Dance of the Worlds

I love this story so far. This is already so amazing. It's interesting, the points of view of the different civs.

TheMistborn said:

The Battle of Uruk​

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There's an old SNL skit about a rare sport called "Balkan Dirt Diving". We seem to have a dude practicing to compete in that sport on the left here. Excellent screen cap, Mistborn. I give the little guy an 8.9.

Cato​

Cato had never forgiven Trajan for sparing his life.

After defeating him in combat and shaming him before the entire tribe, he then had gone on to allow his greatest rival to live, in direct defiance of their oldest traditions. Combat between rival chieftains was to the death, it had always been so. Then, fresh from subduing Cato, Trajan had founded the first Roman settlement at the edge of the Great Lake and defeated the remaining Roma tribes in combat. As ruler of two cities, both Mycenae and Rome under his thumb, Trajan sought still further glory. Perhaps he planned to subdue the Celts, the unruly, barbaric tribe to the west who had established a city there. Or maybe he planned to turn north, into the lands held by the Yuezhi and their ilk.

Standing alone in a silent dirt path in the city of Beijing, called Mycenae in the tongue of the Romans, Cato winced as he thought about further glory being added to the name of Trajan.

It can’t happen, he told himself. Trajan had won far too much glory already as supreme chieftain over all of the Roma. Cato never wanted to know what Trajan would do next, because he was sure Trajan would not live to carry out his schemes. It should have been me. It always, always should have been me. Trajan isn’t special. He just took our tribe one step further than we’d gone before.

Jealousy gnawed in Cato’s stomach and stayed coiled there, like the cold, smooth scales of a poisonous snake. Cato had schemed against Trajan for years in the shadows, made sure that nothing could be traced back to him- but nothing had worked. Trajan remained unbowed, his arrogance growing with each day.

But there were flaws in the growing state that Trajan had created. Cato knew that in such a loose tribal confederation such as the Romans old loyalties were bound to assert themselves. He’d been working for Trajan ever since that fateful battle at the edge of Roma Lake, and now, an old man of nearly seventy years, had seen the princeps remain unchanged, still as youthful as the day he’d issued the challenge to Cato.

But his allies had changed as time went on. Many were dead, and others now whispered the princeps’ days were numbered, and Cato had at last attracted the attention of one ally treacherous enough to turn against the princeps. It was this ally whom he expected to meet here, and why he was standing alone in a dark.

A chill wind whistled through the paths in the city. Cato’s breathing was labored and he let out a small cough. He shivered slightly. He should have been home an hour ago, with the satisfaction that Trajan’s days were numbered.

Cato felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, the elderly man spun around, to be confronted by a hooded figure in a cloak. The man was stocky, but Cato couldn’t make out any more of his features, for the black clothing that he wore covered him head to foot.

Cato was shocked. The garb must have cost the man a fortune in trade. Clothing had grown more extravagant in the years since Trajan’s reign as princeps had begun; the Romans now dyed their cloth using plants they harvested from around the city. However, the dyes were extremely rare, and Cato knew that only a few men could ever afford to trade enough goods to make up for the weeks of work it would have taken to make the dyed black cloth.

“Cato,” the man growled in greeting, his voice deep and gravelly.

Cato relaxed as he recognized the voice. It was his contact, the man he’d been expecting for an hour. “You. What kept you?” Cato asked, trying to keep his voice calm. The man carried a heavy war club, which he held loosely in one hand in a manner that said he was either an inexperienced warrior or a battle-hardened soldier.

Cato knew this man’s reputation well and had no doubt that it was the latter.

“I apologize for the delay,” the man said. “It was unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

Cato nodded absently. Now that the man was here, he was prepared to forgive him everything- assuming he agreed to what Cato wanted.

“You know why you’re here,” said Cato. “We both want the same thing- the death of Trajan and the destruction of what he has created. This tribal confederacy is an outrage to the ways of the Romans, no, the Roma.” Cato emphasized the last word heavily.

The man paused for a time, looking at Cato intently beneath the hood of his cloak. “Let us say, that I agree with you, to a point. What will be my reward for assisting you? I have done well under Trajan’s rule for the most part, and losing what I have gained even for a noble cause will not be considered.”

