Tears of the Dead (3 page)

The most dangerous of mortals are those filled with ambition, but who lack compassion. Their hunger is never sated, their evil, always self-justified. Pride blinds them to the truth, even as their illusions crumble around them.

These men come closest to being gods.

The Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

The Captain of the Gate couldn’t hear himself think.

Bal-eeb leaned over Hur-ar’s mighty parapets and spit a thick wad of mucus into the mob pressed against the gates. The scene reminded him of cattle packed in the market stockades at auction; a mass of stinking, panicked animals sensing their imminent slaughter. He wanted to do more than spit on them, desiring nothing less than filling each and every one of them with arrows to quiet their screams. Their cries joined the mournful chorus rising from all the city’s quarters.

People are sheep.
Herded and slaughtered, that’s all they’re good for.
Underneath his smooth, confident exterior he hated all humanity...except for his men, of course.

He merely despised them.

“A waste of good arrows,” he murmured to himself.

“Sir?” his lieutenant asked.

“Reinforce the northern side of the gate. If these animals get out of hand, I want no less than twenty archers ready from both directions.”

“Yes sir.” The lieutenant nodded, and set about his task.

“Eight days,” Bal-eeb murmured once his underling hurried beyond earshot. One ill omen after another befell the City of Gold in the eight days since that fateful morning at the Black Gate. Each subsequent disaster foiled his plans and thwarted his ravenous ambition.

Moments after that sunrise, when the Narim failed to answer the call to trade, the beasts answered another call. As if summoned by an unheard command, the city’s feral dogs slinked from the shadows and released a chorus of howls so mournful people covered their ears. At that moment the oxen of the fields bolted their harnesses, and cattle crashed through their market pens and thundered down the Avenue of Merchants. In the noble houses, even in the King’s palace, pampered cats hissed and leapt for the nearest windows. The worst came when the sewers disgorged a filthy
,
brown river of rats.

The animals stampeded toward the city gate, with the largest beasts, cattle and oxen, in the lead. They trampled anything in their path, leaving crushed bodies in their wake.

Even warriors fled before the living tide. The stampede rushed out of the city before Bal-eeb’s watch officer could issue orders to seal the gates. The mass stampeded south across the Kupar Bridge and vanished. The few animals trapped within the city fell into a frenzy, attacking anyone who came near. Dozens of horses, including all those remaining in the army’s stables, fell under warriors’ arrows.

The farmers had no beasts of burden, the army no horses, and the city no meat. By sunset, the King summoned the priest and nobles. Prayers were offered and sacrifices made. Before the incense could rise below the enormous statue of the Black Dragon, the tremors began.

Over the next two days, a multitude of small earthquakes assaulted Hur-ar. While only powerful enough to break pottery and crack whitewashed plaster walls, they served to further unnerve an already frightened populace. The quakes also drove many foreign traders from the city, swearing under their breath the City of Gold was cursed. As a symbol of his goodwill and to ensure their quick return, the King sent armed escorts to accompanying the trader caravans to the edge of Hur territory. Bad turned to worse as the escorts quickly returned with reports of a rising Hur River.

A flat and sandy floodplain surrounded the wide, but shallow river. High, dry bluffs flanked both sides of the floodplain. In many places the bluffs were low enough for caravans to descend, ford the river, and ascend the other bank. Even at the height of summer, when the Hur River ran cold and swift from the distant Icelands, one could easily wade across. The great Kupar Bridge, the Narim’s gargantuan handiwork, stretched from bluff to bluff, high above the flat river.

Four days after the incident at the Black Gate, the Hur River ran deep and fast halfway up the bluffs. In several places it spilled over into the stumps and fields on the west and east banks. The Hur River grew as if trying to become worthy of the bridge that lorded over it. The bridge still stood high and strong against the current, but now was truly a necessity. As the river rose
,
the ill omens continued.

On the morning of the seventh day
,
the Royal Supreme Trader led another delegation up Cliff Road in hopes the Narim would resume trading. This time the King’s own bodyguard, led by Hecktar, accompanied the wagons. Bal-eeb and his troops were left behind, a devastating blow to his honor.

An astonishing thing occurred that morning. The Black Gate opened as shouts of joy went up from the delegation. The wagons rolled between the gates
,
and the outer gate closed. The brass bell rang out, and the gate opened again. Their elation died as the delegation discovered the wagons untouched and fully loaded. Three Narim stood next to the wagons, white hair gleaming in the morning sun just as the legends said.

And Hecktar, that fool, simply let them
walk away!
Just thinking about it made him simmer in renewed rage.

The three Narim strolled through the city to the gates. Worse yet, Bal-eeb’s former lieutenant simply watched the Narim as they walked out the gate and vanished to the west. He didn’t even wake Bal-eeb to report the event. Bal-eeb beheaded him on the spot. The Black Gates closed again, and the Narim remaining inside still refused to trade.

Bal-eeb would have stopped them and forced them to answer for what they had done. Narim or not, they interfered with his plans, his ambition. Just as Hur-ar endured setbacks, so had he.

The day before the Narim strolled out of the city, one of his soldiers, a trouble maker named Gilga, was killed escorting a slaver and whore to the city barracks. Bal-eeb intended the pleasure slave, a rare wench with silver hair, as a personal gift for the Commander; a bribe to stay in his good graces. His warrior slain and his bribe stolen right under the nose of the city garrison, Bal-eeb’s standing amongst the Captains of Hur plummeted again.

His mother’s rebuke this morning still rung in his ears. “Must I sleep with the Commander, too? Even I cannot wield enough influence to compensate for your failures!”

Like the thickening clouds to the south, Bal-eeb’s foul mood grew darker. He slammed his fist down on the parapet.

