Siege of Stone

CHAPTER 6

General Utros had lost all but the most rudimentary tools, but he did have inexhaustible manpower, and his soldiers had complete devotion to serve the needs of their commander. He did not waste any time.

Within a day of their awakening, though the displaced army still reeled in confusion, First Commander Enoch sent teams into the hills to cut trees with sharpened battle-axes, to strip and haul the logs down onto the plain, where they chopped them into structural beams. With furious effort, the men erected a dozen command structures, with the largest headquarters for General Utros and the twin sorceresses. The workers created wooden buildings with sturdy walls, logs cemented with mud, thatched roofs of thin branches lashed with long grasses.

Though the awakened soldiers were oddly numb and impervious to the chill that had set in the night before, Utros insisted on building up the camp, pulling together as many normal trappings as possible. Though it was mainly symbolic, his fighters had nothing else to cling to.

Situated in the center of the plain, his headquarters structure was a rectangular building with a high roof, lit by daylight through open windows, as well as two braziers inside that held low fires. The rudimentary building was not as comfortable as his old lavishly appointed command tent, but after campaigning for Iron Fang across the wilderness, Utros was no stranger to austerity. This would do.

He sat inside the structure now, inhaling the wafting smoke from the braziers, basking in the orange-red glow of embers mixed with pungent herbs. With hewn logs, the soldiers had constructed benches and a long, rough table where Utros could conduct his war councils, but as of yet he had no maps, no paper or ink for messages, not even any fresh clothes. He hoped his scouting teams would soon find outlying towns where they could procure basic supplies.

For now, Utros sat on a sturdy bench at the head of the long table. With regimented thoughts, he contemplated Ildakar, his army, and his war. Ava and Ruva were with him, close and alluring, their skin as smooth as marble. Many times, he had watched the two stand naked inside the dim shelter, using razor-sharp knives to scrape every inch of their skin. The only mark that marred their perfect bodies was the ugly mirror-image scar on the outside of their legs, where their bodies had once been fused together from birth.

The paint that now swirled and colored their skin was faded and flaking, but neither of the two women looked weak. They were patient. They were strong. They counted on Utros to get them what they needed as soon as he could.

And he intended to do so.

The foremost ranks of his soldiers continued to pound on the impregnable walls of Ildakar, showing their might. Given enough time and men, and their hardened fists, they might actually batter their way through the thick stone. A tiny acorn growing in a crack could split apart a boulder.

From atop the walls, the defenders of Ildakar pelted the soldiers, dropping missiles on them: rocks, bricks, chamber pots. They poured down burning oil, which covered the fighters and sent them away screaming. But the projectiles caused little damage to the hardened warriors, and the actual casualties were remarkably few. The flaming oil seared them and their armor, but Utros had seen burn victims before. The fire didn’t have nearly the same effect on the partly solidified flesh. Maybe his vast army was no longer entirely human, but their stiff skin made them more invincible. As a commander, he could make use of that fact.

Hour after hour, lieutenants appeared at his headquarters, delivering reports in an efficient military fashion, as they had been trained to do. The officers described the disposition of the troops, the status of the awakening camp. Utros absorbed the information, memorizing the words because he had no paper on which to write notes. The twin sorceresses also listened intently.

When the vast army had marched across the Old World, crossing over the sheer mountains and covering miles each day at a forced pace, they knew how to set up huge camps along the way.

Now, one of his senior lieutenants stood before him at the far end of the table. Ava and Ruva stared with intense eyes, like two vultures waiting for a dying horse to perish so they could feed. The well-trained lieutenant ignored them and fixed his gaze on the general.

“We spread out the camp, sir. The valley itself shows none of the damage that our army caused on our march to Ildakar and the siege, before we turned to stone. I’ve dispatched a hundred squads for the usual labors, clearing spots for campsites even though we have no blankets or tents, excavating midden trenches. They’re digging enough latrines to serve so many men, thousands of pits.” He looked away, a frown on his pale, hard face.

Utros rested his elbows on the rough surface of his table. “What is the problem, Lieutenant? Report.” Dealing with the bodily functions of hundreds of thousands of soldiers was no laughing matter. Without efficient sanitation, the giant camp would become a cesspit, and diseases such as dysentery and the plague would spread. Utros knew that such debilitating sicknesses killed more soldiers than any enemy’s sword. “You still have spades. You have plenty of space to dig the pits?”