“I am sure you do not wish to be a subject of Trajan’s tribe any longer. You may have control over Mycenae and all of the surrounding lands if you wish. All I ask for is Rome. The city. Everything else can, no, will, be yours; I swear it by the Thousand Stars above.”

The man remained silent for a long time, and simply stared at Cato impassively. Cato caught a glint of an unreadable emotion in his eyes and looked away instinctively.

“Surely you are not pleased with what Trajan has done?” Cato asked incredulously. “He has broken the culture of our people, the Roma.”

“He has changed it,” the man said. “Whether or not he has destroyed it depends on the interpretation.”

“It is a flawed system,” insisted Cato. This was not how he’d expected to spend the meeting. “We both agree. Trajan must go. Will you listen to my plan now?”

The man moved so quickly that Cato didn’t realize what had happened until pain exploded in his skull and he heard a jarring crack. The old man gave a small gasp of pain as he saw the man lower the bloodied war club. Blood trickled down Cato’s forehead and into his eyes. He could feel the wet liquid pouring from his fractured skull, and some part of his brain knew he only had moments to live. He fixed his fading vision on the face of the hooded man and gasped out a final question.

“Why?”

The man regarded him, calm and cold as death itself. He did not answer.

Cato slumped to the ground, broken. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the night sky.

“You don’t understand,” said Brutus as he stepped over the corpse of the dead man. “Trajan must fall, yes. But what I do, I do not for vengeance. I do it for the future of Rome.”

Just a quick quip.

The Romans referred to China as Sinae.

Anyways, keep it up, I'll continue to follow this.

Brutus took my advice, I see, and didn't trust Cato... not even to use him as a pawn or catspaw for whatever he's plotting against Trajan. I strongly recommend bringing back Cato as Zombie-Cato, a true anti-immortal to tangle with your immortal protagonist.

It was midday on the Cadiz Plain, and the two opposing armies were massing on the Cadiz Plain. Valrus could see the Sumerians were outnumbered two to one. Ur-Nammu’s forces, while large, could not hope to withstand the horde the Iberians had massed against them. The gamble their sovereign had taken- to leave Berlin’s defenses and meet the Sumerian prince on the battlefield- had proven to be the right one.

King Aleudaric had hoped to lure the Sumerian army deep into Iberia, where it would be cut off from all outside aid. Ur-Nammu had taken the bait, and advanced rather than retreated. Now one of Alaric’s divisions was approaching Iberia from the Pyrenee Mountains, ensuring that Ur-Nammu’s retreat path was cut off.

Valrus was, even now, preparing his pack of warriors for battle. The others could see exactly what he did, and were hungry for the Sumerian army to fall. Valrus could taste the sweetness of victory just out of his reach. He too could sense the storm of fury about to break. Once his sovereign, the ruler of the Iberians by both heritage and might, ordered the army into combat against the Sumerians, there would be no stopping until the battle was won or lost.

Valrus knew victory against the Sumerians was the most likely outcome of the battle, but at the same time realized that, in the end, the fight would be determined by which side would break first. The death of Ur-Nammu would more than likely end the war in favor of the Iberians, while if Aleudaric fell then the panic could end up forcing the Iberians back to Berlin. That was an outcome that could not be tolerated. If their lines broke, Ur-Nammu would lay siege to Berlin, and the war could drag on for months later as pockets of Sumerian resistance continued on the Akkadian Peninsula.

Valrus was no real Iberian patriot, but over time he had grown to love his adopted country. He’d come from a village north of Berlin, whose culture had been absorbed into the mainstream Iberian twenty years ago. Their strange beliefs in a dark world ruled by Twelve Demons from a desolate wasteland made no sense to him. However, Iberia had protected his people, and in return Valrus had become a soldier under their command, rising quickly through the ranks and eventually becoming a pack leader. This title, only bestowed on the strongest warrior- chieftains of Iberia’s tribal government, made him a commander of the army of king himself.

Ur-Nammu couldn’t possibly win if it came to a siege, Valrus told himself. But he knew that if they lost this battle, against all odds, then it was more than likely that those who remained in Berlin would surrender the city to the Sumerians.

