The noises of children screaming, men shouting, and fire eating at wood, grew louder as they passed through the gate and ran back towards the palace, taking a short cut through the bushes that surrounded the Great Fields.

As they burst through the undergrowth and out into the open, they ran straight into a group of horsemen. These men had black skin, far darker than the brown of the average Vaasarian. Small dark eyes, broad noses and thick lips. Their black faces had been daubed with white paint in diamonds, swirls and dots. They looked cat like. On their heads, were gruesome headdresses. Wrapped cloth with bones, horns and teeth hanging from it, that clattered and clacked as they moved. They wore a sand-coloured woven overcoat to the knees, tied with cord around their waist, and baggy trousers in the same fabric, that were tucked into fur lined, knee-high boots.

On their chest and back, over the coat, they had two solid squares, made from a substance Tamza had never seen before. These squares were roped together over shoulders and under their armpits. The same solid substance was around their wrists, like a large cuff. Tied from the cord around their waists hung long leaf shaped objects that had a cross grip at the top and ended in a sharp point. They each had an axe, similar to those the farmers used, but with the same strange substance instead of stone. Smaller leaf shaped, pointed objects were tied to each bicep. The men stank.

The horses were small and squat, the men’s feet almost skimming the ground. This explained why they could fit under the low arches that criss-crossed the town’s alleyways. The men with the painted faces rode them bareback.

“Archers,” Sumear whispered to Tamza. “They have bow and arrow like my father used when he hunted. But his arrow point was stone. I do not know what this dark substance is.”

There was shouting and they were surrounded by men on foot, with the leaf objects in their hands.

“Warriors, take there.” A man on top of a horse commanded and pointed to the centre of the fields.

Tamza and her father raised eyebrows at each other. They understood. Tamza had inherited the ability to speak with animals from her father, as he had inherited the ability from his, but neither were aware they could understand other human tongues. They had only ever heard, and spoken, the language of their country, Drome.

The sharp object was poked at Tamza’s father and he yelped.

“We go,” Tamza said quickly in the ugly, stilted language of these men. “Don’t hurt.”

The man on the horse stared at her in disbelief, which soon turned to suspicion. “You speak Xayy warrior?”

“Speak all languages,” Tamza replied, her voice shaking, cowering from the dark eyes and clinging to her father’s arm.

The Xayy warrior grunted and gestured to the warriors on foot. They shoved her and Sumear towards the centre of the field. Gathered there were the scribes, as well as a number of townspeople. The Vizier and his executives were all huddled together. The entire field was surrounded by the warriors on their small horses, aiming arrows at the crowd. In flowed more and more Vaasarians, herded by warriors on foot with the sharp leaf objects.

The Great Fields were larger than the grand square and marketplace, and soon it became clear that they were rounding up the town’s residents and bringing them here.

“What’s going on?” Tamza whispered to her father.

“I have no idea who these people are and what they want. Can you see Yaseena and the boys?”

Tamza stood on tiptoes and searched the faces around her. “No.”

He took her hand and they weaved through the crowd, looking, towards where the Vizier stood, which was higher ground.

The Vaasarians piled in, and started to squash together. No one challenged the outsiders. The Vaasarians were peaceful, never aggressive, and did not use their magic against other humans. Most magical abilities were practical, like making water boil, or pointless, like Baby’s green skin. Not one Vaasarian thought to turn their abilities against these Xayy warriors.

A horn sounded and in rode more men on horseback. The stocky horses were the same, but the men were different. They had skin paler than the Vaasarians, reddish hair down to their shoulders, thick bushy beards unlike the trimly groomed beards favoured by the town’s men.

The Xayy warriors watched as this party entered the field. The man at the front reined in his horse and those behind came to a stop. Tamza saw Dabecki, the One-Below-Warden-Of-Town-Wonderfulness get down awkwardly from a horse. Dabecki had a twisted torso, his hump large and deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other. The Vaasarians had descended from the desert people, their humps for storing water as they roamed the sand. But, after so many seasons of living near a water source, the Vaasarian hump had become a barely noticeable bump between shoulder blades. But Dabecki had been born with a large, misshapen hump. He stooped, and because he was always looking up at those above him, his forehead had deep lines and his mouth hung open, nostrils flared. He had scrawny arms and legs but a large, rounded belly. He wore a long robe, which was split up the back to allow his hump to poke through. It was tied haphazardly with cord over the top of his belly and under his back hump.

