The Raid

The summer sun burned in the midday sky overhead, paired with the humidity, and the strenuous work of rowing the canoe through the rapids of the river made Hùm sweat like a pig. Yet even as he forced his wooden paddle against the currents of the rushing water his mind would be plagued by other thoughts.

This would be his first raid and it was an ambitious one at that. Instead of raiding a nearby rival tribe the tribe's warriors are paddling their dugout canoes down river to raid the more rich villages of the Chu Kingdom.

The ambition of the raid aside, what Hùm really thought about was his mother back home. How she was originally a Chu villager who had fled into the mountains after the local lord had raised what she remembered as extortionate taxes that would have no doubt caused a famine for her village.

Hùm drowning in his thoughts nearly drowned in the river as the canoe hit a rock just under the surface of the water and jumped, causing the wooden vessel to nearly capsize. After they all landed from the sudden lurch the man in front of him, a warrior in his prime from a neighboring village would smack Hùm in the arm with his wooden oar. “Focus!” The warrior yelled in a gruff voice, having noticed Hùm wasn't doing his share of rowing.

Hùm grit his black teeth in pain and frustration as the warrior had managed to slap the oar right where he just finished getting a new tattoo the week prior. The tattoo was an ornate blue spiraling pattern going down his right arm and around the tiger tattoo that protected him from the various demons, spirits, and dragons of the rivers, or so the stories say. Hùm just shook the water from his short cut black hair and went back to rowing without a word, after all the warrior was right to be mad. If the canoe tipped in these rapids it'd be a bad situation for them all.

After the war party passed the rapids Hùm finally felt at ease enough to ask a few questions that had been bothering him. “Why are we doing this just after we finish planting the yams, couldn't we raid during a cooler time of year?” Hùm asked the warrior before him. “The plan is to use their rice against them, from what I heard. Their rice crop should be getting harvested as we speak, so the plan is to raid the village and use their rice to feed us before we move on to the next village down river.” The warrior replied as he rowed at a more leisurely pace now.

“That makes sense, from what my mother told me rice isn't like yams, you can't wait to harvest it after it's ready or it will fall off the stalk and rot. More people in the fields probably means less warriors around too.” Hùm replied, revealing the further genius of the plan. “Probably” the warrior responded, not really thinking over the details, nor interested in what this absent minded young blood had to say.

That was early in the morning of the second day since their departure. Hùm’s people had long known the power of speedy travel by using the many water ways around them to get around, for even being a collection of hill tribes the rivers around them were a constant boon and bane to their lives.

It wouldn't be until later in that evening that with the rattling of war drums would the raiding party finally bring their canoes to the bank. “That means the scouting party has seen our target. From the sound of it we're going to raid now.” Hùm’s fellow canoe rower explained to him. So quickly with only a bite of smoked fish to eat Hùm like all the other warriors set about preparing for the battle ahead. Hùm’s equipment consisted of two pieces of kit, a tightly woven rattan shield, and an iron axe. Most of the others were equipped with their hunting bows or spears. Some of the village chieftains were equipped with shields of wood and iron, iron swords, and leather or scalemail armor.

Soon Hùm found himself herded along a loose line in front of all the archers, for his job was a simple one; if anyone tries to charge the archers then he is to chop them down with his axe like so much a sapling. Along with generally aiding the spearmen and skirmishers flanking either side of him. The formation was a loose one that didn't march in unison so much as undulate towards its target. As the raiding party came over the lightly forested hill with the setting sun at their backs they finally saw the village. By rice farmer standards it was a humble little riverside irrigation community surrounded by wet rice paddy fields. Yet to Hùm it was practically a metropolis, easily twice the size of his own village.

The best archers in the line then proceeded to produce special arrows, whose tips were wrapped in hemp cloth and soaked in pig fat and or tree resin. One of the village chieftains then produced a smoldering ember in elephant dung which with some dried grass he blew into a quick fire. Each special arrow was then lit ablaze before that village chieftain threw up his fist in the air and the archers unleashed a burning volley upon the village below. Houses, stables, haystacks, and most everything else dried out by the summer heat quickly shot up into an inferno. The villagers quickly fought to either quell the flames or otherwise run into the hills with what they could.

That is when the tribe's warriors advanced down the hill, with archers taking aim at any who ran out to douse the flames or those few peasants brave enough to grab a farming implement and attempt to charge. In spite of the violence surrounding him, Hùm never had a chance to strike anyone even as they descended into the village proper. With the village already near half burning and the villagers routed the raiding party scattered to loot as much as they could before the fire took it. Some warriors took captives, others took what little valuables there were in this humble village. While Hùm and many of the other young bloods present were tasked with gathering rice and whatever other food they could.

