If she had a voice, thought Frost, I think she'd be singing!
There was a bronze helm, but she cast it aside. Too heavy, and it seriously restricted her vision. Kregan wouldn't approve, but then he didn't have to fight in it, either. Natira held a roundshield while she slipped her arm through its straps. Then, the unlikely squire belted her sword in place. Frost watched her carefully, for the swordbelt's buckle rested just above Demonfang's hilt, and she had not forgotten Natira's unusual fascination for the dagger. But, though her gaze lingered on it, the woman made no attempt to touch it.
Frost covered the dagger with a fold of her cloak, and the light seemed to leave Natira's eyes. She made a short curtsey, and without waiting for thanks turned and ran away, disappearing among the tents. Frost watched until she could see her no more, puzzled, biting her lips, fighting the uncomfortable feeling that her fate or the fate of this battle was somehow bound to the mute woman.
She would talk to Rhadamanthus about it later. Now, there was no time to waste.
She called Ashur's name, and all the camp heard the unicorn's answering cry as he rushed between the tents, kicking up stones and dust, narrowly avoiding soldiers who ventured into his path. Streamers of flame boiled from his eyes, and the twisted ebony spike of his brow shone in their terrifying light. A wild, unholy beast he looked as his mane flayed the air and the ground shook beneath his black hooves.
Like the horses, he was still saddled; the reins hung loosely about his neck. She afforded him a welcoming pat, swung up and rode off to find Kregan.
The Chondite force assembled on the north side of Demonium. At the fore, Kregan spotted her first and waved. He wore a sword this time, and his staff was slung over his back. In fact, all the Krilar wore steel.
“But this is only half the army!"
“The first line,” Kregan explained. “Chariots, mounted archers and cavalry. Aecus commands us. Minos will follow with a second, larger force of footmen."
“And Rhadamanthus?"
Kregan pointed to the top of Demonium. “My elder-brother waits there. He possesses the far-sight; nothing will escape his notice. His power and magic make up our third line of defense,"
“Alone?"
Kregan gave her a grimly reassuring look that didn't quite mask his own concern.
But there was no time for more talk. Aecus rode to the forefront and raised his staff. The silver-bound tips burned with a soft azure radiance. All eyes watched it; every man waited for the signal to charge.
Suddenly, the air above erupted with shrill screeching as the circling bird-things swooped at the army. A few men threw up their arms to guard their faces from razor-sharp talons; some fell clumsily from their saddles in panic. It was a brief attack, however. The creatures rose high and circled thrice more, then flew northward disappearing in the darkness.
Aecus growled a curse, and his staff plunged.
Her bones jerked as Ashur leaped forward with the first line. The shield banged on her arm and against her thigh. The sword slapped her leg. Over the Field of Fire the army raced, churning dust and glowing stones, and Kregan kept pace beside her, sword in hand. With a deadly smile she drew her own blade.
Ahead, the Shardahanis waited, a shouting sea of foemen.
At Aecus’ signal, the horsemen parted ranks, letting the chariots surge to the fore. They were the first to engage. Protruding from the axles, great spinning war-blades cut bloody swaths through horseflesh and footmen with equal ease. Men fell like wheat before scythes, or were trampled by the teams, crushed beneath ironbound wheels. There was no retreat for the chariots. When the mighty vehicles lost their terrible momentum the drivers whipped out swords and began to hack.
Close behind the chariots, the archer fired two volleys deep into the enemy's ranks, then split to left and right to harry the vulnerable flanks. In the wizard-spawned darkness their shafts were invisible death.
Frost abandoned her reins and hugged the saddle with her knees. Ashur knew what to do. She raised her shield, took a tighter grip on her sword. A horrible battlecry raged suddenly in her throat as the cavalry crashed through Shardaha's broken front line.
Metal clanged on metal. Flesh tore; bone crunched. Battle shouts and death cries mingled in a raucous clamor. Horses screamed in torment, glassy-eyed, beneath luckless riders. Swords and axes whined.
