The Guardians of the Halahala Read Free Page B

part, it smashed into his left jaw, splitting open his cheek and breaking his jawbone. The young man howled in agony and dropped to his knees, before toppling sideways and convulsing in the mud.
    The captain whirled around a couple of times, sword waving drunkenly as he waited for the inevitable fourth arrow to claim him. However, nothing came out of the dark. The seconds went by, and the captain felt the alarm rising inside him as the pounding of his blood filled his ears.
    Then he heard another sound – the gentle clip-clop of hooves.
    Slowly, from the far reaches of the shadows, a ring of horsemen emerged. As they drew near the torchlights, the captain noticed the shamanic
hriiz
branded on the horsemen’s foreheads. He hadn’t seen the
hriiz
in nearly ten years. The captain raised his sword, blinking rapidly to clear the cold sweat and fear from his eyes.
    â€œDrop your sword, old man. Don’t make us kill you.”
    The horseman had spoken in fluent Avanti, but there was no mistaking the coarse desert tongue of the Hunas – or the intent behind the words. The captain lowered his arms, his sword dropping with a clatter. At his feet, the young guardsman began moaning again, clutching his face tenderly.
    â€œYou are wise, so you will live,” the Huna chieftain spoke again. “You will live so that you can let your king know that we are coming back. And tell him, this time we intend to take Sindhuvarta.
All of it
.”
    Three Huna horsemen dismounted. As they approached him, the captain began backing away hurriedly. But two of them grabbed him by his arms, pinning him between them.
    â€œYou... you said you shall let me g-go,” the veteran bleated, wriggling in fear.
    â€œI did, and you shall. But we can’t let you come back to fight us again, can we?” The Huna chief’s eyes gleamed wickedly. Turning to one of the captain’s captors, he issued an order.
“Ah’khat waa.”
    Right away, two Hunas began dragging the captain toward the verandah, while the third followed, pulling a machete out of his belt. The captain could instantly see the horror in store for him unfolding before his eyes – the Hunas chopping all his fingers off, and him never being able to wield a weapon ever again.
    â€œNo, please... no, no. I beg you, please... have mercy... No...”
    The Huna chieftain watched the squirming and blathering captain being led away. He then hoisted a spear out of his saddle, dismounted, and walked up to the young soldier still writhing in the dirt. As the captain’s screams began shredding the night, the chieftain plunged his spear expertly between the young man’s ribs.
    The soldier’s body heaved once and went still.

Giant
    T he bullock cart trundled through the heavy drizzle, its big wooden wheels squeaking and grinding arduously on the paved limestone road that led up to the darkened palace.
    It was the sound of the wheels that first alerted the two guards at the palace gates. They emerged from a makeshift shelter and peered into the rain, their eyes seeking to validate what their ears had already told them. Their vigil was rewarded when the cart slowly materialized out of the darkness and lumbered to a halt in front of them.
    â€œWho’s there?” one of the guards demanded, raising a burning torch. His long spear pointed at the figure of a man seated to the front of the cart, huddling from the rain under a thick shawl.
    The figure shrugged the shawl off his head to reveal a round, chubby face that cascaded onto his chest in a series of double chins. The man had thick, rubbery lips that easily broke into a smile, and even in the dim torchlight, his big black eyes twinkled with mirth.
    â€œJust a humble cartman making deliveries, sir... though if you ask these two oxen, they’ll swear there are seven men on this cart.” The cartman grinned and threw the shawl off to show his broad girth – and a tremendous paunch