“First blood is ours! They collapsed like a house of playing cards!”
“They weren’t an experienced force! They were led by Protectors. The others will be more formidable.”
The fighting dwindled. A female with her arm in a bloody sling reported, “Their general’s dead! It’s taken the fight out of what’s left! Do we cut them down or try to take prisoners?”
“Give them one chance, and if they hesitate, do what you must. We’ve no time to waste!”
The catapults fired off a few more shots at viable targets, then Faros called for them to cease. The rebels would need every missile and bolt.
Rebel scouts returned from ahead. One of them immediately shouted, “Bear Claw Legion is sweeping north of us!”
“North?” Botanos growled. “What’s gotten into their general?”
“Another legion’s on its way. A stronger one yet. It’s heading north, too.”
“Makes no sense …” growled the mariner. “They’re going out of their way, north. They’ll not catch us until we’re nearly at the capital! It has to be a trick of some sort! What do you think?”
Faros didn’t hesitate. “I don’t care. We push on anyway. If we let them come and fight us here, we’ll never make Nethosak. They’ll whittle us down.”
The rebels gathered what they could and pushed their advance. One flank broke off, heading north. At the head of the army, Faros added something new—two hundred minotaurs in the tarnished breastplates of the defeated legion, their hands bound behind them. Rebels prodded their abject march with swords.
Scouts continually reported on the northern legion, which seemed to be moving not only at an odd angle but a slow pace.
Captain Botanos frowned. “They’re not acting right, lad! You’d almost think that they’re moving to avoid the fight!”
“Make sure the scouts keep a constant eye on them,” the rebel leader muttered. “They may yet surprise us.”
“And if they stay aloof?”
“Nothing matters now but Nethosak,” was all Faros answered, imagining the home that he had not seen in years. “Nothing.”
The black tide flowed out through Nethosak’s gates like blood, filling the landscape. Great copper kettle drums punctuated their march. The zeal that drove the Protectors was terrifying. They were certain of their might, certain of the glory that the power beyond would grant them for this victory.
Spread out among the ranks, the five fearsome shades that Ardnor had summoned kept order over their elements. The specters were not wholly visible; they seemed insubstantial, but no one doubted their presence. They sat upon steeds long dead and rotted. The warriors in the ranks did not seem at all disturbed by such monstrous commanders, for these were simply another sign of the great god they served, though they did not yet know his name.
Around the emperor, other ghosts drifted. These were his attendants, ghostly eyes granted by Nephera to keep her son aware of near and far events. Through them, Ardnor saw the crushing of the first legion and noted the movements of the rebels.
What he could not see into was the mind of their leader. A fog covered the Kalin spawn, and no matter how furiously Ardnor tortured the cringing shadows with the power Morgion had granted him, they could not tell the emperor what Faros was intending to do.
In the end, his fury was such that Nephera penetrated his thoughts in order to rein her son in. Cease this futility, my son! You shall have Faros Es-Kalin shortly!
“But why can’t I see the bastard?” he growled, ignoring the fact he was talking aloud. None around him would dare question his strange behavior. “What keeps him from Morgion’s power?”
A pathetic attempt by a waning god … nothing more. The Horned One’s final desperate act! It was to be expected … and it will avail neither him nor his puppet any good in the end.
Ardnor’s hand slipped to his mace again. He itched to bury it in Faros’s skull. “No matter. The important thing is we’ll ride them down before they’re halfway to the walls.”
The force with which the high priestess’s presence struck Ardnor nearly caused him to rock from the saddle. You will do nothing of the sort! You will follow my instructions implicitly!
He opened his mouth to argue, only to be nearly overwhelmed again by her voice inside his mind.
You will not deviate from what is planned! Faros will be yours, my son, that is promised!
“But Maritia! She’ll reach him first.”
And she will serve her role! You will do as we discussed! This day will see the utter destruction of the rebels, and the people will know the supremacy of the temple and the Great One. They will know there can be no other emperor but you! You, Ardnor …
His protests faded. “Me …”
The outcome is assured! Follow the lead you have been given and pay no mind to your sister’s task! Soon enough you will advance to center stage.
Her voice faded from his head. Ardnor’s blood still raced. With a predatory grin, he whispered, “Just so the Kalin spawn is still mine.”
The others closest to him pretended not to hear.
Nethosak was finally with Faro’s reach. Even the most remotely-born citizen visited Nethosak at least once in their lives. The capital city embodied the empire. It had been razed to the ground time and time again and after each disaster it had arisen stronger and more impressive than before.
Faros stared at its towers, hardly daring to believe that he was home. Then he heard a horn and spotted the banner rising from the north. Minutes later, a scout breathlessly arrived.
“ ’Tis the banner of the Warhorse, my lord! They’re closing on us fast!”
“Find out if Bear Claw still marches away from us,” the rebel leader said, ordering another scout. As the latter hurried off, Faros added, “We ride to meet the Warhorse, captain.”
“Aye, lad. We couldn’t escape destiny now if we tried.”
Warhorse represented the empire in ways unlike any other legion. If they defeated it, news of their victory would spread to all the other legions, crippling the will of the defenders.
