Harvest of Ancient Sorrows

Preview Chapters 19-21

Personal Update: Mom is back home and doing well, getting stronger every day and I’m back to writing 5-6 days a week.

Warning: Blah blah blah editing. If you haven’t read the previous warnings there is no hope. Really, no hope at all.

Chapter 19

Hills surrounding Via West, Zoru, An 5660, Day 79

Ben cradled Agnes in the crook of his arms as he slithered on his belly toward the crest of the hill. Countless marching feet rang in his ears like a cattle stampede in a canyon. On his right, Lance Duffadar Ram and General Kinya crawled along with him while Prince Tambal kept pace on his left. Ben topped the rise and squirmed under a bush that blocked his view. Covered by vines like a briar patch, thorns scrapped and snagged the leather jacket he’d worn just for an occasion like this despite the oppressive heat.

Several hours after Father–– noon on Earth ––scouts sent word that Ben’s army had caught the ripvor horde. It took the rest of the afternoon to reach their selected ambush location. The Ancients’ road–– known as Via West–– ran arrow straight through a range of wooded hills until the highway moved into the dunes of the appropriately named Deshert.

For the past hour, Ben’s small reconnoiter team used the cover of the woods to approach the marching reaper army. Ripvor wind singers floated in lazy buzzard-like circles high above. The enemy flyers formed a ring of aerial sentries around the army's main body.

Ben peeked through the foliage. The hills on the far side of the highway created a valley with the road at the center of the trough. As uncountable as grains of sand, the reapers marched along the thoroughfare in disciplined ranks. The number of the creatures astonished him and sent chills shooting through him. Each of the units wore identical uniforms in red or green. He’d already noticed that the wind singers were all clothed in blue.

Does each color represent a different type of singer? Ben had so many questions. Maybe Abu had read the answers to Ben’s questions in the books he’d been researching.

In the same capacity as cavalry, squads of spear-wielding reapers ran farther from the road and closer to Ben’s lookout point. These outriders ran like roadrunners with their elongated necks leaning forward and their lizard-like tails stretched behind. In the same way as those prairie birds back in Texas, their tails whipped one way and then the other, steering and balancing the creatures with each change of direction. Wearing green or red-tinged light armor, each of these flanking ripvor held several javelin-length spears in their hands, and in a bizarre twist, the tips of each creature’s tail clasped another projectile. He added another question to his Abu list.

Do they throw them with their tails? Ben thought as one of the flanking reapers began running hard toward the road. Ben estimated the creatures were faster than humans but slower than horses by half.

It won’t be like a cavalry charge, but they’ll have more momentum than a human infantry charge. Ben added the ramifications of the ripvors’ speed advantage to all the other items he needed to consider when he had time. Maybe we could use mixed rifle and spearman formations. He shook his head and returned to his observations, focusing on the blocks of reapers on the road.

The formations of red and green stretched to the horizon in either direction. Unlike the flanking ripvor, these giant lizard-ostrich soldiers wore red or green helmets and matching breastplate armor. Interspersed along the column were hundreds of siege engines of different types. Led by blue-clad wind singers, teams of the strange elephant-rhino hybrids, called kabulas, pulled the many trebuches and ballistas.

From such a distance, the details were scarce. Some red formations wielded small shields and the same sarissa-like spears that Alexandrian hoplites carried. Other red and green units carried larger shields, but that was the extent of the detail seen with the naked eye.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved a pair of binoculars. He thanked God and Khepri for his now perfect eyesight as he adjusted the focus. Using binoculars with his spectacles had always been less than ideal. What had been a blur of green came into sharp focus as he adjusted the settings. Ben whistled through his teeth. Rattlers look downright friendly by comparison.

The ripvor below looked identical to the floating image of the creature in the classroom at the Tomb of Mortals, but that did not prepare Ben for the living version. The creatures’ heads moved with the jerky movements of a bird while their legs made the wide-slow bow-legged rotations of a lizard.

The creature’s head reminded Ben of an eagle with its raptor beak, but the cold, soulless eyes struck him the most. The regiment-sized units that carried the larger shields held a war scythe. The weapon consisted of a small spear point topping a scythe-style blade at the end of a four-foot-metal shaft.

Reapers indeed, Ben thought. Makes sense, though. The lean of their bodies and their strange arms would make swords unwieldy.

For several minutes, Ben paid close attention to how the enemy soldiers interacted with each other. The fact that these creatures wore armor and weapons that an Aaruan metal singer might have made proved the aliens’ intelligence. Any comparison to the other intelligent races Ben had interacted with on Aaru ended there.

Hysakas, stirithy, and babiakhom all showed human-like emotions. They were not so strange because all the aliens he’d met understood humor, anger, hatred, and love. The ripvor walked without the banter of every group of soldiers Ben had ever known. They seemed single-minded and showed nothing within those predatory eyes.

One of the keys to defeating your enemy was to know their motivations and anticipate their future actions. How could Ben ever think like these aliens? What motivated them besides their next meal? His stomach turned, having seen what they considered food.

