two farmers, both were still kneeling in front of the throne.
“That is why King Sennacherib is near the city of Aimth,” said the taller of the two kneeling men. “He fears the power of the black ones. He knows that he cannot stand against them.”
“Especially when in the hands of the greatest warrior of the age,” the second added.
Aritcherts stiffened and sat a little taller, pride and arrogance plain to see on his face. “As he should, for with them he will be blown away like sand before the desert wind.”
All the people assembled before the ruler nodded in agreement except for one.
The prince simply shook his head. He had seen this before. “My Lord, you cannot believe these men,” he said gesturing towards the two kneeling farmers. “They are surely lying, trying to trick you. Before the battle of Hartuf . . . “
“THAT BATTLE WAS A GREAT VICTORY,” the Peraya shouted, his face red with rage. “AND I WILL HEAR NO MORE OF IT FROM A MERE VASSEL.”
Mursilis instantly dropped to his knees, head bowed and his hand, palm down on the carpeted floor. “Forgive me oh great one,” he said in genuine fear for his life. As a warrior the prince did not fear death on the battlefield, he had seen it too often. What he did fear was dying a senseless death at court, executed for some foolish slip of the tongue. In mentioning that battle he had reminded Aritcherts of just how badly he had been deceived, and made to look like a fool. With someone as powerful as the Peraya, this was not a healthy thing to do. Men had been flayed for less.
No one moved or spoke for a long time and the silence roared in the princes ears. Finally Aritcherts himself broke the silence. “Rise brother,” he said in a calm tone. “We will no longer speak of such things.”
The prince stood up but kept his head bowed in respect, unsure of exactly what his sister’s husband would do next.
“Tell me when you were spying upon the army of Mintiri did you see how large it was?” Aritcherts asked of the two men kneeling next to the prince.
“His army is vast oh great one,” was the taller ones reply. “But not as vast as your own.”
“I heard Sennacherib boast his army was over fifteen thousand strong,” the second added. “And two thousand chariots.”
“What of the rest of his army?” the ruler asked. “He has twice as many warriors as that.”
“The remainder are still in Theru. Only with such a large army does he keep the people from rising against him yet again.”
“Good, that will make my victory all the easier.” Aritcherts stood up and walked forward to the edge of the palanquin. “For your services to Kkarrt,” he said to the two kneeling figures. “I give you, wine, beer, and one hundred urtens of gold each.”
Both of the two smiled broadly, one hundred urtens was lifetimes earnings to a simple farmer. “I thank you for you great generosity, great, wise, all powerful, ruler of all that he sees,” one of them stuttered.
“Be gone from our presence and return to your homes with my gratitude,” the ruler of Kkarrt said dismissing them with a wave of the hand.
Not daring to speak, the prince watched as the two hastily backed away from the throne. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. Hadn’t Aritcherts learned anything in the five years since Hartuf? Hadn’t his father Marutulis used the self same trick? Can he possibly be so naïve and conceited to believe such a simple deception twice?
He looked towards the throne to try and bring some sense to the Peraya but found that Aritcherts was looking off to one side. Following the rulers gaze he saw Irtish gazing back at Aritcherts. As Mursilis watched the vizier give a slight nod of the head and a faint smile crossed Aritcherts face. What had he just witnessed? Something had passed between the two but he wasn’t sure what. Instinct told him to hold his tongue, and watch.
“That is all for today,” the Kkarrt ruler announced. “There will be time enough tomorrow to discuss matters of warfare. Tonight I wish to relax after the long travel and enjoy the company of my brother.”
The curtain closed behind the prince with the faint rustle of silk cloth. Aritcherts removed the crown and placed it almost casually upon a teak wood table. The rod and staff were quickly deposited on the table as well. One on either side of the crown.
“After the meal, we will play Semet,” Aritcherts announced. “Abeb says you are a fierce player.”
The prince smiled. “I’ve always had a passion for the game, my Lord.”
An elderly man appeared bearing a gold platter with two alabaster cups upon it. He moved calmly and silently to Aritcherts and held the platter up for his inspection. The great ruler took one and waved his free hand towards Mursilis. The servant offered up the remaining cup to the prince who took it. The prince discovered it was filled with plum wine.