“The latrines are complete, General, but…”

Ava and Ruva stared at him. Utros grew impatient. “Speak! I’ve faced countless enemies and huge opposing armies. What could possibly be problematic about waste pits?”

“They haven’t been used, sir,” the lieutenant admitted.

Utros drew his broad brows together. “What do you mean, they haven’t been used?”

“No one has so far … needed them, sir. They haven’t…”

“Are they using the bushes?” Utros demanded.

“I’ve asked, sir, but no one claims to have felt the need. I confess, I haven’t myself, not even to … not even, you know, to piss.”

Of all the grand questions Utros had faced, this had never entered his mind. As he was about to growl another question, he realized that he himself had felt no need in the past day and a half.

And that led to another realization. His teams had made makeshift basins, delivered water from the streams across the valley. Utros had plenty of water here in his command structure, but he couldn’t recall whether he had needed to drink. “We’ve been petrified for an unknown time, and we’ve neither eaten nor drunk anything. Our bodies haven’t felt any such call.”

A knock came at the door as someone else arrived. Utros turned to the latrine commander, who backed toward the door. “It was merely an observation, sir. I felt you should know.”

“So noted. Thank you.”

The next visitors sickened Utros. He’d seen bloody violence in his many battles, had witnessed the most appalling injuries and torments, but this was beyond anything he had seen before.

Ava and Ruva lurched to their feet from the side bench. Even the subcommander looked sickened as he led four soldiers into the command structure.

The glow from the braziers and the slanted daylight through the windows lit the horrifically mangled faces of two blind, staggering soldiers. They still wore their armor, but their faces looked like chewed raw meat. Their noses were gone, their eyes gouged out. One man’s ear had been smashed off. Their teeth had been battered, and only jagged stubs protruded from their gums like shards of pottery. Their breath came in wet, sucking sounds through ragged mouth holes.

The third man had an arm shattered off at the elbow, and his ragged, bloody stump dripped onto the ground, though a leather belt had been cinched around it in a makeshift tourniquet. The fourth victim had a mangled crotch, as if someone had used a dull axe to chop away at his groin, striking off his privates and leaving torn flesh on his thighs. The victims moaned with the abject misery of their inexplicable wounds.

“We found dozens like this, General,” said the subcommander. “They’re alive and awake, and yet they’ve been mutilated. I can’t understand how it happened. It is malicious, senseless damage.”

Utros tried not to show his revulsion. His thoughts spun in different possibilities, looping around until he finally understood. “They were attacked while they were petrified and helpless. Some cruel person smashed off their features and left them horribly damaged.”

The general remembered when his army had swept through conquered cities, ransacking them. They would tear down the capital buildings, burn the temples, and destroy the statues, because General Utros would allow no god other than Emperor Kurgan. Yes, the Keeper dominated the underworld behind the veil, but here in this world, Iron Fang must be the one they feared and worshiped. If the conquering soldiers found revered statues of their leaders, they would batter the faces until they were nothing more than chipped stone.

Seeing the mangled wreckage of these soldiers, the broken arms, the maliciously destroyed groin, he knew someone had done the same thing, vandalizing the stone figures in his petrified army. But these weren’t just statues. These had been real men, loyal men, and Utros felt enraged.

“It is one more thing we will avenge when we invade Ildakar,” he said. “Tend these poor men, care for them however you can.” He wasn’t sure if the moaning, agonized victims could hear him. “You have already paid a tremendous price, and for that I am eternally grateful. I vow that Ildakar will pay a greater price than you’ve suffered.”

After they departed, Utros needed a moment to compose himself. He looked up with relief when First Commander Enoch entered, his rugged face showing a hint of satisfaction. Utros gave a lopsided smile with his scarred face. “Enoch, I hope you have a good report. I’ve heard enough details about latrines and campsites and mutilated soldiers.”

Enoch seemed pleased. “Yes, General. We finally have some answers.”

Three armored soldiers wrestled a pair of captives through the open door, a man and a woman. They were middle-aged, but bent with the years added by a lifetime of hard labor. They wore patchwork leather, wool, and fur garments. The couple huddled close to each other, but the soldiers pushed them into the dim room. The woman stumbled, and the man caught her arm, holding her upright. They trembled as they stood in front of the table.