It was as if the entire race had no conscience. Ben remembered the answer to one of Abu’s many questions to Strategos Alexandria bin Zev i Hurasu. During their first dinner party on Aaru, Abu asked what the ripvor wanted. The Alexandrian general replied that the only words ever spoken by one of the creatures were, “Only the smartest and strongest.”

Smartest and strongest, Ben rolled those words around his head as he zeroed in on one particular unit’s leader. Wearing a red breastplate, the officer was discernable by his helmet's horizontal red and white striped plume. Upon approaching this commander, the regular ripvor displayed deference by bowing and bobbing their heads.

Ben nodded as his understanding of his foe solidified. Ripvor society ran on that Darwin fellow’s theories about natural selection. He imagined each individual competing to rise through the ranks. This line of thinking matched what he’d seen of the Ancients’ school at the Tomb of Mortals. The entire weight of moving up a grade fell on the individual to learn the knowledge necessary. Within a few pre-defined rules, only intellectual or physical dominance mattered.

How will they react to weakness? Or perceived weakness? That might be something we can work with.

The cacophony of ripvor feet on the road forced him to tap those near him and use hand signals to motion them to leave. More thorns snagged his clothes and cut into his skin as he wiggled backward on his belly under the briars and over the ridgeline.

The group stayed silent while hiking the mile back to their horses. On the way to the lookout point, General Kinya warned Ben that wind singers could filter sounds like the marching army to hear anything within a quarter of a mile of them. Thus, the small group was silent the entire time.

When they arrived at the stand of trees where they had hidden their horses, two babiakhom waited for them. Ben untied his mare from a tree and joined the loose circle the others formed. One babiakhom, wearing a Kerman wind singer uniform, stood beside Prince Tambal. Another of the ape-like wind singers stood next to General Kinya and wore civilian clothing, matching light blue pants and a shirt. The top had slit sides to accommodate the creature's wings.

A familiar breeze cooled Ben’s forehead. It signaled that one of the babiakhom had placed a sound barrier around them. Not even another wind singer could hear what was said inside the dome of silence.

“The horde is formidable,” said Prince Tambal, his Aaruan words translated to English in Ben’s ears.

General Kinya sneered, “You’re not scared, are you, little brother?”

Hatred flowed from the Prince’s gaze as he replied, “Only a fool would not fear facing that army.”

The general tensed and stepped toward his brother, but Ben snapped, “Enough. We have work to do.”

The broad-shouldered general spat on the ground, breaking his staring contest with his half-brother. “Will our plan work?” He pointed skyward. “With so many flying sentries, can our wind singers even reach the main column?”

“Ram and his sharpshooters will punch a hole through the screen. Our wind singers don’t need much time.” Ben’s mare nuzzled his shoulder, pushing him. He took a half step back before patting her nose. “I’m worried the riflemen will be exposed as they retreat. Our wind singers must draw the ripvor flyers to them.” Ben jutted his chin toward the prince. “Are we sure about the timing? We must attack the rearguard before they leave the hills.”

The Prince placed a hand on the shoulder of the babiakhom next to him. “My lead scout assures me that the reapers will stop for the night.”

The oversized lips of the babiakhom beside General Kinya moved in that strange approximation of human speech. “At the edge of the hills, two Umman forts guard the road. The reapers’ vanguard will reach those fortifications soon. I agree they will rest tonight and attack in the morning. The Ummans will not hold long. An hour or two at most.”

Prince Tamal nodded. “If the reapers begin moving into the Deshert before noon, the rearguard will reach these hills about the same time.”

“Captain Ben. If my men are going to be in position before dark, I need to get moving.” Lance Duffadar Ram saluted.

Ben returned the salute. “Go. But no unnecessary risks.”

The slender Kalari master flashed a sly smile that Ben knew meant, I’m about to kick someone’s ass.

“Yes, sir.” The Lance Duffadar led his horse toward the dense woods where fifty of Ben’s 1^st Kerman Rifles had picketed their horses.

“We also have a lot of work to do before tomorrow. Let’s go.” Ben waved the prince forward and fell in line, making sure to put a buffer between the two warring brothers.

Chapter 20

Kerma City, Zoru, An 5660, Day 79

Esther marched along the dirt field where Kermans held contests and theatrical plays toward her mother’s quarters. She’d expected the summons earlier. The 4^th Stratia arrived the morning before, but it had taken the better part of two days to get the fifteen-thousand-man army settled into quarters inside the city’s walls. With all the ongoing defensive preparations, the Kerma City was bursting. Thousands of stirithy had taken most of the city’s available housing, forcing all the other allied troops to be quartered outside the walls.

For the Alexandrians, though, Queen Nabra had insisted they stay within the city. Esther thought that a reasonable precaution to counter the lingering Remulan threat. As the old saying goes: My friend, the enemy of my enemy.

Thus, the Alexandrian army encampment occupied all the open space around the coliseum near the government and temple district. One of the two guards outside the tent of the Polemarchos opened the tent flap upon her arrival.

It took a moment for Esther’s eyes to adjust to the lamp light inside. She was surprised to find Prínkipas Archimedes ben Solan i Draco, Basilius Phillip’s brother-in-law, the ambassador to Kerma, and Masako’s granduncle sitting at a table beside her mother.