Without being asked other servants appeared bearing all manner of items. A chair, a couch, and two tables, were quickly arranged on the dark purple carpet in the center of the room. More servants arrived bearing food, wine and beer and soon a sumptuous banquet was set up for the Peraya and his guest.
Throughout all of this both nobleman stood and sipped their wine in silence. It wasn’t until the last servant had departed leaving the two alone that Aritcherts spoke.
“It is incredible Sennacherib would honestly believe I would be so foolish as to be duped by those two spies,” he said shaking his hand in amazement. “Does he think I have forgotten the battle of Hartuf? It has been barely five years since your father tricked me and used my own pride against me.”
The prince sagged in great relief. The ruler of Kkarrt wasn’t a fool after all. “Perhaps he thinks you are too enamored of your new weapons to see the truth?”
“They are powerful indeed,” Aritcherts said pointing to a corner of the room. “But I am no fool as to become as obsessed with them as he has become of that spear.”
The prince looked to where the ruler had pointed and his eyes fell upon the rack and its array of ebony colored weapons. He was sure that it hadn’t been there when they had entered the room and he didn’t remember seeing anyone carry it in.
There again he saw that spear, laying in plain sight for all to see. His eyes ran the length of it, from the butt to the fine pointed tip taking in even the slightest detail. He noticed that the blade was crafted to resemble a leaf down to the fine veins. Again the image of him riding in his chariot that midnight black weapon in his hands came to him. The prince shook himself and with great effort dispelled that image. Mursilis deliberately shifted his seat so as to take that weapon out of his line of sight.
He found Aritcherts looking at him with an odd, almost bemused gaze. The Peraya suddenly turned and looked at the rack of weapons himself. He just seemed to stare at it, his mind lost in some other place and time. After a long awkward moment the prince broke the silence.
“When did you realized that those two were spies?” Mursilis asked chewing on a piece of bread. He had to repeat it before he got an answer.
“I knew it the moment word was brought to me that two farmers had come to the camp to help the Great Peraya,” Aritcherts answered still distracted by the weapons.
“Why all the acting?” the prince asked. “Why didn’t you simply have them put to death?”
“Because to do so,” came the explanation. “Would be to admit that his deception had failed. This way I am deceiving him , instead of him deceiving me. And with their help I can find where Sennacherib really is camped.”
“By simply following the spies when they return to Sennacherib,” the prince added in amazement. “Truly a grand idea. Where do you think he really is?” he asked.
“That I do not know yet,” Aritcherts said, still looking at the weapons. “But he must be close else he would not have used those spies.”
The prince picked up a handful of date palms and pondered as he ate them one at a time. “I find it hard to believes that Sennacherib could be so foolish as to try something so obvious. He had to realize you would be expecting such a trick, so why do it?”
“To sow confusion,” was the answer. “It is a simple and easy gamble. If it succeeds he gains the upper hand. If it does not all he looses are a pair of spies. Well worth the gamble.”
“I still find it hard to believe he would do it, with the battle of Hartuf so fresh in every ones memory. Perhaps those two really are telling the truth?”
Aritcherts shook his head, “No. He is near by, of that fact I am certain. My scouts found signs at the river ford that spoke of a large army crossing no more then four days ago.”
“If this really is a deception, why use the same one? I can think of countless others that would serve the same purpose. He could have sent a small portion of his army out in the open while the remainder waits in hiding,” Mursilis suggested. “Then while you were distracted by attacking the small group the remainder could have fallen upon you from surprise.”
The Kkarrt nobleman smiled, “You are thinking like Mursilis and not Sennacherib. That man is a simpleton, he thinks only in straight, blunt ideas. Such things as cunning and planning are beyond him. I can easily defeat him in battle if it were not for that spear.” There was a bitterness in those last words that betrayed much pain and lose.
“It is so powerful?”
The Peraya didn’t answer at first but simply stared into his cup, as if all the answers would be found in the wine. “What do you know of the Old magic?” he asked not looking up from his cup.
