Five days later, we arrived at the foothills of the ancient, ruined city.
The rich soils of the Eibon highlands were long gone. Instead, the horses kicked up dust with every step, hooves sinking into parched gravel. The hills rose around us, littered with rocks dumped along flash flood gullies. Prehistoric vultures larger than our horses circled overhead.
Some scouts had left for the nearest hills, dismounting and proceeding on foot. Meanwhile, the main force made camp at a spring in the shade of a split-open hill. Inedible weeds packed around it, stinging to the touch. The hill’s walls, cut jagged by an ancient cataclysm, were covered in glyphs. The men pitched black tents and dug a windbreak to protect the horses. The cage wagons were opened and the slave girls unloaded. Soon they were crouching over cooking fires and watering the horses.
In my tent, I looked over my wargear. Prime was, of course, my steel sword - there wasn’t a blade on the planet it couldn’t beat. I had also brought my spear, a steel-bladed weapon with notches along it. For protection, I’d bought a lizard hide shield at Ebugal. It was a dark, sandy brown with armored studs. Accompanying it was a leather cuirass and a helmet of black iron.
I tried on the helmet - it hemmed at my range of vision. I set it aside - Normally, I preferred just the sword and fighting light. However, in what was to come I’d have to fight in formation.
What the hell had I got myself into?
I heard footsteps outside the tent. The flap was lifted aside.
“Come, Gerard,” Fogrim’s head appeared. “The scouts have returned. They bring word of the enemy’s fortress.”
“Fortress?”
“Hurry up.”
***
About twenty men were gathered around a patch of sand. One squatted and drew lines in it with a stick. Another set down rock markers.
“There is a ring of hills,” said the squatter, a pale, gaunt, bald man covered in blue tattoos. “The valleys between them are spanned by a ruined but mighty wall. In this way, the hills are linked together into a great fortress, and become its natural towers.”
Bald Man indicated which stones represented the hills he was describing. There were gasps when we saw how big the ring was.
“There are men camped on each hill, in stone towers. They are ancient though, and many are ruined. The ones in best repair look over a gate, here,” the stick came down. “It is well guarded.”
“Only one gate?” I asked.
“Only one that we can reach. There is another, but it cannot be reached except through the damned city. We Darfuri cannot go there, it is cursed against us.”
Cursed against us. It was like watching generals plan D-Day, but first, check the horoscope in the papers.
“How many men are at the gate?” asked Fogrim, arms crossed.
“Cultists upwards of two hundred, poorly armed and unarmored. However, a group of seventy spearmen was drilling outside it. They wore plate armor and carried a banner with the Servants’ colors. Mordu got close,” he pointed to another scout - a tiny, wiry man one would never have noticed otherwise. “He says they are all Purple Eyes.”
There was muttering among the men. Some looked my way.
“You captured one,” said Gorol, “Has she told you anything?”
“Nothing particularly useful,” I replied. “They call themselves Runa, They believe they are the people that your ancestors drove from these lands.”
“But, that was more than two thousand years ago,” said one man.
“TheTablets of Eibon tell of their brown and yellow hair,” spoke another. “There is nothing about red hair or skin that does not color in the sun. Or about the eyes.”
“Because they have changed,” said Gorol. “The shadow of Yarth-Tanophk is upon them. They are no longer of the Race of Men.”
“They are not alone in this,” Bald Man added four, small, stones in front of the ‘gatehouse.’ “We saw four, immense cages through the open gate. Chained inside them were giants.”
Someone laughed.
“About twice the height of a man?” asked Fogrim. “Tusked and with yellow skin?”
Bald Head regarded him.
“How did you know?”
“We fought one,” he replied. “It nearly bested us.”
There was more murmuring. I saw the first doubts behind those eyes since these men had joined us.
“But you bested it,” said Gorol. “And with the Great God Yog’s favor, so shall we.”
“I climbed the tallest hill and gained view of what lies inside the fortress,” said Bald Man, “And beyond it. Here,” he circled inside the stone ring, “are many tents and stone buildings they have repaired. It is like a small city - there are thousands of men inside.”
