It was a long exhausting trip, over the rough tracks that passed for roads in this part of the Leavent. To Nayaari it seemed to be either deep holes or tall bumps and nothing else. Traveling in the darkness after having ridden all day made the trip even more exhausting.
Ahead of him were the chariots of Aritcherts and Mursilis side by side. At first all Nayaari could see was the faint light from the torches of the chariots ahead of him. They bobbed and weaved up and down and back and forth like the Will of the Wisps that lived in the river marshes near his home. Then slowly ahead, far ahead of Aritcherts came a tint of light. The light was so faint at first that it was some time before he noticed it. When he did it could easily have been the coming dawn if it had not been in the northern sky instead of the eastern. As the army rolled and jolted forward the faint light slowly grew into a steady glow that grew stronger with each turn of the chariot wheel. The glow became bright enough that he could easily see the two chariots ahead of him. Until now they had been mere shadowy shapes in the darkness ahead of him.
As the glow grew stronger and larger it’s shape became clear to him, and he recognized what the light was from. It was the glow of a burning city. As they got closer he could pick out the flames dancing amidst the rubble.
The armies path took a slow turn to the left and soon they came abreast of the fire ravaged city, which stood about a mile to the east of them. With a slap of harness and the clatter of hooves on stone and earth the two chariots in front of him came to a sudden halt. Off to his right was the city, the flames still burning bright. Smoke and ash filled the air clogging the nostrils and choking their breath. The crackling rumble of flames filled everyone’s ears. The road beneath him widened at this point and he could see a side road that undoubtedly lead to the city.
One of the chariots ahead of him wheeled around and in a moment came along side. The two were close enough that their occupants could have easily exchanged sword blows.
“What city is that?” Nayaari asked.
“It was Ilturu,” Mursilis replied answered. “Take twenty chariots and scout it for any signs of the Mintiri.”
“Of course my Lord.”
Nayaari turned and looked behind him at the long line of Harsit chariots that stretched off into the darkness. “Mayal, Turek follow me with your troops. We’re going to scout the city.” He gave a wave of the hand and his driver wheeled the chariot completely around the princes and pulled to a stop on the side road.
From the darkness came the faint sounds of orders being given and soon the chariots of Mayal and Turek, moving side by side materialized out of the darkness.
“Naya,” The prince said. “Be careful.”
“Of course my Lord. I’ll be back soon,” he answered and rolled off into the darkness.
Nayaari was no fool and neither were the two other warriors in the chariot with him. Ayet, his driver guided it forward at a slow pace, barely faster then a walk. Both Nayaari and Beirt held their spears tightly and scanned the world around them for any sign of an ambush. The air was thick with the smell of ash and it grew thicker with each passing moment. As they moved closer to the city the light grew brighter and the world around them which until now had been shrouded in darkness slowly came into view.
The first thing he saw was that the road was lined with strange cylinders each about waist high. He took them to be some sort of road marker, or perhaps they were dedicated to one of the gods. Soon he noticed that they didn’t just line the road but the whole field on either side was full of the markers. When he spotted some three or four such posts surrounded by burning debris that he realized what they were. “It’s an orchard,” he said out loud. “The Mintiri have cut down every single tree in the orchards and burned the branches.”
Beirt pointed to several blackened, human shaped objects that lay in the ditch by the side of the road. “Trees aren’t the only things they cut down and burned.” The chariot slowed down as they came abreast of the remains.
Nayaari stared at the charred remains for a moment pondering who they had been and what had they done to earn such a death. He tapped Ayet on the arm, “keep going.”
With a flip of the reins Ayet urged the horses to pick up the pace and the chariot moved a little faster. Soon the destroyed orchard gave way to burnt out wheat fields. A low mound of rubble rose up out of the gloom, the charred and broken remains of beams and bricks were all that he could recognize. It might have once been a home, or a barn, or perhaps some sort shop or inn. There was no telling what was the truth, there was too little to identify. No sooner had they passed the first building then they came upon another, and then another. Both sides of the road were lined with the rubbled remains of a small village. It must have once been over a score of buildings strong. All that remained were small mounds of burnt brick, stone, clay and wood. He grimily noted that that most of the inhabitants also lay amidst the rubble.
The village and its dead inhabitants passed quickly much to the everyone’s relief. The road gradually rose above the surrounding ground as they approached the city. As they moved the light from the flames grew brighter, and the air filled thick with smoke. The heat from the flames become hotter and hotter until the prince felt like he was in a furnace.
Suddenly the chariot lurched to a halt, so unlike the usually smooth stops that Ayet was so proud of. It took only a moment to understand why. Ahead of him should have loomed the massive gatehouse that guarded the entrance to the city. Instead all he saw before him was a mound of debris that loomed high overhead.
