The Last of the Etela, Chapter 7

The warlord makes a necessary change. Miruz makes a dangerous suggestion. Sivridi makes a different type of impression.

Previously on Shieldbreaker… Kareva chose violence, Sivridi found that interesting, the tribe’s civilians went into hiding and their warriors went into the desert to fight their enemy on their chosen ground. At the end of two rounds here at beautiful, bloody Valtaa, the Hodrir are handling their business…

—

—

Oreik’s fury was echoing across the tent city at the bottom of the hill.

“We must outnumber them fifteen to one! Do you mean to tell me there’s not a single man here who thinks we can beat this rabble?”

Miruz spat on the ground. Enough was enough. “No. I mean to tell you they refuse to follow your orders.”

“They refuse?”

“To a man. They don’t trust your judgment. They know you don’t have a plan. They know you raced out miles ahead of our supply lines and threw away God knows how many lives. They won’t obey you. And neither will I. We’re waiting for the warlord.”

“He will cut you open and spill you out onto the sand when he gets here!”

Miruz smiled. “He is my lord and master, and that is his privilege. Say one more word to me before he arrives, and I’ll bury you in it first.”

—

At the summit, Kareva stood over ten bodies on a pyre: nine of the warriors who had volunteered to jump with him onto the enemy shields, and Uskol ul-Sakara, commander of the Dazvar-Muz.

Uskol-Ohta and his company had taken the brunt of the enemy’s charge and stopped them from reaching the summit, taking grievous losses in the process: only thirty-three of the ninety-two black shields who had come to Valtaa were still alive.

Custom dictated that a captain who fell in battle be sent to the gods in full view of the tribe. All of the other Dazvar-Muz—all the tribe’s dead, really—deserved the same respect. There simply wasn’t enough time to build a pyre that size.

Kareva could, at least, reasonably insist on extending that honor to the warriors who had jumped over the ledge with him: they had performed an act of kol—offering their lives to create chaos among the enemy, in order save their fellows. Kol’r were the most beloved of the gods of anyone: it was the ultimate act of faith and loyalty. And anyone would agree that burning them alongside an Ohta would honor that commander as much as it honored them.

So they would wait. When the tenth arrived, they could begin.

—

As the sun began to set, another phalanx of warriors approached the Pohyor camp. Just like their comrades, they were all on foot.

Ersev Vrangar had left his own horse with the rest of the herd, both as a gesture of respect to his vassals and because he had no more interest in risking his favorite stallion getting hurt on the way here than any of his men did in risking their own horses.

His decision to supervise the herd’s transport had probably turned a head or two, but he’d told his vassal chieftains that he wanted to personally protect their interests—to show he was of service to them as much as they were to him—and after all, he was confident they could handle this task without him. They had crushed everyone else who had resisted them in this region. Why should this battle be any different?

That was the other reason he had come on foot: if at all possible, he wanted an accurate impression of the camp’s mood before they noticed he was there.

The view of the mountain had unsettled him more and more as they came closer to the camp, and the body language he saw from the first few soldiers whose paths he crossed set him instantly on edge.

He passed a medical tent and noted how few men seemed to be there—and how horrified they looked at what they’d just experienced.

He passed groups of men muttering amongst themselves. “I’ll be damned if we’re going up there on his word,” he heard one man say. “Don’t know what the fuck the Khogon was thinking...” He scowled and willed himself to not order his guards to stop. They kept walking towards the big tents in the middle.

“No two ways about it,” he heard a familiar voice say as he got closer. “This is a catastrophe. The boy can’t ever be allowed to lead us.”

That was enough. Ersev held up a hand for his guards to halt. They snapped to attention, and Ersev stepped out from within their formation and stopped a few feet behind the speaker.

“Good evening, Karul Kadrav’r.”

The Khogon of the tribe of Kadrav whirled around, his face white as a sheet. Then he fell to one knee. “Mightiness.”

Ersev looked past him. The men Karul of Kadrav had been talking with, two or three of his own Ravat’r and another tribe’s chieftain, all looked like they were about to be sick.

“Tell me what he’s done.”

—

Sivridi walked back up the hill with Uzani’s body over her shoulder. She hadn’t said a word to anyone since she and Kareva had reached the top of the path and she heard them cheering for him.

