Vida and Adran watched in astonishment from the top of the tree.
“The beasts of the jungle,” Adran said, his charioteer’s eyesight keener than the sight of Vida, who spent too much of his time poring over scrolls in poor light. “They have risen up and joined the Krushan to fight their enemy. I have never seen anything like it . . .” He paused, as if recalling something. “Except once before, on the night of the eclipse. But that was nothing like this. This is the entire jungle of animals, all united for a common cause.”
“Yes,” Vida said solemnly, “and the cause is Krushan.”
They watched as the army of assassins, all with weapons drawn, charged forward, racing into the circle inscribed by the extinguished fire, while the army of beasts raced outward, rushing to meet the enemy.
The two armies met with a clashing of bodies, human and inhuman.
Fangs met swords.
Claws met arrows.
Tusks met bellies.
Trunks grasped necks.
Paws struck faces.
Teeth slashed throats.
Swords hacked fur.
Blades pierced hides.
Through the smoke of the extinguished fire, the battle was visible in glimpses. Bears swung vicious blows, separating human heads from torsos with a single slash of their long claws, ripping open bodies to spill out steaming organs. Great cats sprang upon soldiers, tearing flesh, rending bodies, crushing bones. Elephants ran down hundreds of men, stamping their bones and skulls into the mulch of the forest floor. Owls flew through the darkness, ripping open faces, crows plucked out eyes, eagles slashed scalps and raked faces. Even the small creatures slipped up sleeves and down yokes into the assassins’ garments, nipping sensitive parts of their anatomy, distracting the humans long enough for the larger animals to do their grisly work.
But the enemy fought back viciously. Trained, veteran killers, they were not easily overcome. They used their weapons as easily against these animal attackers as they would have against fellow humans. They jabbed and cut, slashed and stabbed, wounded and maimed in every way possible. Even though they died by the dozen in the wake of the animal onslaught, they inflicted great damage on their furred attackers, giving no quarter, charging a heavy toll for their own casualties. They did not retreat, because they were not paid to retreat: they were paid to kill and die. And so that is what they did, even if the enemy they were faced with was not the one they had expected.
All night the battle continued; hundreds, perhaps thousands of animals died or were injured. But thousands upon thousands of assassins also died, and by the time the first faint light of dawn was creeping across the eastern sky, the corpses lay across the forest, human and animal alike, all intermingled.
Those animals who had survived the battle and were still able to stand, rewarded themselves by feeding on the corpses of their enemy. Those who were not meat eaters made do with a well-deserved meal of leaves, herbs, fruits. Or, in the case of the bears, honey from honeycombs hanging from trees: rich, dripping, full of nourishing sweetness, they consumed it with great relish, the golden treat washing away the blood around those great jaws and massive teeth.