“Wait here Ayet,” the nobleman ordered. “Beirt and I will scout ahead alone.”
The trip into the city was a short one and in a few minutes the two warriors returned. Both were grim faced and silent and moved with a haste that was unlike their cautious departure
“What did you find?” Ayet asked of the two as they boarded the chariot.
“The dead,” Nayaari replied. “Only the dead.”
Nayaari’s chariot pulled up to where Aritcherts and Mursilis stood together on the ground talking. Standing a few steps behind them was Myuri, watching all that was done and listening to all that was said. As he approached the Peraya took a broad swing with that massive axe of his. It’s blade shape almost invisible in the darkness. Behind them towered the tall, powerful form of the Peraya’s mountain spirit who stood impassively watching his ruler cutting the air with the axe. The Sherdan that surrounded them parted silently and allowed his chariot free passage. When it was within a spears throw it slowed and came to a smooth halt. Neither Nayaari nor Beirt moved from the chariot. The nobleman turned and looked back at the burning city. The moment turned into a long period of awkward silence.
“What did you find?” Aritcherts asked breaking that silence.
Nayaari didn’t answer but pulled a jug from where it hung in the chariot. He took two long drinks before passing it Beirt, who took a long drink himself.
The Peraya started to speak but Mursilis quieted him with a wave of the hand. “Naya? What’s wrong? What did you find?”
“They’re all dead,” Nayaari finally answered in an odd, detached manner.
“All of them,” Beirt added. “He killed every man, woman and child in the city.”
“There are no survivors,” Nayaari said. “He killed everything, even the smallest cat.”
“What?” Myuri asked. “None?”
“He put everyone in the city to death,” Nayaari explained. “Anyone who fought back was cut down. The ones who surrendered . . . “ his voice trailed off to a pained silence.
“We found what was left of them in the main market square, just outside the temples,” Beirt finished.
“He killed everyone?” Aritcherts asked.
“Killed everything alive and destroyed everything that was standing.”
Everyone was looking at Nayaari at his companions. Many had looks of shock and horror, even the mountain spirit had lost his impassive demeanor and looked shocked. The first emotion Mursilis had ever seen it display.
The prince could understand their surprise. Such senseless destruction and genocide simply wasn’t done. If a city was attacked and taken that it would be pillaged and looted. But the attacker didn’t destroy the whole city and didn’t kill all the people. After all a destroyed city could not pay tribute and dead people couldn’t be taken as slaves. “Why?”
“To show all just how powerful he is. To make everyone fear him,” The Peraya answered.
“He did all that destruction with the spear didn’t he?” One of the soldiers asked pointing to the burning town. The fear plain in his voice.
“Yes he did,” Aritcherts answered.
Suddenly something occurred to Nayaari and he looked at Aritcherts, “Will he do the same to Durur and to us?”
All eyes turned to the Peraya as all conversation died. “No he won’t,” he said. Holding his hands over his head he stiffened noticeably. In his right hand was the Axe, in his left was the matching hammer. “With the Five we will crush him and gain revenge for all he has killed.”
“Nothing can stop him,” a voice spoke from the darkness. “I’ve seen what that spear can do. He’ll destroy us all like he did at Krytu.” The sound of true panic was in that voice.
“He destroyed Aimth, Ilturu and we’re next,” another soldier said, terrified and many other heads nodded in agreement. Whispered word spread outward like a bad wind stirring the sands
“We can’t fight that thing.”
“Not even the gods can defeat him.”
“He is a god!”
“We’re doomed!”
“The Peraya will have to submit or we’ll all be killed.”
“ENOUGH!” Aritcherts shouted and flung the hammer onto the ground with all his might. BOOM! Like thunder the sound echoed deafeningly with a roar like an entire mountain collapsing. There was a flash of light brighter then the sun that lit up everything, blinding everyone. Dark, angry clouds raced across a sky that moments before had be open and clear.
“ANY COWARD WHO WISHES TO BETRAY ME AND HIS HOMELAND BY GIVING IN TO HIS FEAR MAY LEAVE NOW,” the Peraya shouted, his voice echoing like the voice of a god. He gestured towards the hammer which lay amidst a crater as wide across as a chariot. The weapon lifted free of the ground and flew back to Aritcherts waiting hand.
“HOW DARE YOU DOUBT MY WORD. I HAVE TOLD YOU THE FIVE SHALL DESTROY HIM. AND BY THE GREAT ONES IT WILL. IF YOU WISH TO KNOW HOW POWERFUL THE FIVE ARE, SO BE IT. I WILL SHOW YOU!”