The tribe had lost over one hundred fifty warriors in the last exchange. It would have been more if not for the eleven who’d died breaking the tortoise-shell, and Kareva-Oproz had insisted that the bodies of the jump squadron be given heroes’ funerals at sundown.

The ten who had been recovered would be burned with the Ohta of the Dazvar-Muz.

Nobody had found Taravi’s body yet, but Sivridi was sure Taravi

was dead, too. She and Uzani had jumped together; something must have gone wrong. Sivridi could not possibly imagine either of them trying to escape.

So here she was. The last Daughter of Vei. She would join the rest of her company soon enough. But first she would honor her friend—and hopefully she’d have enough time to find Taravi, too, and do the same for her.

When she got to the summit, she saw Kareva standing on a boulder above the crowd surrounding the pyre. He saw her and nodded to her. Several men turned their heads and began shuffling aside to create a path for her even before the Oproz gave the command. Sivridi noticed that their heads were down. A dozen or so saluted her. One or two even knelt—including one of the bastards from Kamar who had left her to break a shield wall entirely by herself out in the desert.

That felt like a long time ago now. The ill will she knew she should bear them all didn't seem to be within her anymore.

She got to the pyre and lovingly laid Uzani down next to her brothers in kol.

Kareva-Oproz was right. They were all Hodrir.

—

Oreik never got to finish making his report.
"You sent the tribe of Led?" Ersev grabbed Oreik by the hair and

pulled him in closer. "Are you trying to get the two of us killed?" he whispered to his son. "You throw away a thousand lives, you make mortal enemies of my closest allies in the horde..."

He let go of Oreik's hair and threw a vicious punch across his son's jaw. Oreik crumpled to the ground, stunned and humiliated, but at least wise enough not to try to get up, even when Ersev spat on the ground next to him.

"Regez was right about you. You are not fit to lead. You can stay right where you are, for all I care. I'm taking command back. Miruz!"

"Yes, Mightiness."

"There's no other way up this mountain?"
Miruz looked up towards the enemy camp and noticed how dark it

was on the eastern side of the plateau.
"There may be a way, but it's a bastard." He pointed up towards the

dark patch. “They don’t seem to be guarding that side of the mountain at all.”

Ersev snorted with derision. "You think you can find a way to get a whole company of warriors up that?"

Miruz thought for a second. "The way I see it, only one man actually needs to get up there by himself, as long as he’s carrying enough rope to drop all the way down..."

Ersev stroked his chin. Everything Oreik had done today, the enemy had been prepared for. Something had to be done to turn the tables. "And...you have a man in mind to do this?"

Miruz smiled brashly. "I thought I’d try it myself, Mightiness. The moon is good tonight. I think I can make it.”

Ersev chuckled. “I should have known. What would you need to get it done?”

Miruz thought for a second. “Let’s see...We ought to light a few more fires on the ground just below the rocks to help me see a little better...and I'll need some of those long nails we use to fasten the tents together...oh! and I'll need you to have the men make as much noise as possible all night so they don't hear me. Doesn’t matter what they do. They can bang pots and pans together for all it matters. Maybe have them shoot some fire arrows, even. We have some bows on hand, don’t we? They don't even have to hit anyone, just provide a distraction. And when I make it up to that side of the ledge, I'll kill whatever sentries I find—quietly of course—then fasten the rope for the rest of my men to join me, and when the sun comes up, it will be at our backs to make our attack that much easier. And you send more men up the main pathway so we can attack from both places at once.” He paused for a second, checking to make sure his plan covered everything he wanted it to, and nodded. “We hit them right at dawn."

Ersev nodded. "And if you're discovered before then?"

"Then I'll take as many of them with me to the grave as possible, and you can rest easy knowing I speak well of you in the afterlife. After all, it's like your son said." He turned to look down at Oreik, his smirk not doing much to cover the contempt and hatred in his eyes. "It’s a battle. Men die."

Ersev followed Miruz’s gaze down to where his son still sat and noticed that Oreik wouldn’t even meet Miruz’s eye. What an enormous disappointment.

“Alright. Who’s going with you?”

“For something like this, I think I should ask for volunteers. Fear will be our most dangerous enemy tonight. I don’t want anyone going up there with me who’s got even the slightest hesitation about it.”

“And you think you can find enough men to make it work?”

