Naamah's Blessing

into the valley. The
Sapa Inca’s
men were arrayed in a line across the far end of the valley. Raphael called for a halt. Keeping the ants in reserve, he sent forth a herald, a barrel-chested fellow with a deep, booming voice. The herald strode down the hill and within earshot of our opponents.
    “The Divine Lord Pachacuti offers you mercy!” he cried. “All whowish to join him are welcome! Lay down your weapons, and they will be returned to you in exchange for your loyalty!”
    The
Sapa Inca’s
men roared in refusal, beating their wooden shields with the butt-ends of their clubs.
    The herald repeated the offer once more, and once more, it was refused. He returned to our company, and our warriors parted ranks so that Raphael’s litter might be brought to the forefront of their lines.
    The litter was lowered, and Raphael stepped forth from it. He wore a long red tunic of fine wool, a great collar of gold, and a flared golden headdress atop his tawny mane. As much as I had come to loathe him, I had to own that he cut a stunning figure. Standing atop the hillside, he raised one hand, then lowered it in an abrupt gesture.
    From behind our lines, the black river moved forward, trickling between men and gathering to form a vast tide that poured down the hillside, blanketing the valley.
    It was a sight to make anyone’s skin crawl. I daresay the
Sapa Inca’s
men were brave enough, for they held their line until the black river was almost upon them, but the ants in mass were too uncanny, too terrifying. The men broke ranks and began to flee, stumbling over one another in the chaos.
    Those who fell were instantly engulfed, writhing and screaming; and at that, I had to look away.
    With a slight smile of satisfaction, Raphael issued a silent command for the ants to withdraw and divide. The black river parted in obedience, forming a wide swath and going still. Now our human army marched down the hillside into the swath, the herald shouting out his offer for a third time.
    A few of the
Sapa Inca’s
men fought nonetheless, war-clubs clanging futilely on the steel armor of the warriors in our vanguard; and mayhap a third of their number staged a successful retreat into the foothills, having outrun the fearsome tide.
    But the majority heeded the herald’s offer, flinging down their weapons and raising their hands in an age-old gesture of surrender.
    We made camp in the valley. The surrendered weapons were gathered and stacked in a pile, returned one by one as each of their owners came forward to swear loyalty to Raphael de Mereliot, Lord Pachacuti.
    There was awe in their faces, and I could not fault them for it. They had never seen anyone like Raphael. With his fair skin, his gilded-bronze hair, and sparks of lightning flashing in his storm-grey eyes, he well nigh appeared to be the offspring of some elemental gods; and there were the ants, ominous proof of his unnatural power. Lest anyone doubt it, a dozen skeletons littered the battlefield, bones picked clean.
    “Lord Pachacuti is pleased,” the herald announced after the last of the
Sapa Inca’s
men had pledged loyalty.
    Raphael inclined his head in acknowledgment.
    “Lest any man among you have sworn falsely,” the herald continued, “know that the black river is ever watching.” He indicated the vast mass of ants with a sweeping gesture. “To raise a hand against Lord Pachacuti is to be devoured by it.”
    They believed.
    Since it was true, I could not fault them for that, either.

SIXTY-EIGHT

    T hree days later, we reached the city of Qusqu.
    There were no further battles along the way. The
Sapa Inca’s
men honored their oaths and proved loyal to Raphael—or at least too fearful of the black river to resist him. We marched over wrinkled green terrain, ascending ever higher into the mountains, the climate growing colder and the air turning thinner.
    Qusqu was a jewel of a city, set amidst the arid heights. Like the Nahuatl, the Quechua were skilled engineers, quarrying stone without the aid of steel implements, building terraces planted with an array of hardy crops, harnessing the power of the river that plummeted from the peak of the mountain, taming it into canals that interlaced the city, providing fresh drinking and bathing water for all before spilling into the rich valleys below.
    We found the city partially abandoned and ripe for occupation. Laborers and merchants remained, but the
Sapa Inca
Yupanqui and his army had withdrawn.
    “My first