He held the hammer high over his head and shouted words that none could understand. Bolts of lightening shot out of the weapon and into the night sky with ear splitting cracks. One bolt, as wide as a man is tall raced from the black weapon and struck a broad tree standing by the road. It shattered into tiny splinters that sprayed everywhere. Horses screamed in panic as they reared and bucked. Their drivers fighting desperately to regain control. Soldiers dropped their weapons and cowered in fear. Dogs barked and ran about mindlessly. Even Matu had lost his usual fearlessness. The lion cowered under Aritcherts chariot, too terrified to even snarl.
Aritcherts alone stood peacefully amidst the pandemonium he had created leaning on the hilt of his black sword. He straightened up suddenly and held the blade up at eye level. “Peace,” he said in a quiet tone.
A silence as still as a tomb descended. Horses and warriors stopped in their tracks and stood silently in place, some shaking, others shivering. The only noise was the sounds of burning from the ruined city. The only movement; dancing flames.
“Now do you see the power I alone wield?” Aritcherts asked in a soft voice.
No one answered him, instead they stood in stunned silence, unmoving as if held by a spell. The Peraya slid the sword back into it’s sheath. The blade came to rest with the faint thunk of metal on metal. The noise seemed to break the spell and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Charioteers gathered up fallen weapons as drivers and grooms readjusted and repaired torn and twisted harness. Horses stood calmly as if awaiting the day’s feeding in their stables. The warriors walked taller and more boldly then they had ever before. Gone utterly was the panic of a moment ago, vanished like a bad dream replaced by calm and utter confidence.
“Do you know where Sennacherib is?” Aritcherts asked, as if nothing had happened.
No one spoke.
“I asked do you know where Sennacherib is?” the Peraya said with the tone of authority.
Nayaari nodded his head slowly, “On the far side of the city,” he answered in a whisper.
“How far?”
“Less then an hours ride.”
“Sunrise is in less then an hour,” Mursilis commented. “But we can still attack him by night if we move fast.”
“There is no chance of catching him off guard. The flames showed me that his army is arrayed for battle.”
“How many?” The Peraya asked.
“At least sixty thousand foot,” Nayaari answered.
“Too many for us to defeat with just the forces we have here now,” Mursilis commented. “Can you defeat the spear and hold off some sixty thousand soldiers at the same time?”
“No,” Aritcherts replied in clipped tones. “I need to focus solely upon Sennacherib.”
“A fast strike straight at them. Surprise and speed will carry us straight into the heart of the camp,” Nayaari suggested. “And you can deal with that monster before he can react.”
Mursilis shook his head, “No. It didn’t work at Hartuf and it will not work here. We have to fight our way past the entire army to get at him. By the time we cut through all of his soldiers Sennacherib will be ready and awaiting us.” He turned to Aritcherts who was looking at Ilturu. “How far behind is the rest of the army?” He asked. “We need the infantry.”
“Moving at a fast march, they won’t be here for at least three hours,” Aritcherts answered in a distracted tone without looking away from the destruction.
“Too far,” Nayaari countered. “We cannot stand around and wait that long.”
“Do we attack now in spite of the odds or do we wait?” Mursilis asked.
The Peraya stared at the burning city as if looking for guidance from the dead. “A crocodile always stays close to its kill,” he said in a whisper.
“My Lord?” Mursilis asked, confused.
“My father told me that once,” Aritcherts said without turning from the ruins of Aimth. “When I was barely ten, a great crocodile ravaged the length of the river. It killed fishermen, boatmen, even women and children who strayed too close to the water. Crocodiles are always a problem along the river, along with blood fish and water horses. Such it has been forever, but this monster was different. It killed not just for food but just for the joy of killing, and it was far larger then it should have been. It could crush whole boats in its massive jaws, swallowing boat and occupants in one gulp. Some said it was sent to punish Kkarrt for some great crime.”
“Father sent great warriors and powerful mages against it but all were defeated, ripped to pieces, leaving nothing to be prepared to the journey to the next kingdom. Finally Ayamhati himself hunted it with his finest warriors. Power enough to kill it but the creature was too devious. No matter how hard they searched and hunted they could not find it. All they did find was the scattered remains of it kills. The worst was where it had crawled from the river in the night and devoured half a village. A score of people had died that night, a small number compared to the two hundred it had killed before then.”
“But that village was its downfall. Father knew that since it had found such good hunting before it would return, for a crocodile always returns to it’s kill. They laid in an ambush using magic to hide themselves and deceive the creature into thinking that the village was still full of people and cattle. It attacked other towns, boats and even a caravan that was watering at the river, but they did not waiver. Instead they waited patiently for it to return and finally it did, eager to kill more helpless villagers.” Aritcherts smiled. “Father said the fight was short and one sided. Caught far from the water and unable to walk quickly among the tightly packed alleyways of the town, it was easily slaughtered. It’s hide covers an entire wall in the royal throne room to this day.”
