The Grace of Kings (30 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BATTLE OF ZUDI

ZUDI: THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF RIGHTEOUS FORCE.

When Krima and Shigin began the rebellion in Napi, many did flock to join them, but many also decided to become robbers and highway­men and make the best of the ensuing chaos. One of the most ruthless and feared robber gangs was led by Puma Yemu, a peasant who lost everything when the emperor's bureaucrats requisitioned his land to build an Imperial hunting resort without paying him a single copper piece.

Yemu's men preyed on the merchant caravans on the highways crossing the Porin Plains until the pickings became slim. Trade was dying and fewer and fewer merchants took to the roads. It was just too risky, what with the Imperials and the rebels marching back and forth and armed men defecting every which way and no one able to keep the roads safe. Yemu's gang had to go farther and farther to search for good targets, and then they discovered that trade was still going strong at the formerly sleepy town of Zudi.

Apparently the Duke of Zudi took his job seriously enough that he was keeping the area free of robbery, and all the bold merchants who still wanted to make a profit were taking their goods there. Just like wolves followed sheep to new oases in the desert, Yemu immediately took his gang and resettled in the Er-Mé Mountains.

He wasn't afraid of the Duke of Zudi. In his experience, the rebels were not as disciplined or well trained as the Imperials, and usually Yemu could defeat their commanders easily in single combat. Sometimes, a rebel detachment would even join his gang after he killed their leader. He was going to “tax” the stupid merchants going to Zudi as much as he could and live richly off the spoils.

It was afternoon, and Yemu's gang of thieves hid inside a copse near the top of a small hill.

They were watching a slow-moving caravan wind its way along the road south of Zudi. The carts moved so slowly that they were clearly weighed down by goods of great value. Yemu let out a great ululating cry that his men took up, and the gang rushed down the hill on their horses like a wind blowing across the plains, certain that they were going to be well rewarded.

The carts stopped. The drivers unhitched their horses, abandoned everything, and ran away as the robbers approached. Puma Yemu laughed. It was too easy being a robber in this age. Far too easy!

The abandoned carts sat still on the road, like a bunch of wild geese caught napping by the shore.

But just as the robbers reached the caravan and pulled up in the middle of the carts, the walls of the carts collapsed like folding paper screens, and soldiers in full armor spilled out.

While some began to fight the robbers on foot, the rest pulled the carts into a circle around the gang to cut off their avenues of escape. A few quick-witted robbers, sensing trouble, kicked their horses hard and escaped before the circle could be completed, but the rest, including Puma Yemu himself, were boxed in by the carts and trapped.

A gigantic man, with arms muscled like horse legs and shoulders broad as an ox's, strode into the center of the circle. Yemu looked into the giant's eyes and shuddered. Each eye had two pupils, and it was impossible to hold his gaze.

“Thief,” the giant spoke solemnly, like a spirit-judge out of a nightmare. “You fell right into Duke Garu's trap.” He unsheathed a sword as huge as himself from his back. “Meet Na-aroénna. There is no doubt your outlaw days are over.”

Well, we'll see about that,
Yemu thought. He was confident that he could win any fight. This giant might look impressive, but he also had the air of a high-born noble. Yemu had defeated plenty of arrogant but useless nobles before. They fancied themselves brave warriors but knew nothing about fighting dirty.

He kicked his horse and rushed at Mata Zyndu, raising his sword high overhead to cut the man down in one stroke.

Mata stayed still until the last minute, when he dodged aside quicker than Yemu believed was humanly possible. Mata reached out with his left hand and grabbed the reins of Yemu's horse. His right arm rose up to block Yemu's overhead strike with his big sword.

Cliiiiinnnnng!

Yemu found himself lying on the ground, the breath knocked out of him. Through the dazed fog and the ringing in his head, he could pick out only two thoughts.

First, somehow Mata had pulled the galloping horse to a standstill with his left arm alone, and he had managed this without even shifting his feet. While the horse had been stopped, Puma had kept on moving, tumbled over the horse's head, and flipped once in the air to land on his backside.

Second, Mata's right arm had effortlessly blocked Yemu's downward swing, despite the fact that Yemu was higher and that his blow had the combined strength of his arm and the momentum of his horse.

Yemu raised his right hand and saw that the part between the thumb and the forefinger was bloody. He couldn't feel his hand. The swords had clashed with such force that the fine bones in his right palm had been shattered and his sword had flown out of his hand.

He looked up, and there was his sword, still tumbling, high in the sky. It reached the apex of its flight, hung for a second, and dove straight down.

Yemu rolled without thinking, and the sword plunged into the ground right next to him, buried to the hilt, missing his leg by inches.

“I surrender,” Yemu said, and there was indeed no doubt in his mind as he stared into Mata Zyndu's cold eyes.

Mata Zyndu wanted to hang Puma Yemu from a post over the city gates as a warning to other robbers who might think of Zudi as easy hunting grounds.