Not an enemy of my enemy, she thought, trying to gauge the level of animosity between the older man and her mother. As far as she knew, her mother and father had dethroned the ambassador’s brother-in-law.

Esther’s mother held an open hand toward the ambassador. “Good. Lachagos, I believe you know the ambassador.”

Being addressed by a new rank caused Esther to hesitate a half-beat on her next step. Had she been promoted? It was just the kind of thing her mother would have done without consulting her.

Esther snapped to attention before the table and saluted with her fist over her heart. “Polemarchos, reporting as requested.”

The Polemarcho’s chin pointed toward an open chair. “At ease. Sit down and give us a report of your time with the Earthlings.”

Esther sat and folded her hands in her lap as she began recounting the last several months since leaving the 4^th Stratia at Axclatca Pass. “The Earthlings are working to help produce enough guns and ammunition to arm an additional 20,000 riflemen. As my first report from Grrommerrk indicated, there has only been one time where I almost enacted the backup solution. That was during our stay in Nippur. Since coming to Kerma City, I made the decision to allow the Earthlings to help the Kermans against the Remulans. Dr. McGehee’s plan allows them to help without divulging the main secret.”

“It’s good you didn’t act. We will need every advantage the Earthlings can provide to survive the reapers. You did well.” The Polemarchos gave her a tight-lipped smile.

The ambassador frowned. “What is this about a backup solution?”

The Polemarchos turned to address the ambassador. “We had a contingency to eliminate Dr. McGehee before he could fall into the hands of an enemy. He is the only one who knows how to make ammunition for the guns. My husband and I have taken steps to ensure that Alexandria will be the first nation to manufacture a version of the Earthlings guns that does not depend upon his knowledge. Our weapons will not be as powerful as the Earthlings’ current ones, but we will produce enough to defeat the Remulans and ensure our nation’s survival.”

“You do not need to remind me of your treason. I do not know how you expect to get away with your coup.”

“Archimedes.” Esther’s mother patted the older man’s hand. “It is not a coup. Your brother-in-law is still king, and when the Remulan threat is over, we will release him. Our family has no desire to rule, but we could not ignore Phillip’s missteps while dealing with the Remulans.”

The ambassador pulled his hand from under the Polemarchos. “Do you think there will be no consequences for your actions?”

Esther had seen that glint growing in her mother’s eyes only a few times. Death usually followed. Esther’s shoulders tensed, anticipating violence.

Instead, the Polemarcho’s words were icy, “If there are reprisals against the ones I love, I guarantee that Alexandria will need to find a successor for Phillip.”

The two power brokers shot silent arrows back and forth for several seconds before Easter decided to change the subject. “I have one last item to report. I believe it is imperative you know.”

The polemarchos and the ambassador took a second longer to break eye contact and then turn toward Esther.

“Go on,” the Polemarchos said.

“Dr. Ben is no longer the sole source of knowledge. He has been teaching their individual soldiers various parts of the process. He is still the only one with the combined knowledge, but a small group of their soldiers can manage the entire process without him.”

“How did you? Ah. I heard you took an Earthling as a lover.”

Esther’s eyes darted away from her mother’s. Had there been motherly questions in that look? It should not have shocked her that her mother knew about Umrao. She was the head of an entire army, for Adonai’s sake. Those other questions would need to wait until the ambassador was not present. Right now, Esther was a mere captain reporting to her superior officer.

She put steel into her gaze as she looked back at the Polemarchos. “Yes. At this time, Dr. McGehee and Sowar Umrao are with the small force sent to turn the reapers toward Kerma City. The other Earthlings are managing the production of ammunition.”

The ambassador’s animosity seemed to have subsided when he said, “Interesting. Once the lamentations are over, what does all this mean?”

“Once we defeat the horde, we must be prepared to achieve two goals. Stop the Remulans from taking the city and preventing them from obtaining the Earthlings' secrets.”

The ambassador leaned forward. “How do you expect to accomplish all that?”

The Polemarchos’ face turned grave. “More blood.”

Chapter 21

Hills surrounding Via West, Zoru, An 5660, Day 80

Goose flesh covered every exposed part of Djoser’s body, and his teeth chattered as the frigid wind burned his face. I’ll need more aloe salve when I get back.

Born in the jungles of Pastruus, he felt at home in hot, humid climates. He enjoyed flying in the arid currents near the Deshert, but because of what he now thought of as his serfitude to the emperor, he was flying as high as he could without risking frostbite.

Maybe it was the reptilian part of a ripvor’s biology that kept them from being able to handle colder altitudes. Regardless, Djoser was grateful. He’d take the cold to avoid getting punctured by reaper bolts.

He checked the sound threads of his shadows. The reapers knew he was there and kept three wind singers in a holding pattern a thousand feet below him. The whooshing sounds of their lines of flight had not changed. He would have plenty of time to adjust if they attempted to fly within crossbow range. Several thousand feet below his trackers, weak slivers of smoke and ash drifted skyward from the burned-out husk of an Umman fort.

Djoser twisted his hands and changed direction, sliding over the currents toward the second stronghold. As he drifted past the road between the two fortifications, packed formations of reapers marched between the dead and dying ramparts, heading into the stark white sands.