“Out of the ten thousand some-odd warriors in camp? I think I can find a few other fellows like me, with a lot of ambition and no sense.”

Ersev laughed and clapped Miruz on the shoulder. “No sense, my ass. Regez has turned you into quite the strategist.” He looked him in the eye as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Seriously. Well thought through, Miruz. Very clever.”

“Thank you, Mightiness. I learned from the best.” And with that, Miruz dropped to one knee. “I await your command.” Formalities still mattered.

Ersev nodded. “It is so ordered. Report back to me when you have your men and materials together.”

“Yes, Mightiness.”

—

Kareva found Metan in command of the night watch on the ledge. He sat down next to him quietly, not trying to attract any attention to them before the conversation. “What are you doing out here? You should be resting up for tomorrow with your company.”

Metan raised an eyebrow at his commander. “I imagine you need it more than I do, after the work you did this afternoon.” He looked back over the ledge. “Besides, the Pehtur have another captain looking out for them. Hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of raising up the girl to help me lead them, so I could help you and Alakuz with

organization.”
Kareva nodded. It was a smart choice; Sivridi had been brilliant.

“Still, Uncle,” he lowered his voice further. “Your arm looks terrible. You need to get whatever rest you can before they come back up tomorrow.”

Metan held his gaze. “Are you advising me or ordering me?”

Kareva rolled his eyes. “Fine. It’s an order. Consider yourself relieved for the night. Is that what you wanted?” he whispered, exasperatedly .

“Yes, Oproz. Off I go.” Metan’s grin turned into a wince as he stood. He raised his voice back to normal volume. “Attention on watch. The Oproz has command.”

The soft thuds of fists hitting cloth was all either of them heard by way of response.

—

Sivridi was sitting by the mouth of the cave that sheltered the off-duty soldiers and everyone’s supplies, replaying her sword-strokes from the fight under the tortoise-shell in her head, trying her best not to think about where Taravi’s body had ended up.

She didn’t notice Metan walk past her, his right arm hanging limply at his side, nor did she notice him turn around and come back until he was almost on top of her.

“Girl.”

She stood hastily and saluted. “Ohta.”

He waved her salute off. “Relax. You’re an Ohta now, too. I probably ought to stop calling you ‘Girl,’ now that I think about it.”

Sivridi smirked. “Not the worst idea. Aren’t you on watch?”

“The chief ordered me off the line. Says I need to take care of my arm.”

She looked down at it. “How bad is it? Is it starting to smell or anything? I can’t tell...”

“No, no, I had one of the boys put fire to it as soon as we were done up there. It’s just a deep cut. I’m having a bit of a hard time gripping my sword—don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I can’t hold onto it. I’m just going to be a bit slower the next time I fight...just an adjustment...” he looked distracted; he must have also noticed there seemed to be more noise in the air than before. “Do you hear that?”

Sivridi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Should we go see what’s going on?”

“I’ll take care of it. You go do something about that arm.”

—

Kareva was unsettled.
He and the rest of his watch were looking down at a bonfire.

Around it, the horde below them seemed to be celebrating something. What the hell did they have to celebrate right now?

He felt someone approaching before he heard Sivridi’s voice call out to him. “Oproz?”

He gestured her over to join him without turning around. He didn’t speak until after he felt her step up to the ledge at his left side. “What do you think they’re doing down there?”

“No idea.” Sivridi came a step closer. “Maybe they’ve started fighting amongst themselves? Maybe they’re so discouraged after having to deal with us for a whole day that—”

“Hold on. I mean, yeah, let’s hope so, but give me a minute.” Kareva furrowed his brow, trying to see more clearly what was causing all the commotion around the Pohyor’s fire. “Something isn’t right.” His eyes widened at the sight of several little fires appearing in front of the larger one.

“Down!”

He grabbed Sivridi at the exact same moment she grabbed for him, both meaning to pull the other back from the ledge and into a crouch. They stumbled backwards instead and fell together in a heap.

Thankfully, no one else was paying attention to them. All the other watchmen knelt behind their shields in a hurry as the volley of flaming arrows zipped over their heads. They were well overshot; Kareva tracked their path as they flew over the entire summit and disappeared behind the rock wall that jutted out above the plateau on the south side. A moment later, another volley followed the first, again flying wild and high.

A few of the men on watch laughed, egging on the incompetent archers below. Kareva noticed for the first time how close Sivridi’s body was to his.

