Amazonia - The Valley of Susa

Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve suffered through and endured, has led me to this place.

The border between Artaco and the Sasnayam province of Susa is the river Alvarez, wide and impassable, except for a few spots where there’s a bridge, or where it’s shallow enough for people to cross.

Like the Valley of Susa where I’m standing. In this place, the river can be forded by fifty men walking abreast, if they wished, though the river bottom drops sharply to either side. The Sasnayams have thoughtfully erected large, white stones as markers on both ends. A well worn, paved road runs up to the ford on either side, with a military outpost on the far side, surrounded by a small village.

An empty village, as the Sasnayam advance scouting party has already rounded up all the people and their livestock, and hustled them west, likely to serve the army now trampling their fields. The vanguard of their army, conscripted infantry in padded armor and carrying short spears along with large, light shields made of hardened woven reeds, have entered the water and are now wading towards the other shore.

On my side of the river, there is grass up to my waist covering the bank and extending up the slope behind me. With the Rune sword resting on my right shoulder, I run my fingers along the waving stalks as I stroll along the flat stones paving the road, leisurely walking down to meet them. The air smells clean, though the closer I get to the soldiers, who’ve reached my side and are beginning to assemble, I’m getting a whiff of old sweat off their armor.

On the opposite side, the vanguard resembles a troop of army ants, except these have officers on horseback yelling at their men, and occasionally whipping them as well, to keep the soldiers moving. None of the conscripts are wearing helms, just padded caps, and I can see a beardless young man’s face as he looks up the road and gasps. He yells in their language and at once the leading edge halts. More of them are yelling now and trying to back away, and since I’ve yet to call on the Shadow Knight, the reason is because of the one walking behind me.

Inanna’s corpse follows me as we continue walking towards them. She’s wearing leather armor with steel riveted in overlapping plates, a great-helm on her head, and a two-handed sword as long as I am, in her hands. I stop at the edge where the road widens to meet the river as the leading edge backs away until they’ve reached the water.

All is confusion, as those in the back push against the ones who’ve stopped, the officers on horseback whipping their soldiers furiously until one officer points at me and yells. On the edges, men are frantically trying to keep from being pushed out of the ford… there, several soldiers have slipped and are now falling downstream, screaming as the swift current carries them off. Good riddance.

Ah, finally. A half-dozen officers in gold washed chainmail are riding down from the far side, the sun winking off their armor as the lesser officers whip a clear path for the golden officers. Their horses struggle across the river until reaching my side, and as they rein up, one of them yells at me in their language. I yell back, “Do any of you speak Greco-Roma?”

Beneath his gold washed helm, the officer who yelled gives me a withering look. “Of course you cannot speak in a civilized tongue. I have no idea what kind of mummery you are performing for the White Horde, but we have no patience with your tricks. Get that thing off the road so this army can cross.”

In response, I take the Rune sword off my shoulder and plant it point down between two paving stones. “Khan Timur demands that you and your army surrender to him now. Otherwise, we will destroy you down to the last man.”

The Sasnayam officer gives me an incredulous look before turning to the others. He must be translating, for as he motions at me, the others break out in laughter. The officer makes a gesture to the others as if saying, ‘can you believe this madwoman?’, before turning back around in the saddle. “You and what army? Our scouts have reported that your barbarians have taken a defensive position in the hills not far from here, which considering we outnumber you, is sensible. I admit, it will take us some time to dig the barbarians out, but once the catapults are transported across the ford and reassembled, we shall make short work of them.”

A different officer calls out something in a derogatory tone of voice, and the first says, “Hesam is right: since the Lord of Storms himself is with us, how can we possibly lose?”

I give him a feral grin. “Shall I show you?” Before he can reply, the change begins, and I scream as it rips through me. The horses rear and the gold washed officers struggle to hold them as my flesh contracts into cords… I can’t take this, it’s too much, it’s…

Ecstasy. I laugh, wild and free, as the symbols of the winged lions appear on the officers and those fools behind them. I am myself again. “Up, my brave warriors,” I call out. “Rise up and kill.”

From the tall grass where they’d been hiding, several thousand of the dead get to their feet. The ones closest to me are the most degraded, wearing no armor and carrying wooden clubs, and following the orders they’d been given, they lurch towards the river as the rest of the Shamblers assemble into ranks.

These are the ones I’ve been saving for Timur. They’re in far better condition, wearing the crude leather and scrap metal armor made for them over the winter, the weapons in their hands good enough to hold up for a time. They come together in groups of one hundred as a couple hundred degraded ones continue down the slope.

The horsemen with large lion wings turn their beasts around and flee, shouting at the ones watching in horror as my Shamblers leave the grass and head towards the ford. A horseman with a whip, whose mount’s bracing itself against the current, is whipping his soldiers into a line at the river edge, their shields pressed together as the first of the degraded ones reach them.

They’re holding their ground for the moment as the dead press against their shields, beating against the woven reeds with their clubs as the infantry stabs my Shamblers with their spears. A few go down, their bodies too degraded to withstand the impact, but the rest pull down the light shields with their bodies as the clubs rise and fall upon the screaming men.