Dozens of fireballs made of flaming pitch arched toward the last defiant outpost. Patches of fire dotted the fortress while flames licked at the central hold. The men manning the walls were mere dots from this distance, but somehow, Djoser’s mind filled in the blanks, a phantom stench of charred flesh even turning his stomach.

A useless sacrifice. Fools.

Giant wood panels, the reaper equivalent of a ladder, leaned against the curtain walls, and a swarm of red armored ripvor flowed over the rampart. As a child living in the jungle canopy, Djoser had been terrified at the pain and destruction wrought by a colony of army ants when they overwhelmed a doe and her fawn. Those dying deer's once-forgotten cries brought fresh tears to his eyes. The salty water froze on his cheeks in an instant.

So much death.

With a tilt of his arm, he made a sharp turn and headed toward the ambush point. His ripvor shadows altered their flight paths with him. He really should have worn a face mask against the biting wind. Just stay alive, he thought, but his mind still drifted to daydream about his future.

When this war was over, Djoser had prayed to Shai that the determiner would allow him to change his fate. He had promised to take his Remulan money and set up a noodle shop at the top of a pleasant tree in Pastruus. The wheat and rice-based noodles, staples of poor people across Yuhi, became his favorites. He liked them so much that he spent an entire winter learning to create the perfect noodles and broth from a master.

As he neared his target, Djoer turned in a wide, slow circle around the ambush area, his anticipation rising by the minute. The emperor and General Kinya expected him to take meticulous notes of the coming battle. Both men wanted to understand every detail about the tactics used by their reluctant allies now that the Kermans had access to the Earthlings’ guns and the improved version of hand-held bombs.

Far below, the last ripvor soldiers in the horde’s rearguard marched by the hills where he knew the Kermans waited. As if choreographed for Djoser’s viewing, rifle flashes flickered like fireflies from the woods at the top of several hills, the rifle blasts unable to reach him. A half dozen ripvor flyers dropped like downed birds while several others spiraled out of control. Djoser winced, remembering the wound he’d taken from an Earthling sniper. It hurt like hell and came close to killing him.

More tiny flames erupted far below, and again, reapers dropped from the sky. In bunched groups of four, Kerman wind singers flew low over the surrounding hills, closing on the road. As they crossed over the snipers' location, the Kerman flyers arched higher, climbing out of spear range from the ripvor outriders in the valley below. These flanking reapers still whipped their long tails, flinging their javelins skyward in futile attempts to protect the main body of their army. Unphased, the Kermans raced toward the enemy soldiers.

Sparks continued flashing in ones and twos from the same wooded hilltops, killing or wounding the closest enemy flyers. Dozens of enemy wind singers were flying toward the fray from the other side of the valley. These enemy reserves dove at the low-flying Kermans. More and more injured or lifeless ripvors smashed into the ground, never to move again. The attacking Kerman wind singers weren’t helpless. They used hand-held guns to shoot down the few enemy flyers who made it past the Kerman sharpshooters’ well-aimed shots.

Boom. Boom. Djoser flinched as the arm and wheel of a trebuchet blasted skyward. Like stalks of scythe-cut wheat, dead reapers lay in rings around scorch-marked soil from the black powder explosions. More blasts detonated up and down the column of marching ripvor as ballistae, catapults, and trebuchets turned to splintered messes.

The first set of four Kerman wind singers turned toward another target when a black cloud of bata dove upon them without a sound. Ripvor wind singers flew within the writhing mass of furry, flying carnivores, masking the approach of the swarm. The four flyers in red didn’t have time to defend themselves as the little devils slammed into the Kermans.

Damn. I need to remember that trick—time to go.

Djoser flew straight toward where most of the Kerman and Remulan army waited. The ambushing wind singers who had survived fled in the same direction. All the nearby enemy flyers and a good ten thousand bata chased after them.

__________________________

“One minute out. Reapers and bata in pursuit.” Ben jumped. Like a ghost yelling an inch from his ear, the English words came without warning.

The trap had been sprung. Ben licked his lips, his apprehension rising.

We’re ready, he told himself.

He tried to settle his nerves by bouncing up and down a few times. After raising his binoculars, he focused on the horizon. Babiakhom and human wind singers in red Kerman uniforms popped into view from behind the farthest hill as if launched from a cannon. They raced toward Ben’s location with a posse of several hundred flying ripvor and a swirling swarm of giant bats fast on their heels.

Two decades ago, Ben faced waves of bayonet-wielding blue coats and held his ground. That experience did not prepare him for the cold terror rising from his soul when he saw the tidal wave of bata flesh. Even the beast within, the one that lusted for battle and death shook with fear. Run, it screamed.

I will not! To run meant certain death, and he channeled his terror into anger, whipping the beast into a rage. Fight, coward!

A primal part of him, the part that controlled his fight or flight reflex, realized its back was against the wall with no chance of avoiding the coming clash. His instinct to survive summoned his resolve, bringing forth his bloodlust. With his humanity walking the border between control and berserk, he took a deep breath and put the binoculars away. Lord, keep Ram and his men safe. Strengthen this fence and lend me your courage.