“Five years of fighting Sennacherib and I never thought to use that method.” Aritcherts turned away from the sight of the burning city and looked at the men who stood around him. In his hand was the black dagger, mate to the Axe he wielded. Its blade seemed to glitter with an odd blue light. “Today we face an even bigger monster but we will kill it using the same method – deception.”
The small hill had many names. To the local farmer who owned it, it was simply Goat hill for the sheep and goats that grazed there. With the soil being too rocky for planting and too thin for an orchard that was all it was good for. Some of the older folk in the town still called it by an older name – Kiln hill for the potters kiln that had been there many decades before. A handful still remembered it as Tarim’s hill in honor of the man who had owned that kiln for over forty years.
It had another name, one never used by the people who lived near it; old Quareth. None used that because Quareth was long gone and it seemed silly to call a hill by a towns name. Everyone understood that in a time long lost in the past the town of Quareth had stood upon that hill. Its king boldly defying the armies of all who had came to take it. All the people knew the story of how King Meurah had taken the city by force and put it to the sword. But none knew who Meurah was or even what kingdom he had been ruler of. Meurah was only remembered with fear and suffering. He had become a frightening figure in the tales of a few farmers and herders; such was the long dead tyrants legacy to history.
Of the city itself, all that remained were some stone walls and a few odd holes in the ground. These were nothing more then annoyances to the farmer, who cared little for history. After all history wouldn’t feed his family. And neither would the present occupiers of Old Quareth – King Sennacherib and the army of Mintir. To be exact Sennacherib and his bodyguard occupied the hill. The rulers large, blue, orange and red tent was perched on the summit.
The bulk of the army of the Mintiri empire was arrayed beneath that hill, ready for battle. Spearmen stood at attention in long, tightly packed ranks, their weapons pointed outwards creating the appearance of some giant porcupine. Nearby stood rows of archers and slingers ready to rain death down upon the Kkarrt. Behind the infantry waited the heavy chariots ready to strike at anyone foolish enough to attack. All waited with the bold confidence of an army that had never known defeat. From the king down to the lowliest slinger all knew that the powers of the Tanach Terea made them invincible. Even the fabled army of Kkarrt had been too frightened to face them on the battlefield in many years.
The army had been standing in formation since dusk awaiting an attack from Kkarrt. All to no avail. To their disappointment Aritcherts it seems was again too much a coward to face them. With dawn now approaching everyone was tired.
The sky in the east was just beginning to lighten when there came the neigh of horses and the rumble of chariots moving along the road that led past the hill. The sound was too loud to have been a simple caravan, even if one had been foolish enough to travel after night fall. This was an army on the move.
Spearmen stood taller, their weapons brought to the ready as archers checked their bows and arrows one final time. Behind them horses long bored by the wait stirred, neighing and champing at their bits. The animals like the humans they served knew that soon there would be battle. Their long wait had been rewarded, they would finally see the army of Kkarrt destroyed. That Kkarrt could actually defeat them was simply inconceivable. This was an army that had never known defeat.
A group of soldiers some forty strong standing an arrows flight ahead of the army were the first to meet the approaching army. Standing astride the road, blocking any further advance when they saw a long column of chariots and soldiers appear out of the night. The small knot of spearmen and archers readied themselves for a tough fight. A messenger sat poised astride a horse ready to race off and warn the army of the approaching enemy. None of the waiting soldiers held any illusion about their chances to stop the onrushing Kkarrt. All knew how the battle would go. When the Kkarrt got close enough to make out in the darkness the archers would loose their bows. The chariots would charge forward in a well disciplined rush. There would a moment of pure bedlam when chariot and spear collided. Blood would be spilled, horses killed, chariots over turned. Then with sheer weight and numbers on their side the Kkarrt would smash through the soldiers. A lucky few would escape in the darkness, happy to have survived. The small group had never been intended to withstand such an attack. Their job was simply to delay the attackers long enough for warning to be carried back. That they would all be killed in the process simply didn’t matter to Sennacherib.
In moments the lead chariot had grown close enough for them to see the occupants and the soldiers all relaxed and sighed in relief; tonight they would not die. The four sand white horses pulling the chariot were easily visible in the predawn darkness. Standing proudly in the chariot, like only a prince could was Adad-Nirari.
“STAND ASIDE!” the prince boldly ordered. “I have come to fight at my fathers side at this time of great crisis.”
The officer in command gave a curt command and without a comment or an objection they followed the princes order. They all knelt in supplication as the Prince regent moved past them. They only stood when his chariot was no longer visible. The soldiers relaxed and watched the chariots that followed in the princes wake. All were the massive four person chariots, each pulled by four horses and bedecked in the blue, orange and red colors of Mintiri.