But Kuni Garu disagreed.

Mata looked at him askance. “Feeling compassionate again? He's a robber and murderer, brother.”

“I was a robber once too,” Kuni said. “That doesn't
automatically
mean he deserves to die.”

Mata stared at Kuni, incredulous.

“Just for a brief while,” Kuni said. He gave Mata an embarrassed smirk. “And we always tried to avoid hurting anyone. We even left the merchants enough money to get home. I had to pay my followers somehow, you know?”

Mata shook his head. “You really shouldn't have told me that. Now I'll always have this image in my head of you wearing prisoner's garb and banging on bars in a jail.”

“Fine,” Kuni said, laughing. “I think I'll refrain from telling you what I used to do for a living before I was a robber. But now we are getting far afield.

“My point is this: Yemu is a great horseman and a proven leader. He knows how to run and hide from a superior force and wait for the chance to strike. We have all these horses, so we can use him; as our scouts say: Namen is on his way.”

Namen's army poured over the Porin Plains like a hungry tide; bands of defeated rebels fled before it, crying for mercy. Many fell, and, in a moment, disappeared under trampling hooves and marching feet. As Kuni surveyed the cloud of dust on the horizon, glinting with occasional flashes from bright armor and unsheathed swords, his gut tightened and his mouth felt dry.

Kuni kept the gates of Zudi open for as long as he dared to allow more of the refugees to enter, but in the end, he had no choice but to order the doors shut before Namen's army were at the walls. His soldiers had to beat back the flood of refugees with swords and spears to close and bar the gates. More than a few broke down and cried as they listened to the screams and pleas on the other side of the wall.

“Lord Garu! They're using fire wagons on the gates!”

“Lord Garu! We've run out of arrows in the guard tower. They're about to breach the top of the walls!”

But Kuni stood as if frozen. The pleas of the refugees kept out of Zudi echoed in his head and would not leave. He thought of Hupé and Muru. Once again, men were dying because of his decisions; once again, he felt overwhelmed and did not know what was the right thing to do.

Zudi's soldiers, seeing the state of their lord, began to panic.

Namen's men had erected long ladders against the outside of the wall, and under cover of volleys of arrows from their archers, swordsmen climbed up. A few had already reached the top of the walls and were fighting with Zudi's defenders. The Zudi soldiers, who had never fought except in training exercises, swung their swords hesitantly and stumbled back before the ferocious assault of Xana veterans.

A Zudi soldier's arm was severed; he screamed as he fell down, trying to grab for his lost limb on the ground. The faces of the other defending soldiers around him drained of blood. Xana soldiers stepped forward and silenced the screaming soldier, and a few of the defenders dropped their weapons and turned to flee.

Soon, dozens more of Namen's soldiers joined their comrades. If they established a position on top of the walls and took the guard tower, they could open Zudi's gates, and all would be lost.

Mata Zyndu took the stairs to the top of the walls in a few great, long leaps. Na-aroénna in his right hand, Goremaw in his left, he plunged into the middle of the small group of Xana soldiers.

Goremaw smashed into a soldier's head, and brains and blood splattered everywhere. The Xana soldiers fell back, momentarily stunned. Mata opened his mouth and licked some of the gore from his club.

“Tastes the same as everyone else's blood,” Mata said. “You're all mortal.”

And then Na-aroénna spun like a chrysanthemum of slaughter, and Goremaw rose and fell like the beating heart of death. The blocking swords and shields of Xana soldiers broke or spun out of their hands, and in a moment, dozens of dead bodies lay around Mata Zyndu.

“Come,” Mata said to the cowering soldiers of Zudi around him. “Is it not glorious to fight?”

And the Zudi soldiers, emboldened by this display, rallied around Mata Zyndu and hacked at the hooked tops of the ladders until they broke and they pushed the ladders away from the walls, delighting in the terrified cries of the Xana soldiers still on them.

Kuni looked at Mata, standing atop the walls like some arrogant hero of the Diaspora Wars, careless of the volleys of arrows that flew around him, and his heart was filled with admiration. Indeed, everyone was mortal in a terrifying world, but one could choose to live like Mata Zyndu and fight with no doubt, or cower in fear and indecision and let error compound on error.

He was the Duke of Zudi, and his city depended on him.

Kuni rushed up the stairs. Behind Mata, another Xana soldier was trying to climb onto the wall. Kuni pulled out his sword and rushed ahead, batting aside the blocking stroke from the soldier and plunging it deep into his neck. A crimson gush. Then Mata was beside him and helping him break the top of the ladder and pushing it away from the wall.

Kuni felt something warm on his face. He reached up, touched it, and looked at his fingers. Blood. From the first man he had killed.

“Taste it,” said Mata.

Kuni did. Salty, thick, a bit bitter. With Mata next to him, he felt courage flow through his veins as though he had consumed a dozen of Jia's courage herb plugs.