Aided by the momentum of her charge, Frost's first blow split a shield. Her second severed the head from its bearer. Something rang on her shield and she looked down into fierce, burning eyes half-masked under a bronze helm. Her sword met his once, twice, then bit deeply beneath his ribs. Knees buckling, he slid free of her blade, his blood gushing on her garments.
Beside her, Kregan leaned from his saddle, swinging furiously, reaping a ripe crop of Shardahani lives with his double-edged sword. For just a moment she dared to watch and found a prayer on her lips for the Chondite's safety.
On left and right she struck at the enemy, and at first the battle favored the Chondites. But for every one she slew three more seemed to take his place. They came at her, a relentless wave of flesh. Her shield was dented, her arm half-numb from warding off the heavy blows of men twice her strength. Though her blade proved quicker again and again she began to fear as her grip weakened.
Suddenly, a familiar horn sounded: retreat. With a desperate thrust she dispatched her nearest foe and turned her mount, cursing as the bitter note sounded again. An unwary footman bounced off Ashur's massive shoulder as she spurred the unicorn. Everywhere, she saw the Chondites fleeing, their numbers nearly halved. Ahead, she spotted Aecus, horn raised to his lips for yet another blast.
“Get clear!” he called when she reined up beside him, and he slapped Ashur's rump. “Get away!"
A mighty cheer swelled from the Shardahani ranks, then laughter. Though it filled her heart with shame and anger, she obeyed the elder's command. “Laugh, you witless pigs!” she heard him bawl. “It isn't over yet!"
They didn't run far before Aecus’ horn sounded a new note. The Chondites regrouped. Frost surveyed them a grim dismay. The superior numbers of the enemy told a heavy tale. Only four chariots of the original twenty-four had survived that first onslaught. The survival rate was only a little better for the rest of the force.
“Where in the Nine Hells is Minos?” she shouted as Aecus rode past her.
“Get down, and take a tight rein on that beast of yours!"
His tone brooked no argument, but before she could obey Kregan jerked his mount to a stop beside her and swung from the saddle. “What? Where's Minos? We can't engage that number again without help!"
“Get down, damn it!” Kregan nearly pulled her from Ashur's back.
Cursing, she slapped his hands away and straightened herself. No one, not even Kregan, manhandled her. But, looking around she saw everyone else had dismounted.
“Stupid, god-cursed way to fight a war ... !"
“We don't need Minos yet,” Kregan shouted. “Just watch!"
A rumbling grew deep in the earth.
“Rhadamanthus?” she whispered, incredulous.
He nodded, pointing.
Far across the field, the Shardahanis’ wild cheers turned to shouts of fear and confusion as the ground shivered and splintered beneath them. Warriors tumbled helplessly, unable to keep their footing. Horses reared in fright, throwing hapless riders. Then, in their very midst, a great gaping fissure opened; from that dark crack slithered three monstrous gray worms, thick as houses, many times longer than the fissure itself. With serpentine swiftness they moved among the astonished enemy, crushing entire companies with their horrible girth. Hundreds more were swallowed by the hideous black maws that sucked up anything within reach.
Frost watched with sickening fascination as a few pitifully brave men attacked the things with spears and swords and died for the effort. She had not considered that Shardahanis might possess such a thing as courage. A sobering realization to know that her foes were as human as she was with all the human failings
and all the human virtues.
“What are those things?"
“Creatures from the bowels of the world,” Kregan answered. “Rhadamanthus summoned them when he saw we were losing. But the effort will leave him weak. See, even now he yields control over them."
It was true. Without the old man's guiding will the grisly worms crawled back to the fissure that spawned them and slithered into its black recess. When they were gone the earth trembled once more and the mighty crack sealed itself.
But the enemy force was in chaos. Aecus was quick to seize the advantage. With a wave of his staff the Chondites charged over the distance, screaming at their foes. “Laugh, you whoreson pigs!” she heard the elder call. “Laugh now!"
With sword, axe and lance they assailed the confused and frightened Shardahanis. Bodies dotted the plain. Crimson wakes followed the remaining chariots as they pushed deep into the enemy's heart. Men died spilling their blood into the uncaring dust.