Ben spun toward the nearby soldiers and bellowed, “Stand firm. We are safe inside.” He locked his fiery eyes with those men until they showed resolve. Then he turned to the men holding the gate open. “Hold until our men are inside.”

All along the hilltop, his soldiers relayed his command while others brought rifles to their shoulders. More men stabbed arrows into the ground or checked their spears one last time. Every pair of eyes he met showed the same escape or stand-your-ground debate he had just had.

Come on, you bastards.

The allied flyers streaked toward the hilltop. They aimed at marked gaps between the twenty-foot-tall trees. Ben placed the barrel of his rifle on the branch he’d picked for stability. He tucked his chin, resting it against the well-worn stock of his Winchester, and aimed at one of the enemy wind singers, closing the gap between the Kerman singers it chased.

With the ripvor at the edge of his rifle’s range, he lined his sight up on center mass, measured the speed and moved his sight to lead the creature, blew out a slow breath, and squeezed the trigger. His target kept coming.

He cocked Agnes and aimed again. The trigger resisted his pull until his steady squeeze slammed the hammer down. The reapers’ manufactured wings wobbled then dipped, the long-necked creature’s head hanging lifeless as it spun toward the ground.

The carbines of the 1^st Kerman Rifles boomed all around while green-fletched Remulan and red-fletched Kerman arrows sprung toward the living tornado bearing down on them.

Ben worked the lever again and focused on his next target’s hawkish face. The reaper's head snapped back, and the miniature dragon nose-dived into some trees at the bottom of the hill.

The first Kerman wind singer swooped between trees and began arresting her flight. Ben’s eyes darted between the allied wind singers and his next target. The enemy never slowed.

It’s working. Wait for it, Ben thought as a second and third allied singer flashed through. One of the last Kerman flyers took a crossbow bolt in his leathery wing and crashed in a heap a few yards outside their wired enclosure.

A soldier stepped past the wire to assist him but was yanked backward by his comrades. The men working the gate pulled the barbed wiring across the opening, leaving the wounded babiakhom to his fate.

One blue-clad ripvor and a wave of writhing bata were thirty yards away. Light from An became diffused as the reapers and their pets closed to within twenty yards, blocking most of the Aaruan star’s rays.

Ben found a target and went to work, counting each trigger pull. At five, the screeching swarm of bata slammed into the quilt of woven barbed wire in a slapping thud. The savage sound made him step backward, his eyes darting to the fencing. He gulped, praying the metal singers had made it pliable and strong enough.

The mesh bent inward but held. The spread wings of the creatures blocked all light from Ben’s front. A little sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above, casting the scene in macabre shadows.

Barbs built into the mesh tore at bat flesh as the creature’s nasty-looking mouths and razor-sharp teeth chewed at the metal braids. Above the blood-curdling bata screams were the constant whack, whack, whack as more dachshund-sized bodies crashed into the backs of their flock mates.

Ben had never imagined a nightmare like this. Hatred pulsed from the mass, and an overwhelming claustrophobic panic washed over him. Some men fell to the ground, covering their heads, mouths opened in silent screams.

Lord, help me. Our Father... A stillness flowed through him as he recited the Lord’s prayer.

Ben had a job to do and stepped closer to the screen, its thin wires keeping death at bay. He aimed between the metal gaps to avoid causing their protective layer to fray.

At fifteen shots, he put Agnes aside and pulled his long knife and a revolver. Packed so tight that the dead creatures couldn’t fall, Ben walked within a foot of the writhing mass of fur and stabbed anything that moved.

Bata climbed over their brethren and soon hissed down at them from above. The dome of wire that Ben’s troops had constructed worked to perfection. Almost.

With each pull of a trigger at the animals on top, blood and guts rained down. Ben didn’t know how long this nightmare lasted. His clothes became soaked in bat blood, and rivulets of viscous maroon ran off the brim of his hat. In that hell of blood, bullets, and deafening animal screams, he felt as if God’s presence had abandoned him. On the verge of losing his mind, he made a desperate attempt to keep his sanity by relinquishing control to the beast.

From a disembodied place, he watched his arm stabbing through the wire like a piston of death. The inner beast’s lustful battle cries drifted to him as whispers while its terror-filled rage protected him like a mental shield.

“They’ve had enough,” boomed in his ears.

Ben tried to wrest back control. Only his shaky legs and the lagging strength in his arms allowed the human to reappear as the monster sought rest. Dappled light brightened the inside of their cage as more of the surviving bata flew away from the top. He fell onto his butt, too exhausted to appreciate their victory or care for anything but having survived.

Anvil-weighted arms protested every movement as he unscrewed the lid to his canteen and splashed water on his face. Desperate to wash away the feel of parched sand in his throat, Ben swiped at the mess around his lips, flicking gore away. After rinsing his eyes and mouth again, Ben took a drink. The cool, refreshing goodness of the water reminded him that God still existed.

__________________________

“Ram, what do you think?” Ben twisted to look at his second in command.

The corner of Lance Duffadar Ram’s lip twitched up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You are insane, and we are going to die.”

