Iker’s initial charge broke through. The latter half of the charging unit stopped and turned toward the enemy advancing from the east, forming a line of heavy horse. The few barbarians to the west had been killed or wounded, leaving only a steeply rising series of rocky hills on their western flank, just as Anatoly had planned.
He was starting to worry that his plan was working too well when a unit of barbarians advanced on the defensive line guarding the eastern flank. The hundred men moved quickly with their shields raised, lowering them only when they got close enough to hurl a volley of javelins. Dozens of Iker’s men fell in the attack. Several horses were wounded, causing them to run wildly into the enemy where their riders were easily pulled down and killed.
The barbarians quickly re-formed into a wedge, again protected by raised shields, and rushed the cavalry line, attacking the horses with their spears. The attack broke through and a stream of barbarians began to flood into the gap that only moments ago had been clear. Anatoly signaled to pick up the pace. He had no interest in fighting on this field.
The barbarians’ simple strategy of attacking the horses was quite successful. Some of the horses ran wildly away from the battlefield; others threw their riders into the chaos; still others fell from their wounds, taking their riders to the ground with them. By the time Anatoly reached the gap, hundreds of horses and men littered the eastern flank and the barbarians were pressing in against the frantically defending cavalry while still more enemy soldiers flowed through the breach in the line.
Anatoly motioned for Iker to lead the bulk of the unit through, then took his guard, twenty men strong, and charged toward the breach. Liam and Oliver rode with him. The first barbarian Anatoly reached tried to spear him off his horse, but his dragon-plate armor blunted the tip and the spear slipped off to the side. He brought his battle-axe down, one handed, into the back of the man’s head in passing.
His charge staunched the flow of barbarians into the channel he’d cut through their defensive line, but he found himself in the midst of the enemy, in the very melee he wanted to avoid. A barbarian stabbed up at him but he brushed the spear point wide with his axe haft, then drove the top spike into the next man, leaving the first one for the soldiers behind him. A series of three blue shards of force streaked by him, striking three soldiers dead center.
Anatoly wheeled his horse to bring his axe down on another soldier, then seeing that his guard had closed the breach, he turned to the cluster of barbarians stabbing into the side of the cavalry riding past and charged into them, swiping with his axe on one side and then the next as he rode through.
Three men saw him coming and moved to bring him down. He was already committed, there was no changing course now, so he charged into them. One hurled a javelin and it hit hard, striking him in the middle of the chest and almost knocking him off his horse. The other two speared his horse in the chest, causing the animal to rear and throw Anatoly to the ground.
He landed, stumbled a few steps and found himself face-to-face with two charging barbarians, both armed with spears. He set himself, axe raised, and waited. Moments later, both spears leveled at his chest, he turned to the right, letting the weapons just miss him as they passed and brought his axe down on the side of the first man’s neck, cleaving his head and shoulder from his body, then allowing the axe’s momentum to carry him into a spin that brought it around full circle and caught the second man high in the center of the back.
Both immediate threats down, he scanned the battlefield. More than half his cavalry were through the breach, but the barbarians were pushing toward his reconstituted eastern defensive line again. Another volley of javelins took down several more of his men.
“Look out!” Liam shouted.
Anatoly spun just as a barbarian reached him, driving his spear point into his breastplate with so much force that it knocked him to the ground, curling the tip of the spear in the process. The barbarian looked at Anatoly and then at his spear point with growing realization.
“How is it that you wear dragon armor?” he demanded, drawing his sword.
Anatoly pulled the knife from his belt and threw it at the man, burying it to the hilt in his chest before rolling to his hands and knees and staggering to his feet. Liam crashed into another barbarian who was charging Anatoly from behind, trampling him into the ground. Anatoly casually drove the top spike of his axe into the man’s heart before he could regain his senses.
The cavalry line broke again when a large group of barbarians charged it with spears raised. The bulk of his forces were through at this point. Carnage littered the ground, blood of friend and foe mingling in the dirt. Many of his men who’d been unhorsed were fighting a pitched battle without organization or order, striking out at any barbarian close enough to hit, but on the ground, in single combat, the barbarians had the advantage.
A column of wyverns roared overhead, casting rocks into the enemy ranks. Anatoly saw Corina toss a bubble of liquid fire into the back ranks of the enemy, well away from friendly forces. He scanned the battlefield, blocking a spear thrust with his axe and whipping it around to cut savagely into the side of the man who had attacked him.
