The Village

“Commander, the forward scouts report about fifty guards. There does not appear to be any other armed fighters.” The solider stands at the entrance to a large tent. In the middle of the tent is a table with a map laid out over it. A large man leans against the table examining the map as he listens to the soldier’s report. His skin is darkened from a lifetime under the harsh sun. The armor he wears is black with a seemingly random pattern of engravings. He pushes himself off the table and grabs his helmet resting next to the map. He turns to look at the solider, his voice is solid and carries far, “Good, tell General Kei to see me at once.”

The commander exits the tent and takes a moment to smell the air. The camp is surrounded by trees, a foreign environment for the desert native. The commander makes his way to the edge of the encampment. At the edge of visibility, a small town can be seen. Ashandal, home to about a thousand villagers. As the commander looks, he hears the footsteps of his right-hand man, General Kei, “Commander, I have the men ready to pack camp and march on the town.”

“General, I wish for this to be a quick endeavor. Why should our entire army march on this small town? Twenty thousand troops seems like overkill for fifty guards. Instead, gather your hundred best soldiers and we can end this within the day.”

“Of course, We will be ready in ten minutes.”

The general leaves to ready for battle, and the commander continues to watch the town from afar. The large war party is part of a massive offensive campaign. They have been marching through Nustian territory for three months, defeating any resistance that stood in their path. The army is led by Commander Mũhũk, a feared leader who has served his empire flawlessly for a decade. Although Ashandal is a small town, there is a valuable prize the commander wishes to seize. As he concludes crafting his strategy, the general returns with the hundred men.

The small army splits into two groups. General Kei leads fifty around to the back of the village. Meanwhile, Mũhũk approaches the front of the village with the other fifty. As the group grows closer, the guards quickly spot them. It is clear, even from a distance, that the group belongs to the Mun Empire. The guards raise the alarm and rush to the entrance of the village. The village has no walls, so the guards form a makeshift barricade along the road into town. Half of the men kneel with their shields in front of them, the other half stand directly behind them, swords at the ready.

Mũhũk unsheathes his sword, now within a dozen yards of the barricaded guards. The golden hilt of the sword glimmers in the few rays of sunlight that manage to break through the canopy of trees. The darkened blade swirls with intricate designs formed in the forge’s fire. Mũhũk lifts the blade high, and the fifty men come to a halt. He holds it up for mere moments before slashing down through the air. As the blade finishes its arc, the small army charges forward towards the town. Their combined war cry echoes throughout the forest. Mũhũk remains a few paces ahead of the rest of the men and is the first to meet the waiting soldiers.

Mũhũk stops a foot short of the kneeling guard in front of him. The guard tenses and closes his eyes awaiting the impact. In this moment, Mũhũk reaches over plunges his sword straight down through the man’s shoulder. The guard behind him thrusts his sword hoping to take advantage of the situation. Mũhũk, aware of the potential attack, sidesteps the blade and swings the back of his left hand into the face of the guard as he pulls his sword out of the now dead guard. The man stumbles back and quickly regains his footing. Mũhũk lines up across the guard, sword at the ready. He rushes towards the guard, swinging his blade with lighting speed. The guard can only block a few of the movements before Mũhũk’s blade slices across his chest. He falls to the ground clutching the wound. As the guard bleeds out, the sounds of fighting around them begin to die down. The battle is over. The fifty skilled fighters of the Mun Empire have made quick work of the town guards.

Mũhũk turns away from the defeated guard to help attend to some of his wounded men. As he kneels beside one soldier, he looks to the rest, “The victory is ours, but our work is not finished. Take the wounded back to camp, two men for each one. The rest of you, bring the bodies to the center of town, next to the well. Be sure to slice the throats of every one of them.” The men begin to carry out the commander’s orders as the other half of attack party approaches. Mũhũk greets General Kei, inquiring about their task.

General Kei points towards a family tied up and held by a few soldiers, “We came around the back of the town, and as you predicted there was no resistance. We swept through the town and made sure that none of the villagers could run away. We found the target and his family quickly. He was smart enough to surrender without a fight. Thanks to you I think we avoided any serious casualties.”

“General, you know I displease your praises. Save your care for the men. Now, bring the family to the well. I am going to finish here.” Mũhũk continues to help facilitate the carrying away of the wounded and the gathering of the deceased as the rest of the men head to the well with the captured family.

After about an hour, a pile of bodies is assembled next to the village well. A handful of men, General Kei, and Mũhũk stand a few yards away from the pile with the captured family. The family consists of a woman, two children, and a man. The man is no ordinary man but is one of the higher-ranking generals of Nustia. He was on his way to the capital when the kingdom was attacked. On his way back to the frontline, he decided to visit his family in Ashandal. Unfortunately for him, Mũhũk was able to learn of this and now seeks whatever information the general has to offer up.

The town is silent. The gathered men wait and watch as Mũhũk stands apart from the group staring at the top of the trees around them. Ten minutes pass, and Mũhũk motions to a soldier with a torch. The soldier sees the signal and proceeds to throw the torch onto the pile of bodies. It takes only a few seconds before the pile is completely consumed. The smell of the dead crawls through the haze of smoke billowing through the town. Mũhũk makes his way to the family, who have been placed facing the burning pile. Mũhũk kneels in front of them so he can be eye level with them.

“Do you know who I am?” They look at his face and appear visibly confused. After a moment they shake their heads, too afraid to speak. He looks to the captured general, “I see. I am Commander Mũhũk of the Mundian Army. Regrettably for you and your family, I need your services.” Mũhũk stands back to his feet and places his hand on the sword strapped to his side. The general eyes the sword, fearing what might come next. Although he does not recognize the name, the general is familiar with where Mũhũk is from.