This must end here, thought Valrus, determined. He could see the main division of the army, under the command of the king, was preparing for battle, ready to charge the Sumerian lines. The war chieftain felt a twinge of unease. He knew that, according to Iberian custom, the king must prove his valor in combat by standing alongside the attacking division. This was not the way of his people, who preferred to preserve the lives of their war chieftains at all costs. But if the king did not prove his worth in battle, the code of the Iberians stated the king could be deposed.

It had been years since a king had been deposed in this manner. But just because it hadn’t happened in many years didn’t mean it was no longer possible.

Valrus was shaken from his thoughts by the thundering charge of a thousand soldiers rushing at the enemy. Lifting his weapon above his head, the war chief bellowed to his men, “Charge! Scatter the corpses of Sumer upon the ground!”

His men moved as one and rushed at the enemy.
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Ur-Nammu saw the Sumerian army charging at him and bared his teeth in a predatory grin. They outnumbered him, it was true, but the foolishness of their king could not be overlooked. He inspected the bow he held, toying with the string. A useful weapon, one his scouts had copied from the reports of the escapees from Uruk. There was no time to mass-produce them, so only one was currently in use by the Sumerians.

His bow. Ur-Nammu lifted the weapon, knocked an arrow to it, and with his keen vision surveyed the battlefield. He would only get one shot, he knew. One shot to devastate the Iberian advance. Then his location on the battlefield would be revealed.

If he was successful, the Iberian army would break before his assault and Berlin would be open for the taking.

Ur-Nammu’s smile widened at the thought of the people who had brought death to Uruk laid low. “So they think they can meet us on the field, do they?” he thought. The Sumerians were outnumbered, but they would fight to the end to defend their divine king.

As the Iberians charged toward him, he raised his bow.
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The Sumerians were down to their last few men, but Valrus knew that this victory would be bittersweet at best. Far too many of Aleudaric’s best had fallen trying to break Ur-Nammu’s fortified position on the Cadiz Plain, and the Sumerians had fought with a ferocity bordering on desperation. Over half of Valrus’ men had been slaughtered, and the Cadiz Plain was littered with hundreds of corpses from both sides.

The Iberians were trying desperately to break the Sumerian resolve before their own crumbled completely. Valrus could see Aleudaric in the vanguard, leading the charge against the few enemies that remained, while scouring the battlefield for signs of Ur-Nammu. Small clumps of Sumerian soldiers were scattered throughout the battlefield, fighting to the death, and still more had fled. The rest were gathered at the center of the Plain, facing Aleudaric’s charge, but Valrus could see no sign of the Sumerian king.

Grimacing, Valrus raced toward Aleudaric, who had brought down a strong Sumerian warrior. The king bared his teeth in a bloody grin. “Twelve Demons, this is a good fight!”

Valrus had no time to react, no time to cry out. One moment he was standing next to the king, watching the Sumerians scatter before his charge, the next he turned and saw the king was standing beside him, transfixed. One of the new weapons- an arrow- had buried itself in his skull. Aleudaric gave a small moan, then topped to the ground.

Valrus stood above the body of his sovereign, stunned. He lowered himself to his knees, and whispered a small prayer that the lords of Rashar, his overlord’s gods, would judge the man’s soul fairly. His hands brushed over the king’s eyelids, closing his eyes, then stood to face the remnants of the army, which was shouting incoherently all around him.

The death of Aleudaric and the rout of his forces​

Valrus saw that the line was about to break, and the Sumerians were pressing in, routing Aleudaric’s men. Valrus felt the cold claws of fear seize his heart. If their line broke now, the remaining Sumerians would force the Iberians into a full retreat.

“Hold the line!” Valrus bellowed. He could see his own men were all around him, fighting furiously to stem the Sumerian advance. As the Iberian lines broke, more of Ur-Nammu’s men were charging desperately at their army. “Hold the line! We still outnumber them!”

Valrus knew only one display of valor would turn the tide of the battle in his favor. He could see the archer standing amidst the men, and watched as he discarded his bow for a war club. Valrus caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes and saw the smug look of triumph in them.

All of his instincts screamed that he was facing Ur-Nammu, son of Sargon and the Sumerian king.