His sentries shuffled farther away without looking too obvious.

The final blow came last night, when the Commander summoned his captains, and informed them the campaign against the Scythians was on indefinite hold. Instead of grinding the nomads of the steppe under their heels, the legion fought to keep the city under control. The army would dip into its invasion stores to survive the winter.

Leaving the garrison barracks last night, he thought it couldn’t get any worse. This morning, it did.

At dawn a terrible fireball cleaved the sky in two. Now thin clouds veiled the heavens. Sheets of falling stars streaked out of the southern sky in broad daylight. The city roiled in full-fledge panic. Inside, thousands pressed to escape the cursed city. Outside, throngs of field slaves and stump farmers pressed to get inside, fleeing the rising Hur River. Dozens on both sides were being crushed to death, but he didn’t care.

The market descended into chaos. What was left in the fields could not be harvested. The Commander deployed the city guard to the last man; half the garrison manned the walls while the other half barely kept order in the streets. Bal-eeb knew by next week the market would be bare and the granaries empty. Then the real riots would begin.

He wasn’t concerned about starving. The army would always be the priority for food, the King and nobles wisely saw to that. He wasn’t even concerned about the looming riots. The Commander made it clear
,
if things got out of hand they would slaughter slaves and civilians until things were back under control.

Deep inside the city
,
the priests of Ba’al prayed under the statue of the Black Dragon, beseeching the dark god to bring back the animals, tame the river, and quiet the earth. After the fireball appeared, huge crowds gathered outside the temple and waited for the priests to emerge.

Bal-eeb only wanted to silence the screams.

On the city-side of the wall, a small detachment of soldiers armed with whips and spears cut a bloody channel through the mob. They bore the red waist wraps of the Royal Guard.

Hecktar’s men.
Bal-eeb ordered several warriors off the wall to open a channel through the crowd. As the Royal Guard approached
,
Bal-eeb recognized the man at the head of the column.

Cuts and bruises covered the small, well groomed son of the First Prince.

“Bal-eeb...,” Hecktar panted, trying to catch his breath. “The city has gone mad. We almost didn’t make it here. Water... please.”

“You’ll get water after you do you duty. What news do you bring?” Bal-eeb sneered.

Hecktar’s expression hardened at Bal-eeb’s offense. “It is the Narim. Shellbaz...the High Priest...emerged from the temple. He said the Narim are the cause of our ill fortune. They have offended Ba’al and have cursed us. That is why they are leaving the city. Shellbaz says we must march on the Black Fortress and burn the rest of them out.”

Bal-eeb didn’t care what the priests said, as long as it helped get everyone off the streets.

“What does the King say?”

“We cannot reach the King. The mob cut us off from the palace.”

Bal-eeb laughed. “The King is isolated and defenseless
,
and the Captain of the Royal Guard stands here, on
my
wall?”

Hecktar reached for his hilt. “The Commander summoned me, or I would be at the palace. I, unlike some captains, trust my lieutenants. The King is safe and I come bearing a message from the Commander himself.”

“Ah, I see.” Bal-eeb nodded. “A message. So tell me,
messenger boy
, what does the Commander require of me?”

Hecktar’s grip tightened. Bal-eeb grinned, pleased he could so easily rattle his rival.

Hecktar spoke slowly, words seething. “The Commander demands each captain send twenty men to ensure any gold or food found in the Black Fortress is secured for the crown. Otherwise, we are not to interfere with the mob.”

Bal-eeb grinned.
Even deranged sheep can be useful. It’s about time we cleaned out the Narim. If the men of Havilah can find their own gold, so can the Hur-po.

Bal-eeb quickly issued orders to his lieutenant. “Summon twenty men, ten off the north and south walls, and follow this
messenger
.” He absolutely delighted in speaking that word. If his men were present at the sacking of the Black Fortress, he would share in the glory and booty. He knew that fact must chaff Hecktar to no end.

In a few minutes Bal-eeb watched Hecktar’s squad, bolstered with the new swords and whips, cut a fresh path through the mob and vanish into the city’s belly.

Bal-eeb felt better. He hoped a substantial number of the rioters would perish in the attack on the Black Fortress.

The fewer mouths to feed, the better.

A cry went out from the lookout on the parapet tower. “Dust cloud to the southwest! A caravan approaches from across the river!”

Bal-eeb shielded his eyes and peered to the southwest. An enormous cloud of yellow dust turned the entire western horizon tan. It all looked surreal under the shooting stars streaking across the noon sky.

His blood ran cold. “That’s no caravan. Only an army can create a dust cloud like that.”

And only the Scythians can summon an army.

“Sound the siege horn!” Bal-eeb shouted.

***

Noah knew no ordinary army created the dust cloud Bal-eeb saw from his vantage far below.

He stood on the walkway atop the Black Wall overlooking the vast Hur Valley. Shem and Japheth manned the wheels, ready to open the outer and inner gates at their father’s command. The women waited deep inside the Ark.

Noah intently studied the western ridge, the long line of high hills separating the Hur Valley from the steppe. What he saw made his ancient heart beat faster. An inky sea dotted with hundreds of tiny islands covered what was once an endless, rolling prairie. The western ridge acted as a tenuous dam, protecting the thin strip of dry land remaining between the ridge and the bloated Hur River. The Kupar Bridge clung like a thread, straining to hold the two banks together.

Noah shivered as the dust cloud approached the bridge’s western ramp. Awed by his God’s power, alternating waves of gratitude and guilt washed over him.

This is only the beginning.

He lifted his eyes to the heavens swarming with shooting stars. “I have tried to walk in Your ways,” Noah whispered. “I’ve struggled my whole life to find favor in Your eyes, but why us, Oh Lord? Is the world truly so wicked, to deserve this?”