Hand of the Wicked

Chapter One

Summer in Andaban was blisteringly hot. Not even the dry wind from the south could cool the stones of the city. The siege of the city had lasted for months. It had taken far longer for relief to appear from the southern colonies than Colonel Dansby had anticipated. He’d been conservative in his estimate. Still, he had planned for the worst, and the city had begun the siege with a year’s worth of supplies. The great wells and water cisterns too had been full at the start. The hardest part of the endeavour was the heat of summer that was now upon the desert city. There had been skirmishes, attempts made at the walls of Andaban by the enemy, of course. So too had the witch Aisa, sister of the rebel king, used her necromancy to summon undead. But by the efforts of Colonel Dansby to rebury the graveyards of Andaban outside the city walls, few dead were raised and it was no threat to the garrison. The warriors and sorceries of the enemy had all been turned back by the soldiers of the 11th Sommerhall Light Infantry, the 14th Huz Natives, and the 13th Dragoons. So they settled into a stalemate. The rebel forces waited outside the walls for Andaban to starve, and the garrison waited for relief from Kathalamanyr in the south.

Two armies were said to be coming, armies which would carve a path of justice across the colony of Vurun, justice for the slaughtered Vastrum brigade and the enslaved colonists. They had lost all communication when the city had been surrounded. The lone telegraph line had been cut, and no horsemen had successfully made the run to connect with the next secure fort to the south. It was a long road from Andaban to Kathalamanyr. The road crossed mountains and rivers and deserts. That one road was the only real way north and south to and from the colony of Vurun, the colony where the indigo flowers grew, the flowers from which the magical narcotic aethium was extracted. Aethium was the magical catalyst, the narcotic that gave wizards the power to twist reality and cast their spells. Its value was immeasurable. This road was their lifeline. The armies coming up along it from the south might meet any number of obstacles. They should have arrived in spring. They were now into the summer months. If the army did not arrive by winter, there would be no rescue until the next spring at the earliest. If the army did not arrive soon, there would be no bloody campaign across Vurun to exact vengeance. The armies needed to be here soon, or the Vuruni rebels would have another year to entrench themselves and prepare their position and consolidate their power.

Major John Dryden stood atop one of the towers of Andaban looking north at the main body of the enemy army. He did this every day, stood watching, searching with a spyglass for Aisa, the witch. She was the one who had risen the dead and driven them from Vurun. She was the one whose loyal warriors had started the fight which had killed so many. Of all the Vastrum soldiers, he alone had escaped. Some few sepoy soldiers of Gulud had escaped as well. The rest of their old army, the 5th Brigade, the King’s Own, had been slaughtered trying to make their retreat across the Settru pass that led from the city of Vurun to the relative safety of Andaban. Some soldiers had been captured, but their fate was unknown. Many more colonists, the wives and families of the soldiers, had been killed or captured. They were certainly slaves now, or held for ransom, depending on their station in society. He dared not think on the privations they endured at the hands of the Vuruni. Revenge was his only concern now. He had recovered from his injuries almost fully, though when rain came, his shoulder hurt where he had been shot. All his thoughts now were focused on her. That witch. The one who caused it all. He would find her and kill her. He had made promises too. To rescue his people, Lady Julia Gorst in particular. He had promised her dying father, Colonel Gorst, as fine a battle commander as Vastrum had. His heart ached when he thought of her. The last he had seen her, she had spoken unkind words to him and slapped him. Dryden knew that every bit of her scorn was deserved. It didn’t matter. Above all, he had promised death to those who had slaughtered his comrades. He would see those promises through, every one of them. Duty and honour were everything to a man of Vastrum.

“Major, thought I might find you here,” It was Captain Benton, one of the 13th Dragoons’ squadron leaders. He didn’t see if the man saluted him.

Dryden grunted in reply.

“Found the witch yet?” The young Captain asked.

“No. Did you need something, Captain?” Dryden put the spyglass down and looked at the young man.

Benton was a homely lad. He had grey eyes, drab brown hair, too-big teeth, and one of those non-existent chins. His limbs were long and gangly. He looked the opposite of what one would expect of a cavalry officer. His parents were old nobility, and wealthy. They had purchased his commission. Still, the young man was an eager officer and had little fear in battle, which was more than could be said for many.

“No sir. Ahh, I wanted to ask you…” The young man trailed off.

“Ask me what?” Dryden put the spyglass back to his eye.

“I don’t rightly know how to ask,” Benton stammered. Dryden could see that the young man found speaking with him intimidating. He had gained a bit of a reputation, being the only man to survive the retreat from Vurun, even though he had not, in point of fact, been the only survivor.

“Just ask.”

“Well, sir, is it true the witch Aisa eats human flesh?”

“What? Who told you that rubbish?” Dryden asked, his tone harsh.

“One of the sergeants…” He started to reply.

He rounded on the young man with a bit more fury than he had intended, “I will not tolerate such foolery from my officers, Captain. From the conscripted men I expect it. From you? You are an officer and a gentleman, are you not?”

“Sir, I…”

“Are you not?” Dryden demanded.

“I.. I… Yes, yes, sir.” Benton stood a little bit taller and tried to puff himself up like a soldier.

Dryden shook his head and turned back to watching the enemy, “I’ll brook no stupid superstition in my command.” He murmured as he scanned the enemy encampment. The man stood at attention now, he had not been dismissed. Dryden softened his tone, “Aisa is a powerful sorceress, yes, but she is a woman. No more, no less.”

In the enemy camp, he could see tents from horizon to horizon. Colourful banners flapped in the hot wind. Kurush, the rebel king, had sent his own tent up opposite the main gate of the city. Aisa, his sister the sorceress, had set her tent up among the tents of clans loyal to her: An-Kujala, An-Zhigo, and An-Thabaz. Dozens more clans had come to fight Vastrum. Some were loyal to Kurush himself. Some were loyal to Aisa. Others were only loyal to the plunder and riches they could take by following this warlord. Dryden knew some of the banners well. Others were new to him.

“Sir?” Benton said. He was still standing there waiting to be dismissed.

“You may go,” Dryden replied.

“No, that’s not it,” Benton answered, “Look,” The Captain pointed out across the sand to the enemy camp.

Dryden pointed his spyglass to where Benton indicated. Hundreds of Vuruni cavalry were mounting up and preparing for something. As he watched, men under the banners of An-Thabaz, An-Zhigo, and An-Kujlala began to ride off to the north. Then he saw her. The Sorceress. Her dark hair and golden dress whipped in the breeze. He knew those eyes anywhere. Even at this great distance, he could see the fiery hate that burned in them. Then she turned her horse and with her men, rode hard towards the north, and vanished into the ripples of heat that danced and distorted the horizon.

“Captain, go find Colonel Dansby, tell him something is afoot. Tell him the witch and her men have ridden out.” The Captain went running down the tower to find the Colonel. The next day, the enemy came to attack the walls of Andaban.