Sterling Lanier - The Unforsaken Hiero

Hiero never noticed, intently only on coldly killing anything that stood before him. He struck and stabbed, hacked and slew, with no compunction at all. Here was the enemy at last, where he could be reached! Here was revenge for the empty months, the loss of his mate, the treachery, and the pain! Death to them! Kill them all in their vileness, until the decent earth was empty of them forever!

It took a strong hand on his bridle to check his pace and a strong voice to penetrate the madness of battle. His lifted sword dropped, and he finally realized that a friend was trying to get his attention. Breathing in great gulps, he saw that Klootz had stopped and was trembling with the aftershock of the melee. Hiero managed to break the fog in his brain and rest, though it was an awful wrench.

“Stop fighting, General! Look, we’ve beaten them. Maybe a quarter got into the woods, no more than that, sir. Look at what is happening now!”

Almost against his will, the Metz turned his head. It was Colonel Lejus who had reined him up, Hiero stared at where the man was pointing, half in disbelief.

The Unclean, beaten back and decimated on the waters of the Lake of Weeping, had been rallied, once they were back on shore and behind the screen of the forest. They were still a hideous and mighty host, and their leaders had turned them into the apparently empty marsh on their right. Here they were supposed to sweep around the defenses of the Republic, turn the long arm of the lake, and strike in the rear of their hated foe.

What had happened was just a little bit different. The wise old Abbot-General and Hiero himself had led the Unclean to conceive of this maneuver, and were waiting with the only cavalry in all the world’s history that could fight in a swamp even better than on dry land! The result lay before Hiero’s sight and was hard to take in, even though he had helped plan it.

Cut off from their rallying places in the woods, harried and shocked by the lances of the morse riders, what remained of the Unclean who had assaulted the marsh was being driven in a grim battle toward the waters of the lake. Stumbling, lurching, and screaming as it was ridden down, the ragged and broken crowd was herded toward the waters. The lines of morse and men had no gaps. The Republic had lost perhaps an eighth of its mounted force, but what remained was more than sufficient. A thin line guarded their backs, but no fresh eruption came from the silent trees to the east.

Out on the waters lay the final death. Silent and watchful, the five steamships waited. Extending their line out of sight, the arrow barges also waited. The late noon sun beat down from overhead on total destruction. Horns blew, and the Metz mounted troops halted and dressed ranks, tightening their formations. They now were a shallow half-moon; within its crescent, the Unclean, a shrieking mob of foul men and foul brutes, were driven inexorably to the place where the shifting foothold of the marsh became no foothold at all.

His lids half-lowered against the glare, Hiero watched, well content. The orders were “No Quarter.” What the enemy would have done in its place was well known. This at least was a clean death. For long years, the attempt of normal and reviving humanity, who wished only to live in peace and happiness, had been frustrated and constricted by these creatures who had been spawned by the Ultimate Dark. This was their reward. They had embraced the Darkness, and that to which they had given their souls was now upon them. Under the high, golden glow of the sun, let them perish. Forever!

The horns of the mounted men of the Republic sounded the charge for the last time. Lances in place, the crescent went in for the kill. It was slaughter. Pierced and ground underfoot in the marsh, the Unclean died if they took to the water. Should any manage to escape by diving under the line of waiting ships, a second and even more alert line of smaller craft waited for them. There were no survivors. Nor were there meant to be any.

Hiero had turned away when the end became inevitable. He looked now both around him and also at the line of morse riders who watched their backs and fronted the green wall of the forest.

He remembered to return his long sword to the saddle sheath. Both of his colonels were now beside him and looking at him in a way he found disconcerting. Why should they look at me this way? These men both taught me! At his stirrup, M’reen tied a piece of rag around the forearm of Za’reekh, while Ch’uirsh tried to scrape mud off his pelt. They looked at him the same way. The brothers Mantan, apparently unharmed, sat their mounts in their usual stolid fashion at the rear, but their eyes were also aglow!

I did nothing, he told himself. A little planning, but it was mostly Kulase Demero. Maybe I helped a little. But I didn’t earn this adulation! He fell back on prayer, looking off into the distance.

Father, preserve the least of Thy servants from the dreadful sin of pride! Besides, he added in a lower key, I really don’t deserve it!

God, or someone deputizing, brought a most welcome interruption. A mud-spattered morse rider pulled up beside them and handed a dispatch to Saclare. He wasted no time in tearing it apart.

“Hah! What is left of those scum is fighting for its life in the forest. They are being driven—driven, mark you—back on our lines! Your plans, sir, are working beyond all belief. 1 congratulate you. Who else would have had troops that no one knew about waiting to pounce, once they were beaten back? Do you realize, General, we have won everywhere?” His native emotion took over. “By the blood of Christ, Hiero, there are none of them left. We have blotted them out!” He withdrew at once, conscious of a gaffe. “Your pardon, General. I forgot myself in the excitement.”

“Troops that no one knew about,” Hiero said in low tones, almost to himself. “We met the main attack here, but what of the lower lake and the eastern, rivers down to Namcush? What of them, Colonel?”

“I have dispatches, sir.” This was a young man, one of Saclare’s mounted aides. Hiero noted that the boy had one arm in a sling. He had been to the wars.

“Let’s hear it, lad.” The Metz hated to see that glow in the boy’s eyes. How many had died for the cause this morning?

“Sir, the lower crossings were hurled back completely. Our ships and the Dam People stopped every attempt to pass. We had one big warship there. It was enough. The Dam People killed the rest. The enemy sent no more than a light wing in that direction.”

“So none crossed. Good news.” Hiero was physically exhausted, but the second task was unfinished. The Unclean mind shields ought to have been either taken or dispersed. Then where was S’duna?

He brought himself back to what the young officer had said. The Dam People! How many of Charoo’s young males and females had died? The lower lake and the upper reaches of the outflow rivers had cost lives. Which kittens would not see their father or mother come back to the lodge? He wept inwardly, then swept the feeling aside.

Something else, something more important, had been told to him! “Troops no one knew about.” Least of ail himself! But he could guess.

“Colonels! Parade the troops!” His voice blared, and he could see the faces wince as he yelled. He tried to become calmer, new allies are coming from the north. I want them received with all courtesy, all honors. The Unclean scum are driven into the water. I want all the troops available in line to receive our guests.”

Funny, The Unclean mind shields were gone, totally gone. He would have thought S’duna would have guarded himself. No, was nothing of the kind. It was nice to know Gorm was coming, though. Even nicer to feel that emptiness in the rear!