He quickly looked back up to make eye contact. She was staring at him with a mixture of reproach and amusement on her face, and he wondered what his own face must look like right at that moment, and broke into an embarrassed grin. You caught me.

She smiled back, and tilted her head quizzically. And?

Not a bad idea, given their all too imminent death. But he was commanding the watch. This was not the time. He sat up stiffly and saw the third volley of fire arrows flying overhead at a suspiciously similar trajectory.

They weren’t trying to hit anyone.

Kareva crawled back to the edge of the plateau. He turned his head to look down the mountain path and saw the bonfire reflected in hundreds of enemy spearheads on the path.

He rolled a few paces away from the edge, then stood and turned to Sivridi, instantly all business again. “Sivridi-Ohta, get Alakuz and Metan, and tell them I need everyone armed for battle right away.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her up to a standing position to speed her on her way. “They need to go about it calmly and quietly. There’s a large force trying to sneak up the path right now for a surprise attack. I want them to think it’s working.”

“Yes, Oproz.” She lingered for a second or two longer than he expected her to, still making eye-contact; she seemed to be toying with him. Then she turned and took the short trek back to the caves at a jog.

—

Sivridi chuckled to herself as she made her way back to the caves. That had nearly taken a turn, hadn’t it?

She was more impressed than she cared to admit that Kareva hadn’t tried anything. He had far better self-control than most of the boys that age she’d been familiar with before she joined the Daughters and submitted to Kivli’s company-wide policy of abstinence.

It’ll fuel your rage, the priestess had explained with a mischievous grin. Besides, you won’t be able to fight worth a damn if you’re calving.

Either way, it had been a welcome distraction while it lasted. It had taken her mind off her sisters’ fate for a moment, especially Taravi’s... Oh, good. There it was.

She shook her head hard to snap herself back into focus. She was an Ohta now. She had a job to do.

The Ra’an was already standing outside.

“Alakuz-Ohta.” She saluted smartly. Formality still mattered. “I have a message from the Oproz. The enemy is making their way up the path. The men need to quietly arm themselves for a surprise attack.”

Alakuz nodded. “How many of them are there?”

“I didn’t see, Ohta.”

“But the Oproz called for everyone?”

“Yes, Ohta.”

“He wants everyone on the front line at once?”

“I—he didn’t specify, Ohta. Do you need me to—”

“I’ll send a runner to clarify. You alert the other captains and get your warband ready. We’re in for a long night.”

—

Don’t look down, you bastard. You stupid, stupid bastard. In all of existence, there has never been a stupider bastard than you. Not ever. Don’t fucking look down.

Miruz was far enough up the cliffside now to be absolutely certain of dying horrifically if something went wrong.

The only weapons he had on him at the moment were a dagger—his sword was too heavy to carry along with the enormous coil of rope wrapped around his shoulder and waist—and the two long nails he was using to dig into the cliffside as he climbed. So if he was discovered before the rest of the men made it up there and brought him his sword, he’d likely be up against a few fully-armed barbarians with only a dagger to protect himself with.

If he made it up there at all.

The rope he was carrying could tire him out too quickly. He could misjudge the angle while trying to dig into the rock with one of the spikes in his hands. His hands could get too sweaty and he could lose his grip.

And if he looked down—well, likely as not he’d piss himself, in that case. And then he’d have to throw himself off the damned cliff in shame.

Below him, he knew, stood forty-six other big, mean, hard bastards, who were likely awestruck as they watched him try to perform this insane feat of strength and agility. It had to be him, of course. He’d insisted, as befitting his reputation as the biggest, meanest, hardest bastard in Ersev Vrangar’s entire horde.

And he was clearly the stupidest as well. Look where he was right now.

Then again, if he pulled this off, he’d be a legend.

He might even find himself in line to rule, if a few things played out in his favor. The warlord was clearly going to have to find himself a new heir apparent after today, after all.

He cocked his right arm back and, with a silent prayer. swung it toward the cliffside with all his might.

Clink. The long nail sunk slightly into the red rock and held fast. He had already been lucky tonight in that one respect. He pulled himself up a few feet, found a tenuous foothold, and began the painstaking process of gently working the spike in his left hand free so he could repeat the whole terrible game over again.