The prince rode slowly past long lines of kneeling archers and spearmen that made up the bulk of the Mintiri army. Their heads bowed, weapons placed carefully in front of them on the ground, none of the soldiers looked directly at the prince. Moving swiftly Adad-Nirari moved past the foot soldiers and quickly came upon the rows of waiting chariots. With barely a nod of the head he moved quickly passed the kneeling charioteers and their nervous horses. Soon the prince was gone and the charioteers were left watching the long line of chariots following in the Mintiri princes wake. Some noted that there seemed to be far more chariots with the prince then any remembered, but thought little of that fact. Undoubtedly he had gathered more troops on his ride here. None found it surprising that Adad-Nirari had come regardless of his fathers orders. They knew the princes ambitions would not let him stand aside while Sennacherib garnered all the glory.
Leaving the bulk of his chariots behind the prince and his entourage began to climb the hill. The dozen or so chariots moved slowly as they moved up the shallow grade. He passed countless servants, soldiers and noblemen, all kneeling in obedience. The prince took careful notice of the archers and the spear men as he passed. Pleased to see that all were averting their gaze rather then looking at the man riding through their midst.
The princes chariot bumped over a small rocky mound that in the distant past had been a wall protecting a kings palace. The ground leveled out in what had once been the courtyard of that long vanished palace. Kneeling directly in the path of the prince was a figure dressed in the finest silk, gold and silver. His clothing was second only to Sennacherib in richness. Such wealth was the due right of Ainerte as the Sin-ah-user; the senior Turtan. His power was so great that he answered only to the King. Even the Crown Prince would have been hard pressed to command the powerful nobleman.
Above them up a shallow rise was Sennacherib’s tent. Standing in front of which was the imposing figure of Sennacherib himself a look of anger written plainly upon his face. Grasped firmly in the rulers hands was the Dread Spear its points glistening in the fire light like two angry eyes.
Between the two, arraigned in neat ranks stood the five hundred warriors of the Turtan; the royal body guard. They were dressed in armor made of small iron plates sewn onto red, silk cloth. Each held a spear in one had and a huge, body sized shield in the other. These were the battle hardened elite of the Mintiri army. All were fanatically loyal the Sennacherib and the golden throne.
Adad-Nirari didn’t stop to dismount and greet the king with the proper words of respect. Instead he slowed down long enough for the chariots behind him to spread out on either side. The princes chariot with two more chariots on either side and with countless more trailing behind suddenly sped up and closed the short distance to Ainerte.
The great nobleman second only to Sennacherib in power, greed, ambition and evil looked up in time to see chariot racing straight at him. Gone was the prince Adad-Nirari and the massive chariot pulled by four white horses. In their place, bearing down on him was a smaller chariot pulled by two black stallions with manes and tails of fire. Smoke and flames jetted from their nostrils and the grass burned wherever their hooves touched the ground. Standing where the prince should have been was a larger then life figure dressed in bronze scale armor. Upon the mans head was the white spire shaped crown of Kkarrt. It moved forward like a some terrible nightmare, made all the more terrifying by the total silence that enveloped both of them. The pounding of his heart sounded as loud as thunder. He had a moment of surprise before the chariot and it’s occupant loomed right above him. The crowned mans hands swept down. In the darkness he did not see the black colored axe those hands held. Ainerte was dead before his severed head hit the ground.
The Peraya’s chariot charged straight at the waiting Turtan who stood too shocked and surprised to react. In a moment the chariot was among them. All around him figures jumped, screamed, shouted or ran is surprise as the chariot and its horses plunged through their ranks. A spear was thrust at him and Aritcherts easily snapped off the head with one stroke of the axe. He then removed the arm of the spears owner with the counter stroke. He caught a brief glimpse of a man standing directly in the path of his horses. There was a look of shock and surprise on his face as the horses bore down on him and simply smashed into him without even slowing down. The chariot gave a sharp lurch and a jolt as it ran over his body.
The Peraya was like a storm that raged among the Mintiri. Aritcherts and his great axe caused great havoc unimaginable among the Turtan. Each blow cleaved flesh and bone with the ease of cutting papyrus. No spear or sword could deflect that black weapon and no armor was thick enough to stop it. Hardened warriors fell before the great sweeps of the blade like wheat before a scythe.
Suddenly the chariot and it’s occupants were alone. Behind them the twelve Harsit chariots that had come with them charged the remaining Turtan. The royal bodyguards caught by surprise had no chance to close ranks before the heavy, chariots smashed into them like a raging sand storm can swallow a city.