Mursilis shrugged. “A little. I know that it is more powerful then all other kinds and that mages who can control it are rare and powerful.”
“Those who can use such magic are called Heka Shuti and are respected and feared. At one time they even challenged the Peraya for rule of Kkarrt itself. At the oasis of Alurou four Heka Shuti alone defeated the army Seqenenre Tao II.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Some four thousand died that day.”
“They ruled Kkarrt for many years, but they did not rule it well. My ancestor Amosis IV destroyed their control restored the rightful rule.” He stopped speaking and sipped more wine. When he spoke again it was in a soft whisper as he was ashamed. “But he did not do so in battle.”
The Peraya shook his head as if to dispel some bad memory. “The use of such magic continues but few know how to use it and their skills grow lesser with each passing generation.”
“The spear is far more powerful then you realize. It was crafted when the Heka Shuti skills were at their greatest.” Aritcherts said as he collapsed into a golden chair. “Four times have I faced him in battle and four times have I been defeated,” he said in a quiet, almost timid voice, so unlike his usual tone. ”I have seen my soldiers crushed, smashed and burned by the power of that spear. At the battle of Krytu I saw him slay five hundred of my Sherdan with but a mere wave of that weapon. All he did was draw a line in the earth at his feet and the ground opened up and swallowed them.” He shook his head at the bitter memory. “Never again have I faced him on the battlefield. I have maneuvered, marched, and deceived him ever since.”
“That revolt you formented in the east helped distracted him,” the prince commented.
Aritcherts nodded. “At a cost of only few thousand urtens and several hundred soldiers I gained the two years needed to finish those,” he said calmly and pointed at the black weapons, which still rested on their bejeweled rack.
The prince refused to look at them, but in his mind he could still that spear, resting on the rack like a panther crouching on a tree limb. He turned his mind to other things, anything to take the image of that spear away. “I have heard rumors of what he did to suppress that rebellion.”
Aritcherts head dropped down to his chest and closed his eyes. “Those rumors are all true.”
“All of them?” Mursilis asked, incredulous. “Even the destruction of Aimth?”
The Peraya nodded, “he routed their army in a single day, and he destroyed the city itself in a single hour using just Tanach Terea and nothing else. Without the five to counter him, Sennacherib could conquer the world. No one could stop him.”
Suddenly an idea came to him in a rush. He understood with startling clarity what Sennacherib was doing. “Sennacherib knew you would recognize those two as spies and use them to find his camp,” Mursilis said. “He wants you to attack him.”
“What?”
“For years you’ve avoided facing him in open battle and he’s tired of that. He wants to draw you into open battle.”
“OF COURSE!” Aritcherts shouted. “He wants to defeat me in one battle, rather then spending years chasing me all over the Learent.”
Mursilis nodded in agreement, “And how better to accomplish that then to have you come to him.”
“A fine little trick,” the ruler said.
“Indeed, it seems Sennacherib is more crafty then he has been in the last five years,” a new voice said.
Turning to the voice he found himself looking at Irtish. The vizier was kneeling just inside the entrance.
Aritcherts gave a wave of his hand and the vizier stood up. “I hope you bring word of his location.”
“I do oh Great One. His army rests amidst the ruins of old Quareth.”
“That’s a full days march from here!” the prince exclaimed. “How large is the army with him?”
“At least sixty thousand foot and four thousand chariots,” Irtish replied. “His entire army save five thousand he left in the east with Adad-Nirari.”
The Peraya nodded, “Of course he has left his son behind. He does not want to share the glory with him. And five thousand soldiers is large enough an army to suppress any new revolt but too small should his son decide he wants the throne for himself.”
“Also,” the Vizier added. “He has summoned more troops to him. His army grows stronger every day.”
“We do not need to worry about the army, it is the spear and its wielder we must defeat,” the prince explained. “With Sennacherib dead his army will disintegrate. Adad-Nirari will be too busy trying to take control of the throne to attack anyone.”
Aritcherts nodded in agreement, “With the Five, we can do that. They are a match for it.”
The prince did some calculating. Marching all night the army would arrive at Old Quareth just after first light. “Then tomorrow morning we fight him,” he said sipping more wine.