For many centuries, the two nations lived in peace under the former regime, prospering from trade and good relations. After a bloody revolution a few decades ago, the old kingdom was replaced by the new Mun Empire. The new empire was thirsty for land and resources not found in their dry desert landscape. In a flurry of surprise attacks, the brilliant commander made quick work through the outer territory of Nustia, now on a warpath straight to the capital.

Mũhũk begins to slowly pace in front of the family. “Are you familiar with the tale of Nebi Thermud?” He pauses, but receives only silence, “No? Then let me tell it to you. Ten years ago, I was promoted to commander. One of my first tasks was to disband a cult that had formed within the Empire. They were small, but their ideas were quite dangerous. They preached endlessly about their god and sought to create a religious movement. I believe your people also follow the teachings of Order. Quite a waste. As you may know, the Nebi ceased to exist many millennia ago, so I was naturally curious to hear what this great prophet of Mechezah had to say.

“He was an unimpressive man. Weak, small, relying on his ability to quote an aged holy book rather than his own talents. He spoke wild chants against me and threatened me with an eon of chaos. He died clutching that book. Every one of his misguided followers was cut down by my blade. This was just the first of many executions that would see Mun extinguish the ancient beliefs. By my hand, the gods will die.” He stops and peers at the general, “Understand this, I will not stop on my way to achieve what I want.”

Mũhũk turns to face the burning bodies, “In a few days, we will begin to march north to Nustan. We have reason to believe what is left of your army will try to hold out there and make a final stand. I wish for you to tell me if this is true or not.” He looks back to the general, ready for a response. His face remains resolute, “Please, I know nothing of what you ask.”

Mũhũk waves over Kei, “Bring me the knee ripper. And grab a chair.” General Kei returns after a few minutes with a small wooden device and a chair. He places the chair down next to the bound general and throws him into it. The man’s legs are tied to the chair and secured in place. The small device is two pieces of wood with a row of iron spikes on each piece. They are connected by two iron screws with a hand crank to move the lower piece. Kei secures the crude device around the knee of the man. Mũhũk inspects the set up. Satisfied, he repeats his request, “Tell me what the plan is.”

The man violently shakes his head as sweat begins to form on his brow. Mũhũk waves his hand and Kei begins to tighten the machine. As he turns the crank, the spikes dig through the knee. The man screams and shakes, but to no avail. The spikes tear their way deeper, ripping through muscle and flesh, until they finally meet. Seeing the knee is completely shattered, Kei begins to move the device to the other knee. Mũhũk examines the damaged knee and looks to the man, “Answer my question and you may be able to leave with one good leg.” Through gasps of pain, the man responds, “I will gladly trade my life for my people’s safety.”

Mũhũk takes a second glance at the torn knee, “Perhaps these crude methods of torture are ineffective against a veteran warrior such as yourself. Perhaps I seek answers in vain. General, take away the chair and ripper” General Kei quickly takes the items away. Meanwhile, Mũhũk walks next to the well and peers down the dark hole, “This well connects to an underground lake, correct?” He receives no response. He grabs a rock off the ground and throws it down the well, counting the seconds it takes to splash into the water. He then leans over the well listening intently to the water below. The slight ripples of water, as though something was swimming in it, echoes up the walls of the well to Mũhũk. He walks over to the bound family and grabs the oldest of the two children. The general and his wife cry out, but Mũhũk seems deaf to the yelling. He drags the child to the well, and in a swift motion, throws him into the well.

The splash is loud but is quickly drowned out by the panicked screams of the child to his parents. After a few seconds, the screams stop. Mũhũk walks back to the general and kneels in front of him. His voice is still solid, but this time more dire then before, “General, know that I abhor the killing of innocents, but we both know the Descended are not as merciful. Neither is their hunger satisfied with a mere child.”

“Please, I am begging you, stop this!” The general can no longer maintain his composure and begins to shed a tear. Mũhũk stands and begins to drag the younger child to the well, once again ignoring the plea from the general. Without any hesitation, he swings the child up and into the well. The same splash is heard, followed by a few seconds of screams, and then silence.

The general and his wife both crumble to the floor. Mũhũk walks to the wife and sits her up straight. He unsheathes his sword and places it onto her left shoulder, “You are Natalia, the spy who has been relaying stolen plans from the frontlines?” The woman’s face, drenched in tears, turns to anger. She spits on Mũhũk’s armor and speaks through gritted teeth, “You are a bastard, and I will tell you nothing!”

Mũhũk lets out a disheartened sigh. In a swift motion, as quick as a blink, he slashes his sword through her shoulder, severing the arm off clean. She cries out in agony and falls to the ground. She can do nothing but whimper as she slowly bleeds out. Mũhũk kneels once more and sticks the sword into the ground, inches from Natalia’s face.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

“I- I-... I cannot betray my people.” Natalia gasps in pain as she tries to speak. Mũhũk stands and places his foot on her head. He lifts it in the air and with all his might brings it back down, crushing her head. The general falls next to her, only able to place his head on her back.

The captured general finally breaks, having nothing left to lose, “It is true.” More tears stream down the man’s face as he looks up to Mũhũk. “The Nustian army is divided into four regiments. If two fall the other two retreat to the capital to fortify its defenses and prepare for a counterattack. The plan cannot fail, the capitol will never fall to you.” His head falls back down. Mũhũk takes a second to ponder the information before cutting the restraints.

“I hope you know this war is not personal. The Kingdom of Nustia is merely a gateway to greater things that must be opened.” Mũhũk and the remaining soldiers exit the town leaving behind the general and the burning bodies. The party arrives back at the encampment and the order to pack up is given. Mũhũk walks back to his tent. Before he dips his head to go in, he takes one last look at the smoke in the distance. He smiles at the majesty of his work and goes inside.