Sumear voiced what Tamza was thinking. “What’s Dabecki doing?”

Dabecki bounced up into the air and hovered near these pale men, his skinny legs dangling. His special skill, perfect for planning the town and seeing what could be built where, but also perfect, apparently, for scanning the field.

The One-Below-Warden pointed in the direction of the Vizier and dropped down. The pale skinned men rode their horses straight for the Vizier, at a gallop. Vaasarians jumped to either side to avoid being trampled.

The man at the front of the group, red hair flowing to his shoulders, and a polished band of the solid substance around his head, rode his horse up to the Vizier, who still sat on his chair. The pale man dismounted. He wore a finely decorated tunic, a short fur waistcoat and the same solid squares as the Xayy warriors. Over the breastplate, he had leather strapping to hold all his sharp objects. His leggings tucked into knee high leather boots and he had more of the solid substance strapped to the front of his thighs. He stood in front of Hannijad.

The Vizier’s executives helped their master to stand. It took a long time.

The red-haired man frowned, no doubt expecting this muscular, youthful man to spring up to face him. He beckoned for Dabecki.

“Does he have a sword?” The man spoke in a different language to the Xayy warriors.

Dabecki replied in the same language. “A what?”

The man waved his leaf object in annoyance. “One of these!”

“No, we have no weapons of any kind. We have no metal, none of this stuff you call bronze. I believe I told you that already…”

The red-haired man snarled in Dabecki’s face and the twisted, scrawny Vaasarian shrunk away. The man gave his sword to the Vizier and pulled another from his waistband. Hannijad grasped the sword limply in his hand, point down, as if he could barely hold its weight. The man lifted his second sword and stepped back, bouncing on his legs.

“Fight, damn you,” he growled.

The Vizier simply stared at him in bewilderment.

“Gah!” The man bellowed in frustration. He swung his great sword and sliced off Vizier Hannijad’s head. The killer roared, his headband glittering in the sunlight.

A gasp went up from the crowd as Vizier Hannijad’s body slumped, blood spurting. Then wails and keening as it sunk in, the town’s overseer was dead. Shocked, Tamza and Sumear joined their voices to the mournful cacophony.

The red-haired man stood aside as his men advanced on their horses to stab the Vizier’s courtiers and executives. It took five soldiers to take down the Custodian-Of-Full-Bellies, who barrelled into the horses, his ability allowing him to swell his body into a ball. The crowd nearest pushed forward, in an attempt to stop the butchery. But they were met by a wall of Xayy warriors, swords raised ready to impale any who got too close.

Dabecki laughed as he saw the Warden-Of-Town-Wonderfulness fall, his twisted frame bobbing. “I should’ve had your job! Vizier Hannijad snubbed me in favour of you when the old Warden died and went to see his God.”

One of the pale-skinned men gave Dabecki a shove and his mirth swiftly ended. He soared into the sky again. He cast his arms wide and shouted, “The Vizier and all his court are dead. King Edgar of Fertilian is now in charge of this town! All hail King Edgar!”

His announcement was met with confusion. Angry muttering, shouting, boos, as well as wailing and sobs at the sight of the beloved Vizier murdered.

The red-haired man who had beheaded Vizier Hannijad, climbed back on his horse and pumped his sword in the air. One of the Xayy warriors rode over to him. They slapped each other’s backs and took in the field of herded Vaasarians. This warrior had a headdress bigger than the others. A huge white tusk on the top of his head, curved upwards to the sky.

Dabecki continued to shouts and hisses, “King Edgar and his Fert soldiers, along with their Xayan friends, would like to make the transition to Fertilian rule as seamless as possible. He asks that all mothers and their babies or young children make their way over here, to my left. All men to stand here in front of me, and every woman who has seen fifteen or more seasons and who isn’t a mother, to stand here to my right.”

The crowd didn’t move, rooted to the spot in shock. Some shook fists at the traitor Dabecki. Sumear and Tamza were both stunned to silence. They clutched at each other, mouths opened, eyes wide with horror.