Ben shook his head. “Besides the obvious, what do you think about the plan?” He lifted his pork pie, the hat’s felt material still tacky to the touch despite him scrubbing it in a forest stream for several minutes after the battle. With his last clean bandana, he wiped his forehead, waiting for the lancer’s reply.

“Plan’s simple. It has that going for it.” The skinny man’s face lit up. “Just walk up to the bully, punch him in the nose, and run away. Simple.”

“You forgot, don’t let the bully catch you.”

The small man’s smile faded. “That part’s a little shaky. Don’t you think?”

Ben turned to stare down the Ancients’ miracle road. The eons-old highway showed no signs of wear, even after an army of half a million giant lizards marched over its soft, almost spongy turf.

He peered through his binoculars at the horde. Thousands of ripvor filled the lenses. The enemy’s rearguard had stopped and turned a battle line ten ranks deep toward Ben and his three hundred dragoons. “We have to bloody them until they can’t ignore us.”

Despite the ripvors’ losses during the initial attack, scouts reported that the horde continued marching in the opposite direction. They were not turning to face Ben’s much smaller army. He had hoped against all expectations that they would. Most of his past enemies weren’t very accommodating to his plans either. These bird-brained lizards were no different.

After allowing the men to clean up and rest for several hours, Ben and Ram led the 1^st Kerman Rifles through the hills, chasing the tail of the reaper army. The Remulan horse archers and the Kerman chariots moved into supporting positions to help Ben’s mounted 1^st Kerman Riflemen during what he hoped was a tactical withdrawal, not a full-on rout.

Ben swept his binoculars to his left and then to his right. Four out of every five of his three hundred soldiers had dismounted and formed firing lines. The fifth man still rode his horse and held the reigns of five other men’s horses. Each horse had another riderless horse tethered to it to allow them to hopefully outpace the reapers when they retreated. Sowar Umrao Singh came into focus, and Ben watched him for several seconds as the youngest lancer organized his squad of riflemen into ranks.

Ben had made sure that Ram placed the Umrao closest to their escape route. The young man had been shaken by the nightmare battle with the bata swarm. He prayed the young man’s nerves recovered when the fight resumed. Ben made one more sweep of the enemy and then put the binoculars away. It was time to make the ripvor hurt.

He pointed to the enemy’s flanks. “Tell the troops to focus their fire on the flanking units. They are the fastest.”

In Aaruan, the Lance Duffadar barked orders to two of the six messengers that followed behind Ben. The riders galloped in opposite directions, only stopping to speak to each squadron’s commander. Ben thought again how much he could use a babiakhom to relay messages. Then again, they needed every wind singer in the air. The expedition lost twelve of the flyers during the ambush.

About ten thousand reptilian creatures formed the middle of the ripvor formation. Four regiment-sized units of green-armored, sarissa-toting hoplites anchored the center of the line. Another two regiments of red-armored, heavy infantry stood to either side of those. At least a thousand lightly armored outrider-style ripvor stood on each flank. Ben had come to think of these types as light cavalry, and they organized themselves into squadrons of both red and green.

A high-pitched squawking war cry rose from the reapers. All the hairs on Ben’s neck stood as if nails scratched down a chalkboard. With perfect precision, the enemy army stepped forward. The reapers let out a strange, whistled cadence with each stride.

It was all very annoying, and Ben shook his head.

His sharpshooters opened fire when the distance between the two forces shrank to 1000 yards. Dozens of the reapers’ light cavalry dropped in their tracks. After five partial volleys and a hundred dead, the ripvor commanders recognized their danger.

One flank trotted forward. A few seconds later, the other flank sped up. The units at the center of the ripvor line kept their regular cadence. As the light cavalry closed to eight hundred yards, two hundred and fifty stirithy made martini-Henri replicas fired in unison. At least a hundred streaking lizards tumbled face-first to the dirt, their bodies flipping over their bowlegged, rotating legs.

Ben shuddered, an eerie chill running up his spine. Most of the dying reapers had not made a sound. The boom of the coordinated volley echoed between the rolling hills to either side of the road. The surviving ripvor light cavalry screeched their anger and charged at full speed toward the Kerman riflemen. Ben pulled his Winchester from its saddle holster and rested the butt of the rifle on the ground. He needed to stay above the fray as long as possible.

The riflemen, standing and kneeling in two ranks, took turns firing. Every five seconds, a hundred bullets flew toward the charging reapers. At five hundred yards, only half the light cavalry, their legs churning like pinwheels, still raced forward.

A fog of black powder drifted from each group of riflemen. The slight breeze pushed the mist toward the charging foe.

At three hundred yards, a quarter of the reapers still lived. Yet on they came, hawkish beaks leading the way. The bird heads bobbed and swayed from the end of long necks stretched out in front of their bulbous torsos. Each creature held a bundle of spears close to their bodies. Their long tails flicked and bounced back and forth, a spear standing upright in the curled tip of the creature’s tail.

At one hundred yards, less than a hundred remained. The leading reaper’s tails whipped to the side and upward. Spears flew toward the bunched riflemen. Most fell short, but a few of the javelins broke a squadron’s ordered ranks as men scrambled out of the way.