Above them loomed Sennacherib, lightening danced along the length of the spear in his hands. The Mintiri ruler held Tanach Terea over his head and a bolt of lightening shot out from each end. The twin bolts of electricity raced down the hill.
One of the bolts struck amidst the on rushing Harsit chariots blasting Harsit and Mintiri equally. Fragments of burning chariots and body parts rained down everywhere casting a blood red glow over the battlefield.
Aritcherts had little time to take notice of the carnage behind him as the second bolt had been aimed at him. The Kkarrt king held up the small, black dagger and one of the bolts of raw power was simply absorbed into the blade like water into a sponge. A bright, blood red light suddenly flared along the entire length of the dagger, then just as abruptly vanished except for a small firefly of light that clung to the tip.
He touched the tip of the dagger to the head of the hammer and the firefly leapt from one to the other. Aritcherts swung the hammer over his head several times at ever increasing speed. With each rotation it grew faster and faster until the weapon was a mere blur and the light at its tip was white, circle of light. Then the hammer raced from the Paraya’s hands and streaked up the hill towards Sennacherib.
With a swift, almost lightening fast reflex Aritcherts picked up and threw his black spear. The weapon raced off after its brethren with the speed of a stroke of lightening.
Holding the Tanach Terea in both hands like a staff Sennacherib used one of it’s bloody points to deflect the hammer and send it flying off into the darkness. The firefly of light being the only trace of it’s flight as it sped away. With the other point he calmly send the black spear spinning off into the darkness. Never once did the look of utter confidence and arrogance leave his face.
Behind him in the darkness the small pinpoint of light suddenly broke off it’s straight path and made a sharp turn and flew straight back towards the Mintiri ruler. In a mere hand full of seconds it reached Sennacherib. With a crack of thunder the hammer caught the ruler between the shoulder blades sending him sprawling to the ground.
Aritcherts ran up the short incline that separated them like it was flat open ground. He was scarcely a dozen yards away from where Sennacherib lay sprawled on the ground when the Mintiri slowly stood up. A blow that could shatter a stone block and kill a giant had barely effected him.
The two kings stood a mere bodies length apart from each other. Aritcherts was holding the axe with both hands, the dagger and hammer were hanging from his belt. On his back was the sword, only the spear wasn’t visible seemingly lost in the darkness. Sennacherib cautiously looked around him, peering into the darkness but never fully taking his eyes off of Aritcherts.
The Peraya smiled, “Looking for something monster?” he asked in a sickly sweet voice.
“I see only your death coming little man,” Sennacherib said ominously.
“I am a summer storm come to wash the world clean,” Aritcherts intoned coldly. As he started moving towards Sennacherib he moved the axe tight circles in front of him. It’s blade moving through the air with the faintest whisper. It’s dark blades spoke of swift death for all who faced it.
Sennacherib snarled and rushed at Aritcherts, Tanach Terea held out before him. The spear no armor could withstand and no weapon deflect was pointed straight at the Kkarrt warriors heart. When that deadly point was a mere hands width from killing it’s enemy heart the axe swept up and across. The two weapons met with a shower of sparks and a loud ringing like the toll of the death bell in the high temple. The two weapons rebounded form each other. The point slid past Aritcherts missing him by a full arms length. Tanach Terea; City Slayer, heart seeker, That which never misses had missed.
Aritcherts swung the blade in a tight arc toward Sennacherib. The Mintiri ruler leaped back out of reach as the axe’s sharp blade clipped a dozen tassels from his robe as it narrowly missed cutting his chest open.
Below them the battle raged as thousands of men clashed in open battle but neither of them saw it. They knew only their own personal fight –the world could end and they would never notice. For them the rest of the world had ended. All that mattered was the duel.
Shaking off the effects of the fall Nayaari managed to get up onto his hands and knees. His head was ringing and every fiber of his body burned and screamed in agony. It took all his will not turn faint. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Mursilis, his shattered body sprawled amidst the remains of his chariot. Beyond that he could see one of the horses twitching and flailing around in her death throws, but the animals high pitched screams of terror and pain fell on deaf ears. He was oblivious to all else around him as he fought back the blackness and tried to remain conscious. In a world filled with people and animals fighting and dying he was alone.
Something suddenly sailed into view and landed a mere hands reach in front of him. Looking up he lay eyes upon the long, black shaft that seemed to glimmer in the firelight almost like it was beckoning to him. It was the spear. Without think the prince reached out and grasped it with both hands.