“All Purple Eyes?” asked Gorol.
“I could not tell for certain from that distance, but no, I think they are mostly cultists from our own towns. Here in the center, is a stone temple. It is the largest I have ever seen. Atop it, is a giant statue of Tsathoggua.”
Tsathoggua was a huge, black, toad-like creature - and one of the Great Old Ones. THe god’s presence on the planet was recorded in the Pnakotic Tablets, which at a hundred thousand years provenance were the oldest deciphered records on Hyperborea (they in turn were copied from much older records). For millions of years races had risen, fought for Tsathoggua, and died out. They would continue to, behind the Mist Wall, and wherever they took their war next. To the Great Old Ones, humans would be just another forgettable species.
“Tsathoggua?” Gorol frowned. “But are they not Mi-Go worshipers?”
“It seems their ancestors weren’t. There was much coming and going into the temple. I think it is where the Servants govern the fortress from.”
He reached beyond the ‘fortress’ and pushed away a wave of sand.
“Beyond the fortress, to the South, there is a black, planted forest - I have never seen anything like it. There are camps bordering it along one side, but none inside it. To the East,” he stood and drew a line with his foot, “from here, begins the ruined city. It goes on as far as I can see.”
There were gasps.
“So the fortress is not part of the city?” Fogrim’s eyes were wide.
“It is just an outpost, reclaimed from the desert. I put their armed strength at 3 or 4,000. Another several hundred well-armed spearmen. I cannot say how many giants - or Mi-Go.”
The men began murmuring amongst themselves, eyes wide, tones tense.
“And somewhere in all this are the Mazgar,” I added. “I talked with one of their agents. They have a great interest in this place, and know more than we do about what’s going on here.”
The murmuring resumed, louder still.
“We must send word to Priest King Mammon,” said Fogrim, raising his hands for order. “The armies of Darfur must besiege this fortress and put the cultists - and the Mazgar - to flight!”
Most of the men assented.
“I would that we send riders to the satraps of Eibon, Ebugal, and Koval,” Fogrim continued. “If but one sends aid, then this is over.”
“To fight three thousands inside a fortress would need a legion,” Gorol shook his head. “Perhaps two. On the march, even the Red Panthers at Eibon will take weeks.”
“Then let those who stay, use that time fruitfully to scout the enemy and find their weaknesses. Let us learn every pass, every stream, and where men are thinnest and most lazy along their walls.”
“We will scout,” said Bald Man, pointing to his other two men. “And let it just be us. The more who risk the hills, the greater the chance we will be found out.”
“I won’t risk the hills,” I stepped forward. “I’ll infiltrate their base.”
All eyes turned to me.
“I’ve studied their religion, seen how they worship - I can pass as a Servant. And, I have a friend already there who’s been spying. I can slip inside at night, and find him. We’ll never get a better shot at working out what’s going on there. When help gets here, it will save lives.”
“I will go, too,” said Fogrim.
“I’m not sure you can play the part.”
“I will, and I am going,” he said firmly.
The men all stared at him.
“Fogrim, Brother, are you not going to save your son?” asked Gorol.
“I am.”
“Then, what if to save him, you must act in haste - and risk bringing ruin upon our efforts?”
Fogrim’s eyes hardened.
“I will not fail our brothers, Gorol. It is the gods who will fail you. Do not doubt those you see standing before you, joined by common danger - if not by cause. I will send riders to Ebugal and Eibon. Will you send men to Koval?”
“But of course, Brother. But-”
“Then there is nothing left to discuss. Gerard and I will leave this night. I leave you in charge of the men.” With that, he turned and left.
We all watched him go.
“You must protect him,” said Gorol to me, his eyes not leaving Fogrim. “For all our sakes.”
“I will. And I won’t let him do anything rash.”
“Be careful what you promise, Friend. That is not a man to be trifled with.”
“No, he’s not. But he is a brother, and that has worked well enough between him and I, this far.”
***
I went to see the Yoggite priest, Gorol.