With the riflemen no longer firing in booming volleys, the echoes changed to a constant crack and pop of individual rifle fire. Behind the enemy’s doomed light cavalry charge, the ripvor’s main battle line changed pace to a trot. The last enemy cavalry lizard let out a garbled squawk and spun to the dirt as disciplined blocks of the predators behind them charged. Their straight ranks began to bow as the war scythe carrying heavy infantry outpaced the center creatures carrying the unwieldy sarissa spears.

Ben yelled in Aaruan, “Sound the mount call.”

The young Kerman beside him lifted a lengthy horn to his lips using both hands. He blew three short notes. Bet it’s hard to play that thing on the move. I need to get Ssherrss to make some bugles.

The squadrons moved through the practiced process of retrieving the reins to their horse and mounting.

With most of the men on their horses, Ben called to the horn man, “Volleyfire.”

His mounted troops faced the charging wave of green and red. Fire spit from twenty rifles at a time, Each squadron firing at their own pace. Holes appeared in the enemy line. Each dying reaper tripping two or more of those following it.

When the enemy charge reached three hundred yards, Ben yelled at the horn man, “Retreat at the trot.”

The horn let out one long note, then a quick one.

“Is this the don’t get caught part?” Beside Ben, Ram spun his stallion. “Good luck.” He yelled over his shoulder as he spurred his horse forward.

Ben shook his head and followed him. Every few seconds, he peeked over his shoulder. The enemy let out a full-throated warble that boomed in the small valley. The unadulterated passion in the sound made Ben’s skin crawl. Is that a victory cry? Or kill the weaklings?

The distance between the armies narrowed to two hundred yards.

“Signal, to the gallop.”

The horn let out two quick but shaky blasts. Ben thought, Definitely, need bugles.

Ben patted his mare’s neck as he urged her to a gallop. As he leaned over his saddle horn, he looked under his arm. The distance to the reapers no longer shrank, and within a minute, the gap grew.

An abrupt, raspy squall followed by a hissing growl boomed behind him.

Damn right. This prey is getting away.

Another warble rose, and he looked over his shoulder. The ripvor’s disciplined formations lost shape as individual reapers picked up speed and the gap shrank.

Spoke too soon.

Ben waved to the men on his right and angled his mare a little in the other direction. His riding riflemen, the very definition of dragoons, followed his lead. They needed to reach a narrow gap between the hills on his left before the gap became too close. A winged ripvor slammed into the ground a few yards from his horse. He glanced up and then behind. Dozens of Kerman wind singers zoomed in loops and arches through the sky, intermingled with even more reapers. No bata.

Thank you, Lord.

Ben spurred the mare’s haunch, asking her for more speed. She whinnied and added a little velocity. The riderless stallion tethered behind answered with a neigh and picked up his pace.

The angle of their ride cut the distance to the fastest reapers, the ones in red that Ben deemed to be heavy infantry, which moved to within a hundred yards of the dragoons following him. The first of his troops disappeared into a ravine between two rocky hills. Ben stayed high in the saddle, leaning over the horn until he passed into the shadows. He slowed to navigate the creek bed, and the irregular gullies cut into the bedrock from eons of runoff.

He had to trust that the troops behind him had made it as he followed Lance Duffadar Ram’s two horses to the box end of the small canyon. Pebbles and small rocks bounced down the slope as several hundred horses scrambled up. His horse was lathered and breathing hard by the time she broke over the ledge. To the left and right, his soldiers had lined up, and shots flew down range, over the heads of the last of Ben’s retreating dragoons.

Ben didn’t stop to look. He needed to get his horse to the rally point and out of the way of those coming behind. A hundred Kerman archers, the ones who rode in the chariots, were lined up on one side of the rim. He dismounted, tossing his reins to a designated horse handler. He pulled Agnes from the rifle holster and sprinted back toward the ledge.

Like a mass of red-carapaced cockroaches, the ripvor heavy infantry flowed into the ravine. The corkscrew strides of the front-running creatures were so strange, creating an almost hypnotic motion in Ben’s eyes. He forced his eyes away from the reptilian legs to gauge the effectiveness of the arrows, bullets, and boulders raining down into the gully.

One of Ben’s main concerns turned out to not be an issue. Mists of green followed the strike of a bullet, and a fine sheen of the green stuff soon coated the red armor of nearby reapers. That armor seemed no more effective than that worn by a Remulan legionary.

Creepers, as Jeevan would say. Ben chuckled, knowing his friend would have loved to have been right here in the thick of this.

The occasional bird cry of pain spoiled the unnatural silence of most of the dying creatures. Close enough now to see the aliens’ amber eyes, Ben found nothing but a fearless killing focus in the creature’s golden orbs.

Ben didn’t feel quite the same pull from his inner beast. As if fighting and killing these unfeeling beings didn’t feed the darkest parts of Ben’s soul. Whatever the reason, he focused on the sight at the end of his rifle. He’d line it up on the the head of a charging ripvor, move it forward a bit, and then pull the trigger before moving his barrel to the next hawk-like face.

Relentless, reapers scrambled over their fallen and kept coming despite the hail of bullets. A few red armored troops stopped and laid hands or tails on fallen comrades. Ben assumed these were life singers, but he couldn’t find anything about their appearance to denote their life singing abilities.