Lifting his club, Valrus hurled himself into the battle, fighting like a whirlwind in the deserts of Rashar. Two Sumerians were swept aside by his club, and he could see Ur-Nammu whirl around to face him, weapons raised. Valrus deflected the king’s blow, only to see two tall Sumerians racing up from behind him. Before he could move, Valrus’ men were all around him, cutting through the Sumerians. With a roar, the Iberian army charged after Valrus, suddenly once again emboldened. The Sumerians scattered all around him like leaves on a wind, until only one man remained standing before him.

Ur-Nammu.

Valrus lunged at the king, but Ur-Nammu was too quick and sidestepped, his club whirling through thin air. Ur-Nammu retaliated, driving Valrus back under a storm of fierce blows. Valrus grit his teeth at the pain, and as the Sumerian king’s finishing strike descended, leapt to one side and rammed the end of his club into Ur-Nammu’s throat.

Ur-Nammu gave a gasp of pain, which was abruptly cut off by a strange choking sound. He raised his weapon feebly, but Valrus knocked it from his hands and brought the club down hard on the king’s skull with a terrible smashing sound. The king dropped like a stone.

Shouts rang out from all around them, and Valrus could vaguely hear his own name being shouted by the Iberian army as the Sumerians fled in all directions. But all he felt was an overwhelming tiredness as he stared down at the broken form of the Sumerian king.

They threatened our land, yes, but it was our invasion that brought them down. Because of Aleudaric’s folly, we conquered Sumeria.

We also lost our king.

The fall of Ur-Nammu, last king of Sumeria​

Sixty years later…

“We commend the soul of King Valrus to the Lords of Rashar,” intoned the mystic, his voice solemn. A crowd of black-clad mourners had gathered around the funeral pyre of Valrus the Peacemaker, king of Sumer and Iberia. Beside the mystic, Valrus’ son and heir, Amalaric, stood, a torch held high in his hands. He looked into the closed eyes of his father one final time.

Valrus’ accomplishments had been many. After the conclusion of the Battle of Cadiz and his putting down of the few remaining rebels in Sumeria, he’d honored both fallen kings, Ur-Nammu and Aleudaric, with elaborate funerals, the latter with a Pyre of Rashar, the former sent back to Uruk for his last rites. Alaric had honored the king, and had reigned under Valrus’ direction as vassal ruler in Uruk.

Looking out into the crowd, Amalaric could see Alaric himself was kneeling below his fallen king, hands clasped. The ruler of Uruk had come himself to witness the passing of the greatest of Iberian kings, the man who had brought peace to Sumer and Iberia after the war. As his heir, it was expected he would keep the long peace as well, and preserve the Iberian conquests at all costs.

Watching his father’s funeral pyre begin to burn, Amalaric sighed deeply as he contemplated the duties that lay before him. The scent of burning flesh lingered in the air long after the mourners had begun to depart.


Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. With the Iberian conquests story mopped up I'm going to begin the first full story arc with the next chapter, focusing on the Indo-Chinese.

Alex Dog said:

Before & After: the Zombie Cato story

Brutus took my advice, I see, and didn't trust Cato... not even to use him as a pawn or catspaw for whatever he's plotting against Trajan. I strongly recommend bringing back Cato as Zombie-Cato, a true anti-immortal to tangle with your immortal protagonist.

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Now that is an excellent image. I like the sunglasses. Zombie Cato vs. Immortal Trajan would make for a very interesting confrontation...

Also, new update.

This story is too good to be dead. PLEASE COME BACK TheMistborn.

baseballpie said:

This story is too good to be dead. PLEASE COME BACK TheMistborn.

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Great to see people are liking this so far!

Don't worry, it's not dead, just updating slowly. Life's been rather hectic of late, but I should have an update out by the end of the week.

TheMistborn said:

Great to see people are liking this so far!

Don't worry, it's not dead, just updating slowly. Life's been rather hectic of late, but I should have an update out by the end of the week.

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Translation: expect the update in the middle of march. We here have the strangest sense of time.

TheMistborn said:

Great to see people are liking this so far!

Don't worry, it's not dead, just updating slowly. Life's been rather hectic of late, but I should have an update out by the end of the week.

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Yay!

Have I been forsaken once more?!

Oh well, it was a good start.