The rebels veered toward the oncoming legion. Even from a distance, Maritia’s force was impressive. Warhorse moved without gaps in the lines, without faltering. Their breastplates shone. The mounted officers rode back and forth with precision, and halfway to the rebels, the legion simply stopped.
“She’s daring us to come to them, Botanos.” Faros tried to identify where her catapults and ballistae were positioned, but he could not make things out at a distance. He might be sending his force into a hellish trap. The sooner he acted, he felt instinctively, the better. “Let’s not disappoint her. She and I have overdue business.”
“Aye, my lord.”
At the sound of horns, the rebels moved toward the enemy. The prisoners were prodded ahead of the rest. Let Maritia think him a beast without honor, Faros thought. Likely she already did.
The gap between the two sides shrank. He could now make out faces among the legionaries and finally saw the one mattered. There! The commander’s standard marked Maritia’s position. Her countenance was still vague, but the figure with a plumed helmet and midnight blue cloak had to be her. Only a Droka rode with such powerful bearing. He had seen it in her once before in Vyrox.
“They’ve not fired yet!” Botanos called. “The prisoners confuse them!”
“Let them be confused no more!” Faros made a slashing motion with his hands.
The rebels slowed. The captive legionaries were prodded forward and then they were let go. At first the prisoners reacted slowly, uncertainly, then as they moved farther away from the rebels, they began to sprint for freedom.
Those in the forefront of the Warhorse lines began roaring encouragement. When the first reached them, the soldiers quickly made openings in their ranks. Several slapped the captives on the back. Not a few used their weapons to cut the bonds of the newcomers.
“The first step is complete,” Faros muttered. “Now for the second.”
&nb
sp; He suddenly urged his horse to a trot. Botanos gasped and tried to grab his arm, but Faros was already out of reach.
Midway to the foe, the rebel leader paused and waited. He was not disappointed. Seconds after his arrival, the one he had taken for Maritia removed her cloak and helm and rode out to meet him.
“Faros Es-Kalin,” she nearly spat.
“My lady. A long time since Vyrox.”
She snorted. “Would that I’d cut you down then.”
“My sentiments exactly,” he returned.
“You can still surrender, rebel. I promise your execution will be a swift one, and I’ll do what I can for those with you.”
“Can you restore our families? My father? My mother? All so basely slain that night? All because we shared the blood of the emperor.”
“It was necessary!” Maritia snapped. “Necessary for the sake of the realm!”
“And honorable?”
She glared at him.
“Just know this, my lady; we do what we were forced to do.”
With that, the rebel leader turned his horse and rode from the minotaur commander while she sat staring at him in surprise.
Meeting Faros, Captain Botanos looked furious with his leader. He rumbled, “What was that all about? All it would’ve taken was one eager archer or even the lady herself and you’d be deceived, or worse, lying out there dead!”
“That wouldn’t have been honorable.”
Faros turned his steed to face the legion just in time to see Maritia vanishing through a gap in the front of her troops.
“They’ve two catapults set far behind their left flank, which are aimed for just right of our center,” Faros said briskly. “Behind the first three lines, there are four ballistae. The second and third lines have gaps at those points. You can tell by the small red pennants flying at each position. You see them?”
A startled Botanos nodded his head. “You were—”
Cutting him off, the rebel leader quickly added, “Another catapult to the far right, aimed just left of our center. There may be another there as well. She has a cavalry reserve near, probably to ride in once we’re engaged. Also, archers are behind the main lines, already with the bows notched. They’d hit us about at the distance where she stood. Three segments of soldiers behind what we can see. The one I could make out best had a hekturion leading them, so assume three hundred fighters in reserve.”
“They’re larger than any legion I’ve ever known!” Botanos shook his head.
Faros snorted. “Did you think I rode out to admire her?”
“The thought had actually crossed my mind, aye.”
At that moment, the scout he had sent earlier returned. The new minotaur said nothing, only nodded to him.
Gradic’s son shifted in the saddle. “Warhorse is getting impatient and I don’t want my own stalwarts losing their edge. Make certain that everyone follows my signals.”
“After what you said? I’ll shout the orders myself if need be.”
“Then let’s ride.” A rumble of thunder shook the area, spooking the horses. Faros noticed his ring flare briefly. It would not surprise him if there were other things going on around him, beyond mortal comprehension. “Sound the advance!”
With the cry of a single horn, the rebels charged.
The high priestess viewed the scene from her daughter’s perspective. She tried to reach out and touch Faros’s thoughts, but again a barrier rose up to block her. Sargonnas’s power hid something, but Nephera could sense nothing of particular concern.
Both the Protectors and legions were in desirable positions. That her daughter was unaware of the high priestess’s entire strategy was unfortunate, but sacrifices had to be made. With this last thought, the unease returned. With a snarl, Nephera glanced quickly over her shoulder; however, only Takyr stood there, awaiting her command.
No Hotak. No condemning eyes …
Snorting at her own foolish anxieties, she returned her focus to the struggle. The rebels were on the move. It was time to savor their destruction.
