Hand of the Wicked

Chapter Five

The front of the company broke over the last dune that rose over the old road. In front of them sat the old caravanserai called Ruvat Ban. It was a large structure with old ruined walls which ringed an old courtyard. There was a great old gateway in the style common to the centre of the continent. Once the old door had been decorated, but it had bleached in the desert sun and been scoured of beauty in the desert wind. Beside the gate was a lonely stone tower that stood in disrepair. Several dozen men still stood on the walls of the small fort. They wore the white and black robes of the tribes that traversed the Kryval Wastes to the west of Vurun. They were common on the old road between Andaban and the great trade centre at Ghinai. For now, they held out against their enemy. But it was not men that besieged them. A gasp went up from many of the soldiers around Dryden. He and Captain Khathan were alone in their lack of surprise. A horde of skeletons clawed at the walls of the derelict fort.

Havelock looked over at Dryden, a kind of surprise and respect dawning in his eyes that the Major had not seen before. He realised that the commander had not fully believed the stories that he and the Guludan captain had told. Now he saw the massed dead for himself. Dryden also saw that the men seemed to shrink back against this new enemy. Havelock raised his sword and pointed at the undead that surrounded the men below.

“Destroy the undead!” The commander shouted to the Dravani lancers who were arrayed nearby, “Slay them all!”

The men failed to obey. Some backed their horses away from the edge of the dune in a kind of horror. One of the Dravani lieutenants rode over, “Sahib. This enemy is dham. Forbidden. We cannot disrespect the dead.” His accent was thick. Dryden knew the man’s name as Captain Sustra.

Dryden nudged his horse over, “What’s the problem?”

“The bloody Dravani are refusing to fight the dead,” Havelock growled.

“They had no problem fighting the dead when they rose against us on the plains below Golconda,” Dryden demanded.

“That is a shame, sahib. Any who touched the dead in anger have rotted their souls. We will kill men for you, even demons or monsters. We will serve you well. We will not bring this curse upon ourselves.”

“Damn it all. If you will not do this…” Havelock began to say.

“I will do this.” Captain Khathan said as he rode up, “We do not fear the dead in Gulud.”

“We do not fear them!” The Dravani officer shouted, “To touch them is dham! Leave it to a Guludan to defile themselves.”

“It is not we who defile ourselves, these walking dead are an abomination of the witch. It is only she who defiles herself. I will cleanse this place if you will not.”

“Very well, Captain Khathan, take your squadron in.” Colonel Havelock nodded to the big Guludan Captain in respect. Then he turned and scowled at the Dravani, “Do not refuse me again.” His voice was icy.

“Do not ask us to commit dham, and we will not refuse you.” Then the Dravani cavalryman turned and rode back to his company of lancers.

Khathan rode back to his own men as well, the third squadron of the 13th. He spoke to Sergeant McFinely who stood up in his stirrups and began belting out orders to his men. His lieutenants and sergeants lined up their horses at the top of the dune. The hundred men of the third squadron all in a row under the raven banner of the 13th. Khathan held his talwar aloft for a moment, catching the sun. It reminded Dryden of the last moments of Colonel Gorst before he was fatally wounded at the battle for Settru Pass. Those desperate moments flashed in his mind. Khathan brought down his sword. The bugle sounded. Khathan’s men rode down the dune’s shallow slope and into the undead below. It was not a battle of acclaim or note. It was over swiftly. When it was done, Dryden and Havelock rode to meet the defenders who had held the small caravansarai.

Two men met them at the entrance to the fort. The wooden doors had been torn open, but the entrance was barricaded with carts and wooden furniture. These were now cast aside. The two men were both slight of build but had weathered and hard faces with the dark tan skin of the men who traverse the wastes.

“I thank you!” One of the men called out from the entrance as they worked to pull the makeshift barricade aside. He gestured to them with his palms out, “Will you take water?”

“We will take water and thank you for it!” Havelock replied, “Your well is still clean?”

“It is. Thank the serpent that the well is inside the walls here. We would have died of thirst days ago, and there is no worse death!” The man spoke Vastrum well. It was not a surprise. The people who traded across the wastes spoke many languages.

“I’m Commander Havelock of the 13th Dragoons out of Andaban. This is Major Dryden, my second. You are?”