Frost's sword was a singing messenger of doom. She slashed to right and left, cutting through any who dared challenge or approach her, any who fell within her sword's reach. No fatigue now, but a red haze settled over her eyes as she did vicious, deadly work.
But when the Shardahanis finally rallied and began to fight back the tide turned once more against the Chondites. The mournful blast from Aecus’ horn shocked her from her battle frenzy. She looked around; a black sea of enemy warriors stretched before, and her heart sank. Her comrades were in full rout. The horn blew again. Nothing to do but flee.
This time, though, the enemy gave chase. Shouting war cries they followed hot on the Chondites’ heels. Frost cast fearful glances over her shoulder and bent low to Ashur's neck, urging him to greater speed.
Then, her mouth twitched in a cold smile. Far ahead, something rippled over the shining stones: Minos and the advancing second line. Now, by Tak, they could fight with renewed strength. Fresh troops might yet make a difference. A horn sounded the order to regroup. She turned, sword ready, prepared to meet the enemy's rush.
Instead, a cry tore from her lips, and she threw up an arm to guard her eyes. A hot wind scorched her face and hands as a roaring wall of flame shot up from the bare earth. Screams of pain and anguish, the sickly odor of burned flesh rose with the crackling fire.
Slowly, realization dawned on her. Not her Chondite allies, but the Shardahanis were caught in that inferno. She twisted in the saddle. In the far distance a faint azure glow marked the peak of Demonium; Rhadamanthus had regained his strength and interceded again. As she watched the glow began to fade, and the heat from the fiery wall lessened. She wet her lips and swallowed. A horrible way to die, by fire.
But was there a good way to die?
No time to ponder that. As suddenly as they sprang up the flames vanished, leaving a wide, blackened patch of earth littered with the charred, smoking remains of men and horses. Aecus’ staff came down again; she grit her teeth and charged.
The enemy ranks were in turmoil, thrown off balance by the magical power of the Black Arrow's elder. Frost spurred her steed into the thickest part and went to work. It was butchery. Again and again her sword fell on men too stunned to defend themselves. Strike hard and fast, without mercy, that was the plan. She shut her ears to the death-cries and struck until her arm was too weary to lift her blade, and she pulled back for the first time from the battle to rest.
A grim scene greeted her. The second line brought new, angry life to the Chondite side. Archers sent their shafts into the deepest part of the Wizard-lord's army; when the arrows were gone the archers drew swords and joined the melee. Pikemen advanced with juggernaut precision in phalanx formation, slaying with ruthless efficiency. A hundred slingmen hurled smooth stones with deadly accuracy; when their missile pouches were empty they used the rocks that gave the Field of Fire its name, and if the rougher missiles were not as accurate they took a greater toll on the enemy's courage as they cut burning streaks across the dark sky.
Chondite fighting skill and Chondite sorcery. Together, they shattered the Shardahanis’ confidence until numbers no longer mattered. The dead strewed the field. The minions of Zarad-Krul fell like ripe wheat beneath the swords and mystic staves of Chondos.
A chorus of voices swelled over the din of fighting as the Chondites began to sing. The tunes were eerie, haunting, full of counter-balanced harmonies that made her shiver. They sang of Hell and death and terror, of their brotherhoods and elders, of the guardian of the Book. Yes, they sang of her.
Night's angel, the songs named her, Death's maiden and Reaper of Souls. The sword trembled in her hand; crimson droplets ran down its length and were sucked up by the ground. A sudden numbing fear gripped her heart as she recognized what her own future held. Sweat beaded on her brow. She wiped it away with a blood-soaked sleeve, making a red smear on her face.
“You fool! Why in the Nine Hells did you sound the recall? We could have chased the dogs all the way back to Shardaha!"
Frost stared at the ground, the ceiling, the four walls of the tent, determined to stay out of the argument. But as she listened to Aecus rage at Minos she clenched her fists.
“We had them beaten!” The Elder of the Argent Cup bellowed. “We could have crushed Zarad-Krul's army to the man and finished this thing here and now!"
Minos’ eyes went cold. “We are not in the business of slaughter, and this is not a stockyard for your personal pleasure. Our immediate concern is to guard the sacred Gate."