The world around him stopped. The screams of the dying, the roar of the flames, and chaos of the battle around him all faded away like a bad dream. Even the flash and the roar of the battle between Aritcherts and Sennacherib stopped seemingly in mid stroke and flash. Suddenly he wasn’t just seeing this little piece of the fight he was seeing it all. He saw the mountain spirit, screaming and bellowing as it fought a score of chariots all by himself. The creature picked up an entire chariot with its occupants and horses screaming in shrill terror and tossed it into two other chariots causing a bloody holocaust of broken bodies and shattered wreckage. Further off he could see the powerful chariots of Harsit locked in savage combat with the chariots of Mintiri. A vicious swirling mass of chariots and horses.
Nearby he saw the lighter chariots of Kkarrt charge straight at the waiting ranks of spear and axe men of the army of Mintir, seemingly intent on running over the soldiers. At the last minute they turned about hard unleashing a savage rain of arrows as they did. He saw huge swaths of the enemy simply collapse into bloody heaps on the ground. Further off he could see the long ranks of the Kkarrt army marching as fast as possible. Figures dropping by the wayside from exhaustion were ignored as their comrades pressed on, knowing that everything depended on them arriving soon. With a sickening feeling Nayaari realized that they wouldn’t arrive in time. Although brave and fierce the warriors of Harsit were badly outnumbered. Soon the Mintiri would simply overwhelm them with sheer numbers and then turn their attention to the Kkarrt chariots. In his mind he saw the Kkarrt army arriving just as the last Kkarrt charioteer died fighting bravely.
This battle was lost unless Sennacherib was killed. With their leader dead the Mintiri army would break and flee. Turning he saw the two great kings locked in brutal combat, weapons of gigantic power flashing and booming, lighting up the sky like a firestorm. He could see those two fighting on and on. Even after the rest of the battle had ended he could see them fighting forever, their powers too evenly matched. Eventually they would tire of fighting and grudgingly break off, each going to the remnants of his army. They would skulk off to distant places to lick their wounds and rebuild their armies. The two would fight again tomorrow with the same savage fury, blasting each other till the very ground itself shook and rocked and all others fled in panic. But again neither would win and come nightfall they would separate to rest for the fight that would take place the next day. And so it would continue, day after day, week after week till all around them was destroyed, armies killed or routed, cities blasted and lands laid waste. Finally the land itself would rebel and open up to swallow them leaving the devastated lands to peace at last.
Then he saw another path. The two kings were perfectly balanced; point , counterpoint. Each could not defeat the other alone, but someone wielding the spear could turn the tide to one side or the other. Aritcherts had his back to Nayaari. He could finally avenge all his brothers and friends killed at Hartuf. Take revenge for every coin paid as taxes, every horse taken as tribute. He could finally free Harsit of the curse of Kkarrt forever. Aritcherts would never know what was happening till the spear point pierced his back severing his spine and puncturing straight to his heart. He could picture Sennacherib standing over the Kkarrt kings corpse screaming his victory like a leopard roaring over it’s kill. In his mind he saw Sennacherib hugging him like a son and making him ruler of Kkarrt. He could see the army of Mintiri riding into the burning city of Kishesim the royal capital. Many hailing him as the next Peraya and flocking to join. He saw himself boldly ascending the steps of the palace as Kkarrt noblemen fawned over him and slave girls tossed petals before his steps. Then he would feel something soft and moist beneath his feet. Looking down he would see the ravaged and mutilated corpse of Abeb. She had been tortured and murdered as revenge for his betrayal at Quareth. Clutched in her hands was the murder corpse of her new born son, his throat slit from ear to ear.
Suddenly he saw himself again in Ilturu, the dead piled higher then a building, burned, charred and mangled. He found himself again walking amidst it’s buildings, now mere shattered heaps of rubble and debris. The stench of death hanging heavy over everything clawing at his nose with it’s sickly sweet smell. Then he would see a blasted column once bright blue and covered with beautiful birds, but now a shattered stump dull gray with ash. The birds now faded to black smudges. This was not Ilturu, it was Harsit. That column once one of dozens that supported the palace where Nayaari had lived his whole life. He would remember how as a child he would run up and down its long corridors racing his sisters. Now that palace like his sisters was gone. He would hear Sennacherib behind him explaining, “They had to be punished for daring to fight against me.”
Suddenly he was back on the hill of Quareth shaking and crying. One lost soul amidst the battle that raged around him. What had just happened? He didn’t doubt the truth of all he had just seen. He had glimpsed the future; what might be and what might not be, but which was which? It was the spear, telling him, warning him of what might lie in the future.
Resolve hardened his body and without realizing it he stood up and holding his arm cocked waited for the moment to throw the spear.
“Wait,” came the voice in his mind. “The time will come.”
And so he watched and waited as the two fought above him on the hilltop. He saw Aritcherts turn and step sideways, again his broad back was to the Harsit warrior.
“Now.”