There, the Sasnayam soldiers on the bank and in the water are throwing away their shields and running away, the ford boiling in chaos as the horsemen whip them to no avail. Now the soldiers are turning on them, dragging the officers off their horses as the degraded Shamblers kill the ones remaining on the bank and splash into the water. The current’s strong enough to slow the living enough for the dead to reach them, the Shamblers pulling men down while the ones on the edge of the ford are being swept away. Their hands claw at the water before their padded armor pulls them down.

Farther up the bank, the vanguard’s in turmoil. The officers are trying to whip the infantry back in line, but the ones who escaped the ford are running away in all directions, and a few of the ones watching the degraded ones lurch through the ford are doing the same. Ha, one of the lesser officers is running away as well, screaming at the others as my Shamblers reach the opposite side of the river and start up the slope.

The vanguard’s breaking. More and more of them are throwing away their shields and spears, and even the horsemen aren’t whipping their men anymore. They’re turning their horses around and galloping back the way they came. The soldiers are so close together they’re tripping over each other, and screaming as the Shamblers reach them. Some of the dead have lost their clubs; instead, they’re lurching on top of fallen men and holding on to them fast as filth stained teeth gnaw at any exposed skin they see.

Now, every soldier’s running away as fast as he can. The slope’s littered with weapons and shields, which the degraded Shamblers ignore because I didn’t order them to retrieve anything. Instead, they’re stumbling over the discarded gear, the ones falling picking themselves back up again and following the others slowly pursuing the fleeing soldiers up the valley’s slope. The commander of the army just beyond the ridge will likely get his troops back in order soon, and send the next force to secure the crossing. Time to execute the next step in our plan.

Inanna’s corpse moves to one side as I turn around and point with the Rune sword at the closest group of Shamblers. “First company,” I say in the language of the dead, “form a line between that stone,” my sword pointing at the left edge of the ford, “and the other stone,” my sword swinging back to the one on the right. “Shieldwall formation, kill everything that tries to pass you, but don’t give chase. Hold the shieldwall as long as you can.”

The first group lurches past me and forms a line with their shields raised and their spears in their hands. The dead never get tired, and as long as the Shadow mana in their bodies holds out, they’ll keep those shields up. As they get into position between the stones, I move the other groups into position so they can reinforce, placing others on the banks just beyond the tall stones, in case the Sasnayams try to swim horses around the ford and flank us.

As the companies of the dead slowly move into position, the sound of hoofbeats coming from the opposite side reaches my ears, and I turn around. Cavalry soldiers are riding over the top of the ridge and down into the valley. They aren’t the elite Timur spoke of when he briefed my other, pitiful self, and the other leaders, because their armor’s hardened leather with rings of steel attached, and the same covering their horses. The first ones over the top have maces in their hands.

The degraded Shamblers are moving to intercept, but these horsemen are good, for they’re going after individuals, smashing skulls and riding the Shamblers down. The riders continue coming over the ridge, and there’s now at least a couple hundred going after the Shamblers. They’re getting bolder, going after clusters of dead… there, a horse’s going down and the dead are swarming in. The soldier’s screaming as hands claw at him, but other riders are surrounding the group. They’ve learned destroying the head’s the key to killing the dead, for they’re cracking skulls with their maces and ignoring the shoulders or arms.

As they make short work of the degraded ones, a rider with larger lion wings than the others barks out an order, and fifty or so break off attacking and accompany him to the river’s edge. As the rest of the cavalry mops up the remaining Shamblers, he barks another order and the ones with him reach behind and pull out bows.

I smile as the troop walks their horses a small ways into the ford. Water swirls around the animal’s knees as the riders put arrows to their bows and fire. There’s a hiss as the arrows fly, then the familiar thud as they lodge into shields or find gaps between them, a few of the armored dead stumbling from the impact as several fall.

Then they lurch to their feet and rejoin the shieldwall. There’s shock on the soldier’s faces, and the leader barks at his men again, the riders firing into the Shamblers as fast as they can. The front line begins resembling an archery target, with Shamblers falling, then getting back to their feet. The remaining degraded ones are down, some still twitching, and the rest of the troop rides down to the water as the fifty riders stop shooting. I believe they’re out of arrows.

The leader barks another order, and the fifty turn their horses around and ride back as the leader rides into the ford. I frown. What’s he doing? He reaches the spot where his riders had been, looks up towards the spot where I’m standing with Inanna, and yells something as he gestures in front of him. I think he wants single combat in the ford.

Even if Timur hadn’t warned my pitiful self not to do anything heroic, I would never do anything that stupid, but will he? “First company, make an opening for the human and let him ride through without attacking him.” As the Shamblers in the center move to form a passage with their shields, I say to Inanna, “If he’s foolish enough to take the bait, smash him when he tries to ride me down.” Inanna takes the huge sword in both hands as the leader stares at the opening.

Then he turns his mount around. Pity. “First company, reform to shieldwall formation.” As they do so, the leader turns back around as he pulls out a bow larger than the others, nocks an arrow, and fires.

It speeds over the heads of the Shamblers, and as the leader turns his horse back towards his men again and moves away, I watch as it strikes Inanna's forehead and bounces off. Then my eyes narrow as I notice something I hadn’t before.

Around Inanna’s throat is a collar bearing the stick figure woman symbol of the priestess Akbal.