Rhadamanthus sank wearily onto a stool. “We have to hold our line here, friends.” He stressed the last word, attempting to bring peace to a tense situation. “We haven't enough men to guard Demonium and pursue stray Shardahanis across the countryside."
“Zarad-Krul will show himself soon enough,” Minos said. “To face him will require all our united strength."
Hafid stirred from his place beside Kregan. “Then we're a living wall between Demonium and Shardaha. If the enemy comes no closer we go no farther. That's bitter."
Minos shook his head, frowning. “The Shardahanis are only men. It's not important if they keep their distance. The real enemy is the wizard and the Dark Ones he called into our world. A victory over men means nothing if we lose the greater battle to them."
“I'm sick of this!” Aecus shouted. “Where in damnation is Zarad-Krul?"
“Why should he show himself now?” She barely recognized her own low, carefully restrained voice. “When he can sit back and let us fight among ourselves like this."
Minos folded hands over his stomach, a smug look on his face.
Silent until now, Kregan spoke up. “Elder-brother, I wanted to chase them, too, but now I see Minos was right. Zarad-Krul allowed his forces to be broken. He allowed it! He knew that no force of men, no matter how large, could stand long against the elders and Krilar on Chondite soil. Either his presence or one of his Dark Allies might have turned the tide, but he chose not to intervene. I don't know why, yet he must have had a reason."
A bowl of liquid rested on a pedestal at Rhadamanthus’ right hand. For some time the old man leaned over it, stared into the still water. “It's no use,” he announced finally. “I can't see him in the scrying waters. The Dark Ones shield him from my power."
“Maybe you can't see him because he's dead,” Aecus snorted. “That's a frequent fate for one who reaches too far beyond the limits of his control. Maybe the Dark Ones killed him."
Frost was openly contemptuous. “How many lives will you bet on it?"
The elder's eyes flashed with anger, but Rhadamanthus interceded before he could respond. “Zarad-Krul lives, make no mistake about that. Though I can't see him in the waters I can feel his presence.” He shut his eyes, his lips parted slightly. “Yes, surely you can feel him, too. You're an elder."
Minos nodded.
Aecus kicked the table, spilling wine and utensils. “All I feel is that you are fools! This interminable waiting eats at a man's mind! We should strike now while we have the momentum of a fresh v
ictory. Chase the Shardahanis from our soil and carry this war over the border to Shardaha—to Zarad-Krul's very doorstep!"
A deep silence fell on the tent; all eyes turned on the enraged elder, disbelief on every face. Then, Rhadamanthus rose slowly, pointed a shaky finger. “Your thirst for vengeance has unhinged you, Aecus. Remember who you are! Remember what you are!"
Aecus’ face screwed in pain and confusion; he clapped the old man's shoulders, his eyes misting. “I've lost my family, friends, my city! I'm a man, Rhadamanthus, a man!"
“I know,” Rhadamanthus answered gently, “and it hurts..."
“No.” There was nothing gentle in Minos’ voice. It was cold—cold as edged steel. “You forsook family and city and friends, all that long ago when you became the eldest of a Chondite brotherhood. Now your loyalty is to the men and women who follow you under the banner of the Argent Cup. They look to you for leadership and guidance in the mysteries. I'm beginning to wonder if you can provide it."
Frost had not seen Minos so stern before. It was a side of him that startled and chilled her. Why didn't somebody end this damnable arguing?
Aecus responded with a torrent of curses. Hafid, then Kregan, tried to calm him, but he insisted on a plan to invade Shardaha. He drew a map on the dirt floor, began to outline strategies. Rhadamanthus patiently tried to point out the flaws. Minos’ replies were less polite. The elders bickered in loud voices.
Frost felt her own temper rising. All the camp could hear the dispute. That wasn't good for morale. Each elder was sole commander of his brotherhood; if they continued bickering how long before dissent rose among their followers? It had to stop now.
Her sword hissed out. With any angry curse she plunged it into the center of Aecus’ crude map. Startled out of their feuding, the elders jumped back and turned to glare at her.
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