“No,” Aritcherts replied calmly.
Looking up from his cup the prince found the ruler of Kkarrt staring at the rack of weapons. His own eyes came to rest upon those weapons. Weapons colored as black as the sky at the height of night. He knew what the king was thinking. A foot soldier would take all night to reach old Quareth but a chariot could get there a lot faster. “Tonight,” Mursilis said. “We strike tonight.”
The sun had set, it should have been a time of peace for the army. A time for quiet relaxation, for resting bodies weary after a long day on the march. At this time of night the only things that should have been moving about were the soldiers on guard duty. All else should have been either asleep, or getting ready for sleep. But such a peaceful scene was not to be this night. Tonight the camp of the army of Kkarrt was alive with movement, like an anthill kicked over by cattle.
The camp was alive with soldiers of all types moving in all directions. Some were dressing and readying weapons and armor, others were taking down and packing away their tents. In the distance horses neighed, pawing the ground with their hooves as they shook their manes in excitement. Trumpets blared into the darkness urging the men to move even faster. Above all this was the deep, slow BOOM, BOOM, BOOM of a drum. The sound of the drum carried over all else even penetrating the ground itself making it feel like a rumble from deep within the earth. It was the picture of pure chaos.
But this was far from random chaos. The soldiers weren’t running in panic but were hustling towards their units standards. Located at intervals through the camp were tall poles upon the of each was the finely wrought image of an animal. Closest to Prince Mursilis as one such standard; its pole was twice the height of the man holding it. At it’s top was the gold figure of a lion. Already arrayed behind it was a dozen spear armed infantry. Their long, neat ranks growing moment by moment as more soldiers joined them, taking their appointed places. Nearby was another standard, this with a racing cheetah on top stood at the front of two score archers.
The prince had little time to study the armies preparations, he had too many things of his own to do.
“Now you understand my orders, yes?” the prince asked as he made one last check of the horses harness. He knew that Nayaari had personally checked ever part of his chariot but it didn’t stop him from checking it himself.
Standing barely a pace behind the prince a tall Harsit nobleman nodded. “I know what your orders are, but I don’t understand them.”
Mursilis stopped checking the harness and its buckles and turned to his companion. He was an impressive figure standing a full head taller then the prince dressed scale armor that was colored a deep bronze. His hair black like the princes was black and shoulder length. On his forehead was a horizontal scar that was the a reminder of a sword blow he had been too slow in dodging.
“What don’t you understand, my old friend?” the prince asked. “You will lead the chariots of Harsit while I take my place with Aritcherts.”
A look of annoyance crossed Nayaari’s face. “That’s not what I mean. Five years ago Kkarrt destroyed our army, and killed your oldest brother. Why are you so eager to fight his war for him. I say let Kkarrt and Mintiri kill each other. It’s none of our affair. It matters little which King claims to be our overlord.”
“They are all the same,” a second Harsit warrior said walking up to stand next to Nayaari. “As long as we send them their tribute they’re happy.”
“That’s where you are wrong Myuri” the Prince countered. “This is different. Too much is at stake here.”
“Why? This isn’t the first time empires have fought over control of the Learent. I don’t think it will be the last.”
“What happens tonight will shape things for millennia. Countless generations now unborn will be changed because of this battle.”
“I think you have spent far too much time with the Kkarrt. All that stuff about destiny has turned your mind,” Myuri said.
“It’s made you forget who murdered your brother,” Nayaari said coldly.
The prince lashed out with both fists and sent his friend sprawling to the ground. The warrior landed in a heap against the wheel of a chariot.
“There is a difference between murder and death in fair combat,” Mursilis said through clenched teeth. “You’d best remember that.”
“More then just Artishe, died that night,” Myuri said with a cold look of anger and hate in his eyes.
The prince didn’t speak for a moment but stared at his friend. He’s seen that look before on the face of the Sherdan. “I haven’t forgotten that we all lost many friends that day. But I also haven’t forgotten that many Kkarrt died as well.”
“We didn’t kill enough of them,” Nayaari said coldly rubbing his chin.