He was outside his tent, in front of a campfire. With him were two, naked, slave girls. One was at his side, on her hands and knees. She was a chocolate-skinned, Darfuri beauty. She had straight, black silk hair pulled through a bone topknot. It spilled down between her shoulder blades. She was a tall, slender girl, tiny bells chimed on her anklets. Her collar had dog tooth patterns carved into it, a shorthand design to symbolize fangs. Instead of a brand her thigh had a round, black circle filled with fangs - the mark of Yog. She drank water like a dog, out of a clay bowl. The chain at her throat clinked as she moved.
The other girl, a brunette with long, wavy hair, knelt with her back against a wooden pole that had been hammered into the ground. Her wrists and ankles were bound behind the pole. Her neck was tied to it. Gorol crouched in front of her, a bowl of thick, black liquid in one hand. He studied her breasts, frowning in concentration. He dipped his fingers into the bowl, then noticed me.
“Gerard of House Stone,” he smiled, “you honor me. Fogrim has said many things about you.”
“I’m sure he has,” I sat cross-legged. The Darfuri girl moved backwards on her hands and knees, head bowed. “I hope at least some of them were good.”
“That they were,” he turned back to the brunette girl. She eyed me for a moment with guarded annoyance. “And we are fortunate to count your blade among ours. For what you and him go to do tonight, all Darfur may come to owe you debt.”
The Darfuri girl’s anklet bells chimed. She looked down, so shy she seemed embarrassed.
“She is a fine beast, is she not?” said Gorol. He dipped his fingers back into the black liquid. “Tazna is now consecrated: fed these past ten days only on the flesh of the sacrificed.”
“That’s - wow. Charming.”
“You are not Yoggite, yes?” he pressed a dripping finger to the brunette’s belly. Slowly, he started finger painting a black circle.
“Let’s say it doesn’t appeal to my sense of taste.”
“That is a shame,” he finished the circle and started a new one around her breast. “I consecrated her, so if pressed by doubt, we may seek Yog’s counsel. In doing so I would split her skull and bake the pieces in the fire. In the cracks that form, Yog’s wisdom will be plain to read.”
Oracle bone reading: the ancient Chinese did it too, but with ox bones. Not prized, beautiful women.
“I hope the way forward is clear,” was all I could manage. “I actually wanted to talk to you about a slave. One of mine, the - the Purple Eye.”
“You wish to sell?” he finished circling both breasts and dipped his fingers back in the bowl. “I will give you a good price for her. If we sacrifice her on the eve of battle, our Great God will be most pleased!”
“No, just the opposite. I want you to guarantee her safety.”
“Her safety?”
Even the two slaves looked at me.
“I’ve seen how your men look at her, like she is some sort of monster. One even called her an abomination, to my face.”
“But she is,” he frowned. “You truly do not see it?”
“I’m not going down the rabbit hole of whether or not she’s human,” I raised my hands.
“But you have done so already,” he did another circle on the girl’s throat. “I heard your argument two nights ago. Had there been wine, I fear we would have lost brothers that night.”
“Which is why I want to talk about property, instead. She is mine. As the man in charge here, can you guarantee that what is mine will be safe, till I come back?”
“Of course,” he set the bowl down and flicked the excess body paint off his fingers. “Though I did not know, that you did not know, what she is. Should we prevail in the battle ahead, know that no Runa women will be taken as spoils, Gerard. Their followers we be spare if they take no arms against us and recant their false faith, but all the Runa will be put to the sword.”
“Look, you cannot kill people because you don’t like the color of their eyes. That’s genocide.” No sooner had I said it, I realized this wouldn’t seem criminal to a people with six different words for it.
“The Runa are tainted, Gerard. You do not let monsters lie with men.”
“You don’t know that. And even if they were different from us - who cares?”
He took a moment to study his handiwork on the bound girl’s body painting. Satisfied, he picked up a bowl of crushed salt mixed with brown powder. The slave girl’s eyes lit up at the sight, and she sat up straight against the pole. She gazed at him lovingly as he and started rubbing it on the girl’s thighs. The smell of cinnamon rose from the salt rub.