While to Hùm and many others present the events of that evening passed like a bolt of lightning, in truth it had been hours since the raid started and the only thing lighting the village were the full moon and the fires of burning houses. That's when they heard the tolling of bells echo out from across the hills around them. What had to be at least five hundred armed Chu soldiers then ran out of hiding from said hills, all the while screaming various curses and hexes upon the barbarians who would dare raid their lands. As a volley of arrows would rain down upon many of the tribe's warriors. Hùm was both lucky and fast enough to block an arrow coming for his chest with a raising of his rattan shield. The arrow sank well past its iron tip through the bottom of the woven shield just narrowly avoiding hitting Hùm's arm.

Shouting and confusion overtook the tribe's warriors, nobody understood what the Chu army was doing here in some random village on the periphery. Shouts to retreat back to the canoes rang out into the night like an orchestra of primordial terror. Hùm of course heeded the advice of the more experienced warriors of his tribe and quickly began to run back to his canoe. Only for his path to be blocked by the flanking soldiers of the Chu army. Hùm dodged and weaved the various spear thrusts and sweeps with the pantherine grace of a hill tiger. Running along the bank of the river now with its numerous stones clattering underneath his sandaled feet, the canoes were finally in sight, his escape was assured now.

Until a soldier clad in lacquered leather armor welding an iron spear and wooden shield stepped out to block his path. The man was older than Húm though shorter, all that could be seen of his face were his teeth reflecting the moonlight. “This one's mine.” The soldier called out in the Chu language of which Hùm only really half understood from his mother. It didn't matter anyways, all Hùm had to do was bring his axe down on the fool's neck and make a break for a canoe. After that he could paddle up river back home and put this disaster in the past.

The soldier sent his spear forward aiming not for Hùm’s chest or stomach, but for his legs. Hùm quickly lunged and dodged the attack, sending his axe into the haft of the spear, attempting to disarm the warrior so he could either finish him off then and there or just run past a disarmed man. The axe did manage to cut in deep into the mass produced wooden haft of the spear, only for in the brief second Hùm needed to dislodge his axe head the soldier would abandon his spear and grab behind Hùm’s wrist at the arm instead. Hùm would twist against the thumb of the grip as he had a hundred times before in wrestling growing up only to be met by the soldier's wooden shield straight to his head.

Dazed but burning with the passionate will to live and fight another day; Hùm stomps down on the soldier’s spear, snapping its haft in two where his axe bit into it. Yet the soldier still kept his iron grip on Hùm’s arm, even as Hùm flailed his axe wilding trying to cut him. The soldier then while maintaining his grip, spun around, put his shield hand on the other side of Hùm’s arm near his armpit, and bent over, using his shoulder and back to lever Hùm’s body over his own and throw him to the ground.

Yet the soldier didn't stop there, as Hùm struggled to his feet the soldier would take out Hùm’s legs with his own and flip him around to where lay face down in the dirt. Keeping his hands in the same position on Hùm’s arm the soldier would lever it against Hùm’s own body, pressing it against his back as Hùm struggled and kicked like mad until he heard a loud and sickening pop and bolts of hellfire throbbing through the right half his body. Hùm’s right shoulder had just been dislocated, he did struggle like an animal caught in a trap but it was too late. The soldier produced a rope from his belt and bound Hùm’s hands behind his back, his axe clattering to the ground beside him.

The soldier stood up and dragged Hùm to his feet, the pain from his dislocated shoulder guiding him up more than the effort of the soldier himself. Making another attempt at escape, Hùm turned and attempted to sink black teeth into the soft flesh of his opponent. Only to be met with a palm strike to the nose, and the metallic smell of blood soon after. Dazed from the earlier shield blow, the pain of the dislocated shoulder, and the palm strike to the nose all Hùm really could do was be dragged along by the soldier who best him in combat.

Hùm’s opponent would rendezvous with his fellow soldiers as he dragged Hùm along as his prize. Doubtless as it was that Hùm was the only captive, in the darkness of night he couldn't see who else of the raiding party may have been captured. “Managed to catch one of these barbarian dogs did you? Lucky bastard, you'll practically get his weight in gold when you sell him. I heard the Bumi are paying top price for any slaves or captives they can get.” The first of the new soldiers proclaimed in jealousy. “Exactly why I went out of my way to grab one myself, with a bounty like this I could damn near marry into any family I want, noble or not.” Hùm's captor bragged with his chest puffed out. “Damn fool, if the captain finds out you broke formation to go manhunting he'll have your head.” The second soldier growled with worry in turn. “Exactly why some gold will flow into your purses if you swear up and down I was in formation with you two.” Hùm’s captor responded with the same bravado as before. “Let those Bumi barbarians spill all the barbarian blood they want, as long as gold flows into our purses. I swear on my ancestors you fought as bravely as I've ever seen right by my side.” The first soldier answered with a smirk and similar bravado.

That is when Hùm realized the true depth of his circumstances, he wasn't going to be sold as a slave to where he could just flee into the hill country again. No, if he couldn't find a way to shape his own destiny and escape, his fate was to be beheaded in ritual sacrifice as in the stories his mother told him about the civilized lands.