“You still don’t understand the magnitude of what is happening here,” Mursilis said. “This is far more important then the petty fight we had five years ago.”
“PETTY?” Nayaari shouted as he jumped up.
“This battle is far more important then any other we will ever fight,” the prince countered. “The gods themselves will be watching this night. A thousand years from now Hartuf will be but a minor tale remembered by few, but the coming battle will be heralded forever. Tales will be told of the fight till the end of time.”
Myuri’s face softened but Nayaari’s didn’t. Instead it hardened into a deep scowl.
Mursilis’ hand fell to the hilt of his dagger. “If you cannot see that truth, then so be it,” he said with the cold hardness of authority. “I am your Overlord and I command you to obey me and the orders of the Peraya. Do you understand that.”
Fury and rage flowed over Nayaari’s face for a moment before being replaced by resignation. “Yes my Liege,” he said in a barely audible whisper. Without waiting for a reply the Harsit nobleman wheeled around and stalked off.
“He doesn’t understand and neither do I,” Myuri commented softly. “But we will both fight.”
“I wish I could make you both understand how important this is.”
“I understand that you’ve changed. What happened to you in that tent? Have the Kkarrt enchanted you?”
The prince laughed. “You’re too full of Nerichs paranoid ravings. It’s the Five and that spear. They change everything. We cannot allow Sennacherib to keep Tanach Terea. With it he’ll lay waste to all of the Learant.”
“And what of Aritcherts? Is he any less a threat?”
“We cannot stay neutral this time,” the prince explained. “There is too much power and the armies too big. If we don’t ally with one side or the other we’ll be attacked by both and swept away.”
“Why Kkarrt? Sennacherib has defeated Aritcherts four times in open battle.” Myuri asked. “The Great Peraya has been reduced to skulking around like a bandit.”
“I trust him Myuri,” Mursilis said. ”I wish I could explain it, but I can’t.”
Myuri opened his mouth to speak but there came the low rumble of wood, leather and the clop of hooves on packed earth. The Peraya’s chariot appeared out of the darkness, moving slowly straight towards them.
Every time he saw a Kkarrt chariot he couldn’t help but ask how could someone go into battle in something so flimsy. No finger width thick planks covered plates of bronze or iron, instead it seemed to made of thin wood and wicker. More appropriate for furniture.
His own chariot like all Harsit chariots were larger and wider then ones used by the Kkarrt army. Its body was built like the strong hull of a ship, with thick, solid wooden walls and floor. That made a sturdy platform to fight from and made them almost unstoppable, like a ship plowing through waves. A Harsit charging forward with its horses running at full gallop was an awesome sight, it was also unstoppable. Nothing could withstand it, few even tried.
In comparison the chariot of Aritcherts looked light and airy more for racing then for battle. The sides were open or covered with a thin layer of wicker and was barely large enough to hold two people. Where as a Harsit chariot was large enough to easily hold three. One seemingly minor different was the axle. On the princes chariot it was underneath the center of the platform so as to better support its own weight and those of its riders. But on Aritcherts chariot the axle was at the rear of the platform. To anyone but a charioteer it was a minor difference but to a charioteer it was anything but minor. That made it more maneuverable but able to support less weight. It spoke volumes on how different Kkarrt and Harsit charioteers fought.
A Harsit chariot was a shock weapon using it’s sheer size and weight to charge straight at, into and through an enemy the way they had destroyed the Do’Kora division at Hartuf. But Kkarrt chariots were lighter, faster and more maneuverable by choice. It would race up to an enemy but instead of charging through it the archer onboard would launch arrows or javelins. Then the driver would wheel the chariot about and race away going back in the direction they had come from. When the chariot had gone some distance it would be turned around and charge back at the enemy and thus start the cycle over again. Kkarrt warriors would repeat this process over and over again, wearing down their enemy with showers of missiles until they broke and fled.
Two different styles of chariots for two different tactic, until now they had fought against each other. Now he would get the chance to see how they worked together.
“Are you ready brother?” Aritcherts asked from his chariot.
The prince gave a deep bow, “Yes my Lord.”
“Good because the night will not last forever.”