Don’t look down, you stupid bastard. Don’t look down.

—

“They’ve stopped.”

Alakuz leaned over to see what Kareva was seeing. “How many do you think there are?”

“Hard to tell. How many did they send up the first two times? Doesn’t matter much, anyway, as little room as they have up here.”

“You think they’re waiting to try to surprise us at first light?”

“I thought they were coming up now, originally.” Kareva thought for a second. “First light makes sense, though. The sun will be in our eyes.”

“But not in the archers’ eyes.”

“Maybe they think they’ll get enough men across the gap before we can sound an alarm that it won’t matter.”

Alakuz let that marinate. It felt like something else was going on, but he couldn’t imagine what. The enemy had been badly surprised in the first attack, and had clearly learned a lesson before the second, and it had taken a stroke of insane genius from Kareva to put a stop to them. Maybe the warlord thought adding an element of surprise and using first light to their advantage would do the trick. And maybe they would finally just send up enough men and enough heavy shields that it simply wouldn’t matter.

“We should deny them the space.”

Kareva looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Hmm?”

“We should move the line forward, not let them get enough men across the gap to press an attack at all.”

Kareva’s mouth worked as he mulled the idea over. “They’ll see us before we see them, though, and know their surprise is blown. It’ll make them careful. I’d rather let them keep underestimating us.”

Alakuz nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Leave me the T'kar-Kulta, the Kamar, the Kaljur, and…has Turan ul-Toruk named his company yet?”

Alakuz smirked. “I’ll ask him.”

“Alright. And keep everyone else in reserve, in case I’m wrong.”

“Yes, Oproz.”

—

At last. Sweet, sweet, flat ground.

As rough as that climb was for Miruz, doing it in silence had been the hardest thing about it—especially the last, horrible moments where the rock had jutted out and forced him to climb almost upside down for the last few feet. He shuddered. Never again.

The rest of the men would have a much easier time of it, hopefully.

When he caught his breath, he rolled over and checked again for sentries. There was no one to be found. He sat up and removed the enormous coils of rope from around his shoulders and waist. He had no idea how long he had until sunrise. There was no time to lose.

He knotted one end of the rope back around his waist, dropped the rest to the men waiting below, and found a place among the rocks to anchor himself to while the first men climbed up.

Almighty God, grant me this one prayer: let them remember to come up one at a time.

—

Metoz came back from pissing over the ledge onto the narrow path and took his place next to Inaz. His buddy shook his head in disgust.

“Come on, man,” he whispered. “There’s dead men down there. Go over by the cliff like everyone else was doing all day.”

Metoz shrugged. “Too far from where we’re posted, isn’t it? Plus, none of them down there are ours.”

“Doesn’t mean we need to piss on their corpses. They were warriors like us, weren’t they?”

“Which of you godsforsaken morons just pissed over the ledge?” Harila was standing behind them, his whisper not hiding his fury. “They’re not supposed to know we’re here!”

“Respectfully, Ohta, I think they know already.”

“They aren’t supposed to know that we know that they’re here,” added Metoz, also in a whisper. “And by that logic...Inaz really should have pissed that way instead.” He grinned and jerked his head towards the other side of the ledge where the Oproz had seen the enemy .

“You two...” Harila’s mouth stayed open, but no retort found its way out. After a second, he shook his head in annoyance. “Idiots,” he whispered. He walked away.

“I think he’s going to promote us,” whispered Inaz after a moment, and the two of them held their hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter.

After a minute Metoz looked over at Inaz again. “I still can’t believe he did that.”

“The Oproz?”

“Yeah. Absolutely incredible.”

“Legendary.”

They kept on pretending they didn’t know the enemy was beneath them, blissfully unaware of what was happening on the cliffside less than five hundred paces to their right.

—

Miruz watched the last member of his squadron appear over the cliff and sink down to the plateau’s floor, exhausted. They’d done it.

Miruz made eye contact with the man, held his finger to his lips, patted the ground twice, and held his palm there for a moment. It was the same set of signaled instructions he’d given at least a dozen times already tonight.

Stay silent, lie flat, and don’t move a damned muscle.

The man nodded. The two men holding the rope for him tied it in place around one of the rocks and then got down into position next to him. Miruz sat down behind the boulder, staring out into the slowly brightening sky. The sun would come up soon. It was almost time.

—

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