He could not consider the topic anymore as his eyes flew to a peculiar spectacle. A few of the more determined bird-lizards ran up and along the canyon’s stone wall to bypass the bodies and ranks of reaper infantry pressing at the backs of those in front. Ben moved his barrel toward the wall-runners with the best chance to break through.

When Agnes clicked empty, Ben blinked in surprise. Had he really pulled the trigger fifteen times? He stepped back and tried to appraise the overall situation. Lizard bodies were piled at least three deep in the ravine with no end in sight to the wave of red charging reapers. The riflemen were burning through their ammunition and needed to disengage.

Lance Duffadar Ram was directing fire on the other side of the ridge. The company's horn blower kneeled beside the lance duffadar, firing his carbine. Ben stepped behind the lines of prostrate, kneeling, and standing Kerman riflemen arrayed around the edge and jogged to where he had seen Ram.

A wind singer broadcast went out. “General McGehee.” Sounded in the ears of every man on the ridge.

Ben hoped it hadn’t disrupted anyone’s aim as he answered, “Yes, what news?”

It was disconcerting, yet incredible, to Ben that just by Ben’s speaking, the wind singer could locate and then isolate his voice to communicate with him alone.

“The enemy is attempting to work around you on both flanks.”

“Understood. Tell Prince Tambal and General Kinya to begin the controlled withdrawal.”

“Will do.”

Ben squirmed through a rank of marksman, making sure each man near him was aware of his presence. The last thing he wanted to do was to die by friendly fire.

He tapped the trumpeter on the shoulder and leaned toward his ear to yell. “Call for grenades. Then call for retreat.”

The man nodded and slung his carbine over his shoulder before reaching for the horn tied to his belt that hung below his knee.

Should have just had the wind singer tell everyone. Ben needed to remember the abilities of his soldiers.

Ben waited for Ram to expel a spent cartridge before getting the lance duffadar’s attention. He started to scream but paused, his mouth open, when the trumpeter let out three loud blasts. All around him, the firing lessened as every third man stepped back and began lighting the fuses to a grenade.

Another two horn calls and the firing dropped off more as first the prone men disengaged, then the standing line of riflemen stepped back. A coordinated bird screech made Ben glance into the ravine. Encouraged by fewer bullets flying at them, the red armored ripvor renewed their efforts. For the first time, a few reapers closed within twenty yards of the slope leading to the ledge where Ben stood.

He knelt beside Ram as the grenadiers swung the hourglass-shaped bombs overhead like slingers. Ben had seen the troops practice this, but having dozens of armed grenades flying around made him more than a little uneasy.

The projectiles began to fly, and Ben marveled at the distance they flew. Several of the bombs landed in the middle of the mass of lizard-birds. Muffled thumps punctuated by flying lizard parts showed the effectiveness of these throws. Even more of the grenades exploded while airborne, causing hundreds of projectiles to rain down over a larger area. Each golden red explosion caused mass casualties amongst the ripvor pressed into the ravine.

Packed tight, most of the dead lizards didn’t fall. They just stopped wiggling a moment before they stopped all movement.

Ram pulled on Ben’s sleeve, drawing his attention from the terrible enthralling scene. Ben shook his head and jogged after the lance duffadar toward the rally point and his horses. Most of the men and horses had disappeared around a nearby hill ahead of him. Those in sight were moving at a fast but controlled pace.

His and Ram’s mounts were the last ones being held by the already mounted Kerman rifleman. The man gave them a broad smile, handed them the reins, and then spun his horses toward the retreating men.

Ben stepped into the stirrup on the stallion and hauled himself into his saddle. The horse minders had already switched the horses, so Ben’s mare was now tethered behind the stallion. He nudged his horse into a walk and looked behind him. The riflemen in the final line were sprinting toward their horses.

Fifty yards behind them, a reaper scrambled over the ledge. A ripvor officer wearing a helmet with horizontal feather adornments let out a loud warble. Another reaper topped the ledge, raised his war scythe high, and released a raptor-like high-pitched cry. Ben didn’t need to see what followed. He faced forward, kicking his horse into a fast trot to catch up to Ram.

“General McGehee,” called the unseen wind singer.

“Yes?” Ben replied.

“General Kinya.”

“Yes.”

“Prince Tambal.”

“Here.”

“Our scouts at the front of the horde have confirmed that the reaper army has stopped and is turning back. We believe they are coming after you.”

Prince Tambal’s words echoed in the background of the English translation. “Good. It worked.”

“Don’t feel too happy, little brother. They will be chasing us for the next two weeks,” General Kinya taunted.

Ben ignored the verbal jousting from estranged siblings and asked, “Is the first advance team ready?”

The wind singer replied, “They have the next ambush prepared. The second team has started work on the next position.”

It’s going to be a near thing. If the expedition simply ran, it could outpace the horde, but the reapers would reach Kerma City days too soon. And there was no guarantee the ripvor would keep pursuing them if they broke contact. They had no other option than to zig-zag their way back to the city, taking bites out of the reapers like a gnat on a bull’s ass.