The first commander stepped off to the left. “Our scouts found these two camped in a high meadow. They are animal herders tending fifty creatures called yaxen.”

“Yes, sir,” said the captive man, trying to sound helpful and cooperative. “We’re yaxen herders, just simple people. We pasture the animals and bring them in to sell at Ildakar or to other towns in the mountains.”

Utros was glad to have real witnesses, a man and woman who had not been petrified for years. “Then you have vital information for us. You know what’s been happening in the world.”

Ava and Ruva glided forward to regard the captives in predatory silence, their eyes boring into the shivering man and woman.

Enoch said, “We captured their animals as well, sir. Scouts are herding them back to camp right now, so we’ll have some food supply. Enough for our officers, maybe.”

“Good thinking, First Commander.” Utros steepled his fingers as he leaned over the table. He spoke in a calm voice, hoping the captives would not need to be coerced. “Tell us about the lands around us. Apart from Ildakar, where are the nearest towns and cities? Who are the leaders?”

“My lord, we are simply yaxen herders! We don’t know anything,” said the man.

Utros added an edge to his voice. “You may address me as ‘sir,’ not ‘my lord.’ I serve Emperor Kurgan, and I will be the judge of how much you know.”

The woman sputtered. “Emperor Kurgan? But, my lord … but, sir, he’s been dead for ages. He—”

Utros pounded his fist on the table, not sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. “What are your names? Let’s start with simple information first.”

The man reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “My name is Boyle. This is Irma, my wife. We’ve herded yaxen all our lives. Our two children are grown up and now they live in a mountain town to the north.”

“What is it called?” Utros asked.

“The town? Why, it’s … Stravera, my lo—… sir,” said Boyle. “Stravera. It’s the nearest large town.”

Irma cleared her throat. “Many of the other villages grew over the centuries after Ildakar disappeared, but now that the city has come back, we have a new market for our yaxen.”

Utros frowned. “What do you mean, now that Ildakar has come back?”

“Why, the whole city vanished for centuries, sir, disappeared behind the shroud of eternity. And your army … sir, it was turned to stone, too. Thousands and thousands of statues. They were there all my life, many lifetimes. There are legends about where you came from, but we were never sure,” Irma said.

Boyle broke in, “We’d take our yaxen to the high pastures in the summer and then down to the plain as the weather grew colder. We’d camp among the stone soldiers year after year. I think I may even have seen one that looked like you, sir, and … and the ladies.” He glanced at Ava and Ruva.

“Explain these legends. How were we turned into statues?”

“Why, everyone knows that, sir,” said Boyle, indignant.

The twin sorceresses quivered like serpents preparing to strike. Utros said, “If we knew the answer, we wouldn’t need to question you. Speak!”

“Why, sir, when the army of General Utros came to lay siege to the city, the wizards of Ildakar worked a powerful spell to turn them all to stone,” said Irma.

“After that,” Boyle continued, “the wizards knew that Ildakar would keep being a target for outsiders, so they worked more magic and swept away the entire city for more than a thousand years. Only in the past couple of decades did the magic fade. The city reappeared after all that time, so we started selling them our meat and pelts again.”

“Then why did my army awaken just yesterday?” Utros asked.

Boyle and Irma were confused. Their mouths opened and closed, but no answers came forth. They looked at each other, and Utros saw an undercurrent of caring and mutual protection flash between them. That was a weapon he could use.

“We’ve been up in the hills. We didn’t even know you were awake, until your soldiers captured us. Always before, we just saw the statues,” Boyle said. “That’s all.”

The general did not expect subtle explanations of magic from these two. “Tell us where to find Stravera and also describe the other cities in the area. As herders, you must know where they are.”

“We know of a few,” Irma said, “but I’ve never been farther than Stravera or down here to Ildakar, not in all my life.”

“Our two sons live in Stravera,” Boyle said. “Why would we need to go farther? The yaxen have all the pasturage they need.”

Utros didn’t think they were lying, but, to be sure, he asked the questions again, pressing for more details.

Because he sensed their vulnerability, he had Enoch snap Irma’s two little fingers, a brittle hollow-branch sound that was much more delicate than her shrill wail of pain. Boyle babbled and repeated his information, and the threat of breaking more of his wife’s fingers finally elicited the names of four more mountain and river towns that Boyle had heard of, but never visited.

