puzzled.
Link had failed, but its failure would remain hidden. Its reputation was essential to the Malwa cause, and the cause of the new gods who had created Malwa. The officers would take the blame.
The mass of soldiers in the bed of the Euphrates-perhaps fourteen thousand, in all-froze at the sound. Turned, stared into the darkness. Puzzled. The night was dark, and the dam was a mile away. They, too, could see nothing. But the noise was ominous.
Then the first breeze came, and the smartest of the trapped soldiers understood. Shrieking, cursing-even sabring the slower-witted men who barred their way-they made a desperate attempt to scramble their horses out of the riverbed.
The rest-
The wall of water which smote the Malwa army came like a mace, wielded by a god. Untold tons of hurtling water, carrying great boulders as if they were chips of wood. Smashing in the sides of the old riverbed, gouging channels as it came, ripping new stones to join the old.
By the time the torrent struck, all of the doomed men in that riverbed understood. The sound was no longer a distant thunder. It was a howling banshee. Shiva's shriek. Kali's scream of triumph.
All of them, now, were fighting to get out. Their horses, panicked as much by the terror in their riders' voices as the thunder coming from the north, were scuttling through the mud, skittering past the reeds, falling into sinkholes, trampling each other under.
But it was hopeless. Some of the Malwa soldiers-less than a thousand-were far enough from the riverbed's center to reach the banks. Others, caught by the edges of the tidal wave, were able to save their lives by clinging to reeds, or boulders, or ropes thrown by their comrades ashore.
A few-a very, very small few-even survived the flood. A gigantic, turbulent mass of water such as the one which hammered its way down the riverbed is an odd thing. Fickle, at times. Weird, in its workings.
The Euphrates, restored to its rightful place, raged and raged and raged. But, here and there, it took pity. One soldier, to his everlasting amazement, found himself carried-gently, gently-to the riverbank. Another, too terrified to be amazed, was simply tossed ashore.
And one Malwa soldier, hours later and fifty miles downriver, waded out of the reeds. The Euphrates had nestled him in a bizarre and permanent little eddy-like a chick cupped in a man's hand-and carried him through the night. A simple man, he was-simple-minded, his unkind former comrades had often called him-but no fool. It was noted, thereafter, that the previously profane fellow had become deeply religious. Particularly devoted, it seemed, to river gods.
But for the overwhelming majority of the Ye-tai and Malwa regulars caught in Belisarius' trap, death came almost instantly. They did not even drown, most of them. They were simply battered to death.
Twelve thousand, one hundred and forty-three men. Dead within a minute. Another nine hundred and six, crippled and badly wounded. Most of those would die within a week.
Ten thousand and eighty-nine horses, dead. Two thousand, two hundred and seventy-eight camels, dead. Thirty-four rocket carts, pulverized. Almost half of the expedition's gunpowder weapons, destroyed.
It was the worst military disaster in Malwa's history.
And Link knew it. The superbeing was already examining its options, before the wall of water had taken a single life. Throughout the horror which followed, the creature named Great Lady Holi sat motionless upon its throne. Utterly indifferent to the carnage-those dying men and animals were simply facts-it went about its business.
Calculating. Gauging. Assessing.
The officers would take the blame. Link would take the credit for salvaging what could be salvaged.
Calculating. Gauging. Assessing.
Which was not much.
By the time the next rank of officers crept their timid way onto the command tower, Link had already made its decisions.
'We must retreat. Beat the drums.
'Organize rationing. We will be forced to retreat through the desert, with few camels. We cannot risk a battle on this side of the river. Belisarius will have also collapsed the stones into the Nehar Malka, restoring the old dam. He will be able to cross easily. And there are still ten thousand persians in Peroz-Shapur. Our forces there must keep those Persians penned in while we make our retreat.'
Even with the grim reminder of the slaughtered officers lying on the platform, some of Link's new top subordinates dared to protest.
'At least four thousand, by my estimate. They can be replaced.'
'Pointless. They have no horses. No supplies. And we have no means of supplying them. Our own supplies are limited.'
'Belisarius will not fight, he will simply elude the Kushans and wait for them to die of hunger. A waste of excellent troops-whom we need ourselves. We must begin the retreat immediately. Send couriers to the Kushans. They must guard our rear as we march back to Babylon.'
The officers bowed their heads. They began to scurry out, but Link commanded them to remain. There were still some calculations to be made.
The officers waited, silently, while Link gauged and assessed.
It did not take the superbeing more than five minutes to reach another conclusion. A human commander, faced with that bitter logic, would have screamed fury and frustration. Link simply gave commands.
'Send word to our forces in Babylon. Tell the commanders to await our arrival, but they must begin the preparations for lifting the siege of Babylon.'
A last protest:
'We have no choice. Belisarius has savaged us this year, due to the incompetence of Malwa's generals. Our supply fleet was already stretched to the limit. This new disaster will destroy more ships. We have lost too many men, too many supplies, too much equipment. We cannot maintain the siege. We must retreat to Charax, and begin again next year. Do it.'
When the wall of water reached Peroz-Shapur, in the middle of the night, more Malwa lives were lost. Not many-simply those unlucky men among the forces guarding against a sally who had chosen the wrong moment to relieve themselves in the riverbed, away from the foul latrines of a siege camp.
Above, on the walls of the fortified town, Baresmanas and Kurush listened to the river. The Euphrates was back, and with it, hope.
'He has done it,' whispered Kurush. 'Just as he promised.' He turned away, moving with his quick and nervous stride. 'I must ready the troops. We may be able to sally, come dawn.'
After he was gone, Baresmanas shook his head. 'How can such a warm and merciful man be so ruthless?' he whispered. 'So cold, so cruel, so pitiless?'
There was no accusation in those words. Neither condemnation, nor reproach. Simply wonder, at the complexity and contradiction that is the human soul.
Elsewhere within the walls of Peroz-Shapur, in the slave quarters where war captives were held, two thousand Kushans also listened to the sound of Malwa's destruction.
Friendly guards were questioned. Soon enough, answers were given.
The Kushans settled their bets.
Those who had won the wager-all but one-celebrated through the night. They had the means with which to celebrate, too. Their guards were in a fine mood, that night. Wine was given out freely, even by stingy Persians.
Only Vasudeva refrained from the festivity. When questioned, the Kushan commander simply smiled and said, 'You forget. I made another bet. Enjoy yourselves, men.'
Grinning, now, and pointing at the amphorae clutched in his soldiers' hands. 'Soon, everything you own will be mine.'
