BOOK THREE

REVENGE
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Herrit, 33 and as fat as a prosperous cooper could expect to be, scowled in disbelief. It was absurd to think that the king was unaware of the danger, and he said as much.
A man whose name he did not know had just announced in a booming voice that a barbarian army was on its way to Felewith. Not everyone heard him - there was, as usual, a considerable hub-hub - and it was a moment or two before a ragged silence enveloped the room. He was asked to repeat what he had said, but now that he had everyone's attention he sounded less certain, and his announcement was greeted with a chorus of objections. Herrit's voice was one of many.
Herrit repeated his observation to his companions. There were five of them, and they were sitting in a rough circle on low stools in the large low-ceilinged room of their favourite ale house.
As Felewith, capital of Sair Jisenner, had prospered during the reign of King Sigmar, so had its brewers; no one could remember when there had been so many ale houses - almost one to every street - and most evenings Herrit spent a couple of karas in one or other of them with his friends. He could afford it; he could still afford it, although there were those who could not, for the good times were slipping away.
Changes for the worse had stolen up on the capital and its citizens with a stealth which had made them almost imperceptible, especially to a man of Herrit's optimistic disposition. When he declared that there was nothing to worry about he genuinely believed it; after all, everyone knew that the king was the greatest military commander in the world; it was unthinkable, was it not, that he would allow a barbarian army to threaten his capital?
Sigmar's successes had become routine as he fulfilled his oath to recreate Bedekka's ancient kingdom. His army had scythed through all opposition, and not a ruler remained in the tribal lands of Greater Sair who did not acknowledge him as paramount lord.
To the east he had imposed a king of his own choice upon the people of Eujinni, and within his own kingdom he had tamed the great nobles and annihilated the roving bandit gangs which had infested its forests in the days of his father and ignominious half-brother, Egmar. What reason had anyone to think that such a king would not very quickly see off this barbarian invader?
That night, lying beside Kassi his wife, Herrit thought again about what he had heard in the ale house, and he broke out into a cold sweat. Things were worse than he had allowed, and for the first time in his adult life, he was frightened.
He had, of course, been aware of the Murak barbarians for years, but they had always seemed distant and irrelevant. Even after they had begun to attack the territories of Greater Sair itself he had still refused to believe that they were a danger to him and his family. Felewith was safe; it had to be because judging by the stories he had heard, the Muraks were the very stuff of nightmares.
He had first heard their name years earlier, when they had begun to terrorise the people of Laifya; it was said that they were ferocious and barbaric, but too primitive to be a threat, and anyway, Herrit had little sympathy for the Laifyans, whom everyone knew to be as greedy as they were cowardly. He dismissed as trouble-makers and liars those who said that the Muraks would carve their bloody way into Sair once Laifya was theirs.
Reports then began to arrive of a war among the barbarians themselves, and even the most pessimistic could draw comfort. Herrit said confidently that they would kill themselves off, and did his best to forget them.
The Muraks, however, were to make that impossible; they reminded him of their existence with a new wave of conquests, and soon afterwards, the name of their leader was heard for the first time, its infamy growing day by day. Now everyone had surely heard of Jaejisir?
From Laifya he led his barbarian army on raids into the northern provinces of Greater Sair, and havoc rode beside him. Ruin and desolation were in his train. He struck where and when he pleased, and Sigmar was impotent as great tracts of his kingdom were laid waste.
In attempting to defend the northern part of his kingdom, he had been forced to neglect the southern, and it was here that the new threat had suddenly appeared.
As Herrit lay in his bed he offered up a prayer for deliverance to Tin Wina, Goddess of the Hearth. But he was still unable to sleep. He sat upright and tugged at Kassi beside him. When she was awake he told her that first thing in the morning the whole family would be leaving. "I heard this evening that the Muraks are coming," he said.
"But you always said we didn't need to worry about them," she objected.
"I was wrong," he snapped. "They're coming and they'll kill us all."
"Where will we go?" she asked.
Herrit put his head in his heads. "I don't know," he moaned.
"Try to go to sleep," said Kassi. "Talk to your friends tomorrow. See what they think."
Herrit lay back and she laid her arm across his chest and at last he fell asleep.
The next morning his anxieties of the night before seemed absurd; life in the capital was unaltered. He did talk to some of his friends, and they assured him that Sigmar knew exactly what was going on. It was even suggested by Targew the tailor that he had already fought and defeated the Murak army.
Herrit thought he would look ridiculous if he and his family fled the city when it was in no danger; he would stay, but keep his ears open.
That night he slept better, but as dawn was breaking he was awoken by the long drawn out wail of a turruntak, a brass wind instrument used on ceremonial occasions. Afterwards he was aware of shouting, and he was just getting out of bed when Harra, his seven-year old daughter came through from the room next door and wanted to know what all the noise was. She was soon joined by the other children, and then Brojan in her cot woke up. Kassi picked her up. "We must get dressed," she said. "Quick quick!"
Tesk, the second eldest, moaned "Why must we? It's the middle of the night."
"Because if you don't," Herrit bellowed at him, "you'll feel the rod!"
His uncharacteristic anger shocked the children into immediate obedience.
His family up and dressed, Herrit ventured out into the lane and was told that the Murak army had begun to assemble on the plain outside the city walls; within the city there was turmoil. Flight was impossible.
That very night all able-bodied men were drafted into a citizen's militia. Nopin, his eldest child, was drafted too, even though he was only 14. At Herrit's insistence they were put in the same company, and Nopin was given a light sword from the city armoury. As he swished it experimentally Herrit looked on, and could have wept.
The Murak army attacked at first light, but archers posted along the city ramparts prevented them from closing in. All day their assaults were repulsed and by nightfall the city gates were still intact.
With darkness, the Muraks withdrew to their encampment; in the city there was a barely-suppressed air of jubilation: the archers had performed magnificently, and the king was sure to arrive soon.
During the second day, the mood changed; there was no sign of the king, the archers were having to conserve their arrows, and people were becoming irritable from lack of sleep. Sigmar's non-appearance was causing mystification and anger.
On the third day of the siege the city fell.

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