“Yrzod Vras, I am a trader. We were trapped here when Vuruni bastards set upon us a mile to the east of here. She summoned these evil things and left us to rot. I lost many of my men. Most of those who called this place home are dead as well.”

“I trust that Bin’adal is in good health? He was master here last I rode through.”

“He fell to the undead, I am sorry to say.” The man shook his head.

“What is your trade, sir?” Havelock asked.

“I trade many things, sahib. Is there something you wish to buy? Most of my goods were lost to the sands, but I managed to salvage some things.

“No, I wish for nothing. I do wish to know what happened here. What is it you trade in?”

The second man who had come to the entrance glanced at Yrzod and whispered something to him.

“I say again, what is it you trade in?” Havelock demanded.

Dryden could not see any reason for this exchange. What did it matter what they carried? They had a job to do. They needed to get after the enemy. Forty-five miles per day General Haddock had told them, “Sir, is this pertinent?” The major asked quietly so that others could not hear.

Havelock leaned over and spoke almost in a whisper to Dryden, “Bulla Dul was the master of this place. He should have known that. They are bandits or slavers. I will not abide them.” then he turned back to the trader and spoke loudly, “I would see your wares.”

The man demurred, “I do not think you would want to see them, they are small things, trinkets, truly. Perhaps a silver necklace for your mistress? I will give them to you at no charge, sir. No charge at all. A gift for your mistress.” The man produced several lengths of jewellery from somewhere in his robes.

“Take them,” Havelock said, his words set the man at ease. He thought Havelock was taking the bribe. He said the words in a tone that told Dryden the commander did not mean him to take the jewellery.

Dryden rode up, then spurred Rosie hard. Rosie mounted the steps and buffeted the other man out of the way. Dryden kicked Yrzod in the chest, knocking him back and out of the gateway. Then he was through the gate. Yrzod fell back and then scampered into the caravanserai. Men and horses followed Dryden. They rode into the courtyard of the caravanserai in force. Dryden leapt from his saddle, drew his sword, and put it to Yrzod’s throat, “You will tell my commander where your goods are being hidden.” He nearly spat the word “goods” at the man.

“Take them! Take them!” The man pled desperately, trying to hand Dryden the necklaces. Dryden snatched them from his hand and threw them out into the desert sand.

“Where?” Dryden growled at the man.

The man’s hand lifted and pointed towards a series of several structures at the back of the courtyard that served as a boarding house for travellers, “In there.” The man groaned.

The fighters who had manned the wall surrendered quickly and with no casualties. They had bravely manned the walls, but they were overmatched and did not want to die. They threw down their guns and swords and were gathered up.

“You and you, check them for prisoners.” Dryden selected the closest two troopers. They dismounted and strode over to the buildings.

The buildings were checked. One of the men came out from one of the first room with a handkerchief covering his mouth. The other trooper came out and vomited next to the door.

“Sergeant, bind these men.” Havelock had entered the courtyard now, “See what that’s about, Major.”

Dryden sheathed his sword and strode across the flagstones towards the buildings. One of the two troopers stood and leaned against the wall, “It’s bad, sir.”

From outside he could smell something between shit and rotting meat. He clenched his jaw and stepped through the door. The inside was cool and dim. Still forms lay tightly packed around the edge of the room. He could not tell if any lived until one coughed. He knelt next to the form and put a hand on the shoulder. He rolled the figure over. He saw the face, gaunt and sickly. It was a woman, with the brown skin and dark eyes of a southerner. Even in the gloom, he could see that she only barely clung to life. “You’re safe now.” He said softly. He didn’t know if that was true. He stood and exited the room, “Name, trooper?”

“Daniel Trant.” The young man said in a familiar Marrowick accent.

“Well Private Trant, go find the surgeon and his staff. Some still live. They have been deprived.”

The major went to the next door. It smelled much the same. He went in. More forms lined the walls. One figure leaned back against the wall in the corner. His breath caught in his throat. A lone gold eye looked up through scraggly brown hair. He wore the coat of a Vastrum soldier.

“About time, sir.” The man said, his voice raw from thirst.

Dryden could barely speak in his shock. He croaked out a single word, “Mar.”