“Thank you,” the general finally said, looking at the sobbing old woman, the ashen and wrung-out man. “You have been most helpful.” He turned to the two sorceresses. “Do you think they’ve divulged everything they know?”

Irma cried, “We have, my lord!”

“I assure you, General! I swear!” Boyle insisted.

“Very well. I believe you.” He nodded, and Ava and Ruva glided close to the two terrified yaxen herders.

“Can we … can we go now?” Boyle stammered. “We’re worth nothing to you as prisoners. No one will ransom us.”

“We’re nobodies,” Irma insisted, holding up her mangled hands. Her broken fingers drooped.

The sorceresses caressed the air around them in strange gestures, circling the two whimpering captives like hungry wolves. “You’ve given all you can,” Ava said in a soothing voice. “You no longer need to take up space in this world.”

Ruva leaned closer, drawing upon her gift. The twins were linked, their gestures in a perfectly symmetrical synchronicity. “Fold yourself up now, so we can put you away.”

Boyle and Irma twisted and jerked, not comprehending what was happening. Against their volition, their arms bent upward, pressing flat against their chests. They leaned over at the waist, bending at an impossible angle until their vertebrae cracked like brittle branches.

Boyle screamed as he bent his legs at the knees and then bent again in the middle of his femurs, breaking himself, folding down. His shoulders cracked and crunched, collapsing in like a wilting flower. Beside him, Irma continued to fold herself again and again. Like old blankets, the two human forms were creased and then folded, then folded repeatedly into a smaller and smaller package. Finally, their necks snapped and the screaming stopped. But the pop and crack of breaking bones continued as the two layered themselves into compact packages of dense, dripping flesh on the floor of the headquarters. The entire process took several noisy minutes.

“You may remove them,” General Utros said to Enoch. “Call me when the herd of yaxen is brought in. Tonight, we’ll have our first feast since awakening.”

All fifty of the shaggy animals were slaughtered at the edge of the camp. Because supplies would be lean for some time, the butchers were careful to save all the blood, to strip off the hides, to keep the offal, the bones, anything that might be useful. The pelts could be used for blankets or tent walls, the sinews dried as lines, the guts made into bowstrings, everything else boiled into large vats of soup.

The meat was roasted on huge bonfires, and although there wasn’t nearly enough to feed thousands of troops, Utros divided the feast among his top-level commanders and their lieutenants. The fifty yaxen provided enough meat to feed more than a thousand when judiciously rationed. Utros had made up his mind to take no more than the others.

He stood before the bonfire, inhaling the savory smells of haunches and joints searing over the flames. Meat juices dripped into the embers. The commanders pressed forward to be served.

Because of the tension and confusion, as well as the rigorous work he had to do, Utros had driven away all thoughts of food for more than a day, but he knew he had to have nourishment. He accepted a small serving of the fresh meat and made sure Ava and Ruva were also fed.

Feeling the heat of the large fire, even with dulled senses, he stood next to the twins and First Commander Enoch. They all took bites of the steaming meat, but the food felt oddly leaden in Utros’s mouth. He had often relished rare, dripping meat fresh from the hunt. He’d eaten countless meals of game cooked over a fire.

Now, though, he felt queasy. When he tried to swallow, his body rebelled. He didn’t want to eat. He couldn’t taste the meat. He felt sickened, and saw that his other commanders had the same reaction. One man even spat out his first mouthful, looking confused and embarrassed.

Enoch said, “Maybe you should give my serving to some of the men, General. I … I’m not hungry.”

Utros realized that neither was he. Genuinely perplexed, he looked around, saw that no one was eating the meat. All the slaughtered carcasses would go to waste. More details circulated in his head as he tried to understand, pieces fitting into place, even though they made no sense. He remembered no one drinking the water, no one using the latrines. Many supplies had gone untouched, though they were available to the soldiers.

His body craved no nourishment. The stone spell had preserved him for centuries, and it had not entirely let go. He stared toward Ildakar as the realization dawned on him. He dumped his meat on the ground and felt nothing. The others grew alarmed as they came to the same conclusion.

Utros smiled, understanding what an enormous blessing he had just discovered.

Maybe he wouldn’t need to feed his giant army after all.