The Xayy warriors moved from their positions surrounding the field and into the crowds, poking people with their swords to obey.

Slowly Vaasarians shuffled to their designated position. Families said rushed goodbyes to their loved ones. Any that refused to move were poked with a sword, drawing blood. The screams and sobs as families were separated was deafening.

“Go, Tamza, over there.”

“No, Papa, I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.”

Tamza stood close to her father, until a stinking warrior wrenched them apart and jostled her towards the women.

“Hurry up,” Dabecki shouted from his position hovering in the air.

Each group was surrounded by the warriors, swords pointed at them. Tamza glared at the hovering twisted man, the Vaasarian who was helping these Ferts, these Xayans. The man who had betrayed his entire town.

The traitor spoke again, “First, the men. If you are a farmer, come to the front.”

There was some shuffling and almost a third of the men stepped forward. Farming was the dominant profession in Vaasar.

“Now, where’s Dhabat? Show yourself, man.”

Dhabat was known as the best farmer in the town, every season since Tamza could remember he harvested the biggest yield, and produced the best crops. He raised a shaky hand, but kept his head down. He was roughly seized by a warrior, hauled from the others, a small sword held to his throat. The remaining farmers were surrounded by warriors, four Xayans to every one Vaasarian.

The farmers looked around, confused, and shuffled closer together. Some of their abilities were on show, one man had inflated his chest, another’s fingers had turned into stone and one had shrunk to half his size. Unperturbed by the Vaasarian magic, the Xayans looked up at the man who Dabecki had called King Edgar and the Xayy warrior with the big headdress next to him.

King Edgar slowly dragged a thumb across his throat. The Xayan nodded.

In a flash, the farmers were leapt upon by warriors who stabbed and slashed in a frenzy, whooping and yowling. Each farmer was slaughtered, their magic pointless. The warriors grinned and laughed as they smeared the blood on the skin of their arms and down the cloth of coat and trousers.

Screeches went up from either side as women saw their beloved fathers, brothers, husbands, sons murdered. Everyone tried to take a step back from the bloody mass of heaped Vaasarian men but were met with the points of Xayan swords and huddled closer towards the centre.

Tamza comforted one elderly woman next to her who wept for her husband, repeating his name again and again. Tamza was too numb to weep. She kept her eyes locked on her father.

Dabecki called out the names of the best fisherman, livestock herder, basket weaver, beer fermenter and bee tender as well as several other professions. Each man identified was shoved to stand next to Dhabat the farmer.

The remaining men, including Sumear, were bundled closer to Dabecki. He beckoned to a warrior to bring one Vaasarian man forward.

“Now, let me remind myself who each of you are. Although I must say that if I don’t remember you already, it’s not looking good for you.” The twisted man chuckled, the deep lines on his forehead wrinkling into great chasms in his face.

He’s enjoying this, the evil, ugly man. Her father stood near the back of the group, and Tamza’s eyes flicked from Dabecki to him rapidly.

Dabecki was studying the man at the front of the group held apart by a warrior. “No, I don’t recognise you.” He made the same gesture as the King had, dragging a thumb across his throat and laughed as the Vaasarian man, who Tamza recognised as Malack the street sweeper, had a sword thrust between his shoulder blades. The body was lugged away and thrown on the pile of dead farmers.

The King shouted from behind Dabecki.

“Get on with it, man,” he growled.

Dabecki flinched and bowed low, still hovering. He quickened his pace, either gesturing for the Vaasarian’s murder or pointing to where Dhabat stood with the other saved men.

Women who had lost their men already were kneeling and wailing. Tamza carefully stepped around them to the front of their group, placing a gentle hand on shoulder or back as she passed. It was her father’s turn to stand in front of the traitor. Tamza watched, her legs shaking, heart thumping, breath stuck in her chest, praying fervently to the Bear-God to keep her father safe. She couldn’t lose him, her rock, her beloved Papa.

Dabecki considered Sumear awhile, hesitated, and pointed to Dhabat’s group. Her father's shoulders slumped and he walked there. Gasping for air, Tamza’s legs gave out with the relief and she fell to the grass, a hand on her heart.

