Whetted Bronze by Manning Norvil

Author:Manning Norvil [Norvil, Manning]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi & Fantasy
Publisher: DAW Books, Inc.
Published: 1978-03-26T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The Sack of Zemlya

Zamaz the sun shove bravely upon the tall battlemented walls of Zemlya, picked out the colors of the flags and standards, glittered from the bronze spearpoints of the sentries unflaggingly pacing their beats. Odan took off his helmet and wiped his forehead with a cloth. He was still not used to having slaves petting and fussing with cloths around him.

“There, master,” said Kufu the Ox, resplendent in his bronze and leather, a great yellow cloak thrown back to reveal his girth, his armor, his belts and swords—and his sash of power he wore at the insistence of Odan himself.

“I see them, my Ox.”

From the southern gateway of Zemlya a caravan was passing over the canal on the narrow brick bridge. This bridge bore no comparison to the great Bridge of Eresh that spanned The River. Chariots flew along before, and fanned out to either side of the long plodding column. Wains were heavily loaded, their onagers and oxen hauling into the traces. Much of that weight would be water.

“We seize a caravan coming to Zemlya from Sennapur,” said Ankidu, in his fresh, eager way. His face showed his joy at the prospect. “And we march in, like wolves among the sheep. Aye, my prince, it is a noble plan.”

“It may be, my Ankidu. But it is not my plan.”

Kufu and Ankidu stared at their leader. It was quite plain they were more than nonplussed.

“But—my prince—” said Ankidu.

“And when is a caravan due in from Sennapur? Tell me that, my Ankidu, strong with the bow, tell me that.”

“I do not know—by Zadan, I do not know!”

“I shall open the gates of Zemlya to you. When they open you must enter as though fire stalked your heels. It must all be done swiftly and silently until we have the main gates and the walls. Then we may cry havoc to your heart’s content.”

Odan felt again that grotesque lick of amusement at his friends’ reactions. How could he, a man debarred by so cruel a trick of fate from the woman he loved, ever find humor in any situation? His own vicious nature, sharpened by the years of grinding training with the Hekeu, yet found increasingly opportunities for a black humor that appealed to him. By Odan! They would play these conies of Zemlya!

He considered his little army.

Two thousand archers, he had, and a thousand spearmen, more or less. Of these, fourteen hundred archers came from Eresh. Of the spearmen, five hundred were from Eresh, four hundred from Dilpur, and the rest were mercenaries hired from their posts with merchants along The River. Of mercenary archers he had but fifty or so, and these he had placed with the regiment from Dilpur.

The bowmen from Eresh were divided into two regiments, one under Ras Kufu, the other commanded by Ras Enidu. Enidu’s men were crocodile archers. The habit of naming regiments was common all along The River; but almost all cities called those regiments of archers whose men worked in pairs, instead of with shield bearers and gerrhons, crocodile archers.

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