The legionaries stood motionless, their expressions guarded. Their weapons were raised, but they awaited the necessary signal. Faros measured the distance. He waved his sword at a trumpeter. Two short notes followed by a longer single one echoed in the air.
Noise erupted from the back of the legions. Huge rocks flew up in the air. Near the first ranks, soldiers gave way for hidden ballistae.
The front line of Faros’s army suddenly cleaved in two.
“What’re they doing?” Maritia snarled.
She looked up and saw the missiles dropping. They struck with the full force of gravity and weight, huge stones designed to wreak the greatest possible carnage, if there had been anyone to hit.
The rebels were moving rapidly, changing from an organized rectangular formation to a fluid, constantly reshaping half circle with most of the rebels flowing to the sides. The missiles burst where the center had been, creating huge craters, and scattering rubble … but all in vain. One or two rebels twisted as if injured by small pieces of rock, but most continued their business unhindered.
Two ballistae fired before she could call a halt. One managed to bring down a rebel who had stumbled into its path, but the rest of the lances fell short.
“Hold fire!” she commanded. “Hold fire!”
She had thought Faros a fatalistic fool who had ridden out to meet her as a last act of defiance to rally his troops. Now Maritia understood better. He had been surreptitiously measuring her forces. Small wonder she had found his conversation almost nonsensical; his mind had been on far more weighty issues.
Of course, Maritia, too, had been analyzing her enemy, but they had few war machines and scarcely any mounted units. While Faros had planned for her catapults and ballistae, he couldn’t guess everything – certainly not what she had in store next.
“General Domo should be in position,” she whispered to herself. “We’ll catch you in between and eat you up, Faros Es-Kalin!” To a trumpeter, Maritia shouted, “Sound the signal!”
Horns blaring, the famed legion slowly and methodically spread out in its march toward the oncoming horde.
“Archers at the ready!”
Four hundred bows tightened.
Maritia measured. “Fire!”
The rebels’ attention would be drawn by the advancing foot soldiers. They would not expect the deadly rain, but again a short series of signals blew from the opposing side. As swiftly as the arrows flew, they were betrayed by their need for a high, arcing flight. The rebel force reshaped again.
The tactic wasn’t as effective as against the catapults, and scores of the enemy dropped or slowed as the shafts landed. However, the wholesale slaughter that Maritia wished did not occur.
“We’ll do it with sharp blades then,” she snarled.
Maritia again made a quick assessment of the rebel numbers. The advantage would definitely be hers. In addition to her own trusted army, she had added the survivors of the other legion, who had been quickly rearmed and now waited in reserve behind the cavalry.
Sword waved high, Maritia brought her right flank forward, curling it around the rebels’ force. This time Hotak’s daughter did not underestimate the adversary, for many, she knew, were former soldiers. A few even still wore the emblems of Dragonsbane, perhaps to stir up uncertainties among her troops.
“Get those archers over to the right!” Hotak’s daughter shouted. She kept an eye out for Faros, seeking a chance to take him on.
Grunts and cries filled the air. Rebels fell, but legionaries dropped too. A massive figure with the gold rings of a mariner materialized ahead briefly, his axe cutting through the helm and neck of a soldier. Maritia marked him as a possible subcommander, but before she could get close, the battle swept the figure away.
A harsh clatter arose from behind her left flank. Legionaries abruptly turned in circles, creating disorder. Some looked confused and others, strangely, lowered their weapons. Then, to her utter bewilderm
ent, a legionary close by took a swing at her, nearly biting deep into Maritia’s leg.
She managed to escape with a cut along her thigh, paying the treacherous fighter back with a thrust to his windpipe. As he tumbled forward, Maritia stared in disbelief at the minotaur … and belatedly realized that he was not one of her own. A ruby symbol marked his breastplate.
The prisoners?
Absolute chaos swept over the rear of the legion. Everywhere, the freed prisoners fell upon their confused brethren. Ranks disintegrated. Catapult crews had to abandon their machines to fight back. The cavalry was in disarray, many horses without riders.
The truth hit her hard. The prisoners that Faros had released to Warhorse might have worn the armor of the legions, but they were rebels.
What a fool, to have fallen for such a stunt! she thought bitterly. She should have checked. She should have had them sequestered. Never would Hotak’s daughter have expected such base trickery. The false prisoners numbered only a couple of hundred, but with the main force attacking from the front, Warhorse was sorely beset.
“Where’s Domo? Damn him! Where is he?”
Of the legion she had counted on in a pinch, there was no sign. Something had gone dreadfully wrong with her plans.
Warhorse seemed in complete disarray, Faros noted to his satisfaction. They still fought and fought well, but they were harried from all directions. None of the trapped legionaries could be certain that the figure behind them might not be an enemy in disguise.
The rebels were suffering, too. The ground lay littered with the bodies of those who had followed Faros through Kern twice, then across the Courrain, and finally trekked over part of Argon’s Chain—all to die in pitiable fashion here.
“Drive them into one another!” Faros shouted, deflecting a legionary’s axe. “Find the Lady Maritia! She’s the key to victory!”
“Bet she’s wondering where her reinforcements are!” Captain Botanos barked with a hollow laugh.
Empire of Blood Page 30