Without a second thought he threw the black spear with all his might. He watched with an odd detachment as it sped along faster then any arrow straight for Aritcherts back. When it was a mere hand span from him the Peraya dodged a sudden jab of Tenach Terea by stepping sideways. The black spear flew past him so close that it clipped a bit of armor from the ruler’s sleeve. Then it sped past the evil weapon and buried itself in Sennacherib’s chest, it’s point piercing the rulers heart a moment later. Prince Nayaari had struck exactly what he had meant to.
Sennacherib’s arms dropped to his side and his body lost all animation as he stared at the point that had blossomed from his chest. On his face was a look of pure surprise and confusion.
Nayaari watched as Aritcherts calmly beheaded his enemy with one stroke of his massive axe. Then with the return stroke cut off the hand that still clutched that vile spear before the corpse hit the ground.
Behind him a voice suddenly cried out in fear, “Tenach Terea is defeated! Our Great one is dead!” The cry was taken up by a thousand throats, some in despair others in joy. What had been a desperate battle now turned into a rout as the Mintiri fled in panic. The army that had known only victory finally tasted the bitter dregs of defeat. Nayaari had never doubted that the battle would be won with Sennacherib’s death, the spear had shown him that.
He saw Aritcherts moving towards him a broad grin on his face but he ignored the Peraya. Instead he moved to help his dear friend Mursilis. It took moments to free the prince from the wreckage. He heard a groan and his friends eyes opened. He was alive. Nayaari never doubted it. The spear had shown him that too.
Their leader dead most of the Mintiri simply fled but not all escaped. Many died, crushed under the wheels of the Kkarrt and Harsit chariots. The more experienced soldiers in Sennacherib’s army knew the futility of running and they stood their ground. They preferred to die fighting then be run down like some deer. Rallying in small groups all across the field, in orchards and hills around the battlefield. The soldiers of the victorious army had to deal with each group one by one. First they would shower them with arrows and then close with sword, axe and spear. The fighting was vicious and desperate but the outcome was never in doubt. The army of Mintiri was shown the same mercy they had shown to Ilturu – which was none. This bloody business took time and it was noon before the loud drums sounded recall.
The smell of war hung heavy in the air. It clogged the nostrils with the sharp tang of burning wood and cloth, and the sickly smell of decaying flesh. The dead of Kkarrt and Harsit were being carefully collected for return to their families. The Mintiri were simply left where they had fallen to be devoured by the hyenas, vultures, jackals and all the other scavengers. As sacred animals each hyena who feasted today would be a giving a sacrifice to the Gods.
The returning warriors found Aritcherts and Nayaari together on the hill top standing near Mursilis who lay stretched out on the ground. The Peraya’s personal healer attended to the wounded warrior. Around them stood the Sherdan most stood on guard but some were helping to tend to their wounded and dead.
“We won,” Mursilis said, surprised.
“Of course,” Aritcherts replied confidently. He too was more then a little surprised but he refused to show any sign of his previous doubt.
“A great victory,” Mursilis commented.
“I will have a great obelisk erected here!” the Kkarrt ruler announced boldly as he waved his arms about. “I will be the tallest ever built! I’ll surround it with the greatest temple ever built!”
“With the Five to aid us Sennacherib never had any chance of victory,” Nayaari commented.
Mursilis shook his head. “It was a very close thing,” he said solemnly.
Aritcherts nodded in agreement, “But with the Five we were victorious.”
Nayaari shook his head. “Old Magic does still survive in Kkarrt.” He said with awe in his voice.
The Peraya nodded his head slowly. “Indeed,” he said. Aritcherts held up the long black sword that was one of the Five. “You I name Ka-Staru - Soul Strength for you strengthen men’s souls and drive away the fear and doubt that cloud their thinking.”
Next he held up the hammer its rock eater shape so obvious in spite it’s black color. “I name you Henbi-shnut – Spring storm. For like the storms of spring you are fearsome and unstoppable.”
The dagger he held up at eye level and slowly turned it over in his hand. “With your illusion and deception you changed a certain defeat into victory. You have reminded me that victory is more then just courage and ferocity. To win one must out think your enemy. I name you Tchaas-hurti – knowledge and illusion.”
Nayaari held up the spear. The black weapon seemed to naturally fit in the Harsit nobleman’s hand. “And what is this proud weapons name?”
“That is for you to decide,” Aritcherts answered. “You are it’s Ayha Smai. It awaits your choice.”
The nobleman was quiet for a long time before speaking. “Hati,” he said calmly.
Aritcherts smiled. “Wisdom. A fine name.”
The Peraya held up the black axe that was his Ayha Smai and looked at it. He seemed to stare into it’s depths.
“What is its name?” Mursilis asked.
Aritcherts didn’t speak but just kept looking at the weapon. “Tchau Uae. Shadows Edge.”