Soon the only men left were the fifty or so who stood with Dhabat, all skilled in one profession or another. Tamza estimated more than one thousand Vaasarian men had just perished.

“Next,” Dabecki said, “the women and children.” He landed and walked over to where the women and children stood.

They were crying, whimpering, bawling. Babies squalled as loud as women who had just seen their men murdered. Tamza caught a glimpse of corn, and looked harder to see Yaseena, arms around her children, petrified. Baby’s skin was glowing green. Dabecki won’t hurt children… He cannot be that cruel…

The stinking warriors surrounded the group, leering at the five hundred or so women and perhaps one thousand children.

Dabecki leapt into the air and dragged his thumb across his throat.

The warriors moved in, howling and yipping as they tore babies from mothers and stabbed swords through their little heads, as they slit children’s throats or stabbed through neck, chest, shoulders and gut. Tamza screamed and surged forwards with the other women in her group, only to be restrained by the warriors. She watched in horror as Lil Araf and Baby were targeted, their terrified faces as they met their end would haunt her forever.

Sumear, and all the men stood with him, rushed towards the children, tried to fight past the warriors who stood in their way, but were beaten viciously. Sumear shouted for Yaseena, for his grandchildren.

Screaming, grieving mothers were left, a blood-red sea of dead Vaasarian children swamping them. Yaseena was cradling her lifeless sons to her chest, kneeling in the grass. Tamza could barely see her face, Yaseena had the ability to camouflage her skin and take the colour of that behind her, but her elaborate costume marked her position with ease. A warrior grabbed Yaseena and hauled her up. She fought him, screaming and he punched her in the head so hard that she slumped unconscious, her skin reverting to its normal colour. The women were pulled and pushed away from their dead children and towards Tamza’s group. Tamza looked towards the bear enclosure and mumbled a small prayer to her God, the Bear-God, to welcome these young souls if they come asking for a home. So many souls.

She rushed to where the warrior had thrown Yaseena and fell to her knees. Tamza hugged her brother’s wife’s limp body to her, rocking back and forth, repeating her name. Yaseena was breathing but her eyes remained closed. She was covered in blood. The blood of my innocent nephews.

Dabecki landed, his ability did not allow him to fly, and walked towards the final group. Now all women there were childless. The Xayan warriors swarmed around them like flies, and started to grope the women at the edges of the group, squeeze their breasts, lick their faces.

“Patience,” Dabecki shouted at the warriors, who ignored him. “There are a few useful ones amongst this lot. Let me find them and then the rest are all yours.”

The women clutched at each other, weeping, spitting curses at Dabecki. They were pulled in front of the traitor who either pointed to Dhabat’s group or nodded to the warriors. Those women who were deemed useful stumbled over bodies, bloody grass and towards where the surviving men were stood. The men grasped the women in open arms and hugged them, guiding them protectively into the centre of the group.

Those women who were condemned were seized by the warriors.

It came to Tamza’s turn, she lingered by Yaseena, tears welling, stroking her sister-in-law’s face, until a warrior grabbed her elbow and snarled. She managed to kiss Yaseena’s cheek before she was heaved to her feet and shoved in front of Dabecki. Tamza stood up straight, tightened her headscarf, and stared at the twisted, evil man. She knew him, and he knew her.

“Ah, Tamza, my dear, sweet, Tamza. You are useful for your bear taming skills, but… I do believe I kept your father alive. Well, well, we only need one bear tamer.”

Her voice quivered, but she had to be strong. “Keep father alive. He is more skilled than me.”

“But you are prettier. Go, stand with him. I shall keep you for myself when this is done.”

He pointed at Dhabat’s group.

Tamza pleaded, “Dabecki, save Yaseena, she is skilled at basket weaving…”

But a warrior shoved her and knocked the words from her chest. Tamza stumbled, and the warrior dragged her over dead men and towards the group where her father stood.

She went straight to Sumear, arms outstretched, reaching for him from paces away. She sobbed, barely breathing.

Sumear pulled her into a tight embrace, his hand cupped her face and held it against his chest as her arms locked around his waist. He was weeping, shaking uncontrollably, mumbling, “Oh my dear child… Yaseena… Lil Araf…Baby…”