“Fogrim told me a Landing Beast brought you from a time where the Gods’ War is over, and even Cthulhu sleeps, waiting for the stars to be right. That in your time, all of this is forgotten. This is true?”
“It is.”
“Then you must understand Gerard, that you do not know how humans have survived. What we do is guided by the wisdom passed to us by our fathers, their fathers before then, and so on. Do not eat bats. Keep fowl and swine separate. Do not lie with monsters. Fogrim told me when you served with him in the Borderlands, that you found slave girls bred by Deep Ones? What did you do to those women?”
“We gave them abortifacients: we didn’t kill them. The slaves were not harmed, and we protected the slaves from who knows what complications.”
“Is that why you think it was done?”
I said nothing.
“If the monsters growing in their bellies could not be killed, then the slaves would have been put to death. You do not agree with such, but you have survived in this world as we have.”
“I’m surviving just fine, thanks.”
“Let us see if you are here to say that, a year from now. The Runa are not what they were; the shadow of Yarth-Tanophk is upon them. The Mi-Go shape human flesh as if it were clay. Why do you think they have not molded the Runa?”
“Because the Runa are perfectly human.”
“Don’t you think that it because they are supposed to? That they may would pass freely through human lands where their masters cannot, doing their bidding and corrupting their enemies?”
The bells on the Darfuri girl’s ankle tinkled.
“I will keep your property safe, Gerard. The animal is yours and I can only hope you have the wisdom not to breed it. But when the battle is done, do not claim or sport with the Runa monsters, except with your sword.”
I left the monster to continue salting the slave he would sacrifice, to feed the other monsters.
***
“You have a new task, Slave.”
Haley, Ashtala, and Ina lay lined out the tent floor like fish at a market. Their ankles and wrists were crossed and bound. They turned their heads to look up at me.
“Up,” I made Haley kneel. I untied her ankles and then her wrists.
“Yes, Master,” she rubbed the feeling back into her limbs. “What would you have me do?”
“You will sneak into the cultist fortress, and find out whatever you can. Especially anything to do with Naya or Fogrim’s son. Just serve as a slave, and as opportunity presents to move and listen, do so. Do you understand? This is not a simple task. I will not be there to chase you with a whip.”
“I understand, Master,” she leaned forward and kissed my foot. “I will find them. I will not fail you - or them.”
I stroked her warm cheek and felt the adoration in those blue eyes. I thought about kissing her - properly holding her and feeling our tongue down each others’ throats - but decided against it. It would not be good for discipline.
“Good Slave, I know you won’t. I trust you to serve me, even without my chain at your throat.”
I pulled the naked girl out of the tent. It was dark outside, and even shielded by the broken hill, we had put out the fires. Guards chatted quietly, looking out over the sand. Above, the stars were out, like a carpet of spilled diamonds.
“Go to Fogrim and assist him. When we are ready, we will take you to the edge of the fortress. From there, you are on your own.”
“Yes, Master,” she rushed off to Fogrim’s tent, her bare feet pounding in the sand. Men watched her go, envious.
I went back into my tent.
“Master!” Ina had got to her knees, “What would you have me do?”
“I have already packed,” I took my bag, “so, nothing. A man will come to untie you and Ashtala in the morning and set you to your tasks with the other slaves. Now listen to me,” I turned to face Ina, “Do not draw attention or make eye contact - there are those in this camp who would kill you.”
She looked surprised.
“I will prove my worth alongside any slave girl!”
“You had better. But that doesn’t matter to them.”
She looked hurt.
“I don’t know what you are, Ina. No one does. If we win here, it will not go well for your people. Understand that.”
“The women would be enslaved.”
“You know it's not going to stop there.”
She looked away.
I stroked her head.
“Just keep your head down. There’s a quiet town in the Borderlands named Dura, where you are going to live in a cage.”
“Thank you, Master,” she tried to kiss me.
I drew back but offered her my hand. She licked it like a dog.
“Good little bitch.”
I took my bag, and went out into the night.