Liam appeared out of the din of battle, splattered with blood, his sword blade dripping red, and offered Anatoly a hand up onto his horse. After another quick scan, Anatoly swung up behind his squire.
“Where’s Oliver?” he asked.
Liam pointed to the south. The young wizard had found a patch of high ground just past the enemy lines and was busy sending force-shards into the barbarians as quickly as he could cast his spell.
The last of the cavalry reached the breach. He looked around for Iker but couldn’t find him. The captain was supposed to signal the soldiers defending the eastern flank of the gap to withdraw.
“Run the line,” Anatoly shouted to Liam, pointing to the defenders about to be overrun by a much larger force of barbarians.
Liam spurred his horse into a gallop, racing behind the line of defenders as Anatoly shouted, “Retreat!”
The men began to peel off, racing to keep up with the bulk of the force that had just cleared the gap and was moving into the grasslands to the south. Soldiers on foot swung up behind others still mounted and the entire regiment fled the battlefield as the Sky Knights made a final series of attack runs at any barbarians who tried to pursue.
For several minutes they ran, just trying to put some distance between themselves and the enemy. Anatoly found Iker, blood-splattered and a bit shaken, when he arrived at the main body of his regiment.
He dismounted before Liam had fully stopped the horse.
“Head count,” he said.
Iker stared at him blankly.
“How many did we lose, Captain?”
Iker blinked.
“Captain!”
Iker seemed to snap out of it a bit. “I didn’t expect it to be like that,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Battle,” Iker said. “That’s not how it is in the stories.”
“You think,” Anatoly barked, taking the man by the shoulders and shaking him a bit to get his attention. “Set that aside and focus. How many did we lose?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Well, go find out, Captain. And while you’re at it, get this regiment moving. The enemy will be right behind us and we can’t afford to fight them on their terms.”
Iker nodded as shadows flitted by. The Sky Knights had finished their attack runs and were flying south to scout a good place to make camp.
By midday, the energy of battle had dissipated and they were riding hard. Iker found Anatoly when they stopped to feed and water the horses.
“Just over forty-four hundred,” he said. “We lost nearly five hundred men today.”
“Still think battle is glorious?”
Iker shook his head solemnly.
“Good. For a lot of your men, this was their first battle. Make your rounds, talk to them, help them come to terms with the killing t
hey did today, and teach them to direct their anger over the losses we took toward the enemy.”
Iker nodded, still looking a bit stunned. He wandered off into the throng of soldiers. Anatoly turned to Liam and Oliver.
“You both did well today. Think about the battle while you ride. Play it over in your mind. Look for the mistakes you made and learn from them.”
Both of his charges nodded absently.
“Hey.”
They both looked up.
“This is going to get worse before it gets better. You both need to mentally prepare yourselves for that.”
They were quiet for several minutes until everyone had finished their meal and the regiment was preparing to ride.
“Do you think they’ll run to catch up with us tonight?” Liam asked.
“I doubt it,” Anatoly said. “They have to sleep sometime. If all goes well, we won’t face them again until Fool’s Gap.”
Chapter 20
Isabel opened her eyes when she heard the footsteps approaching. She’d been confined to her circle cell for days. Wraithkin brought food and water but ignored her questions, refusing to utter even a single word to her, no doubt at Phane’s instructions.
She’d used the time to alternately fret about Azugorath and to meditate on the light. Though her collar prevented her from touching the firmament, and the Wraith Queen was again actively blocking her link to the realm of light, every now and then she could still find that spark she’d discovered at the center of her being.
She quickly learned that searching for it, working toward it, and struggling to find it were counterproductive. The true path lay in effortless silence. When she was able to quiet her mind and still her emotions, it would find her, blooming unbidden in her mind and soul, consuming her with a sense of belonging and connectedness like nothing she’d ever felt outside of Alexander’s arms. She found that it called to her, beseeching her to return. In that place she was content—at peace.
While Phane likely considered her isolation a punishment, she found it helpful in her pursuit of this new and unexpected facet of her existence. She spent most of her day in meditation, patiently quieting her mind in the hope that the light would come to her again.
Her meditation was frequently interrupted by Azugorath’s efforts to subvert her will and claim command of her body, but so far, she’d been able to resist. What frightened her most was the Wraith Queen’s growing strength. Each attack was more intense and more invasive. Deep down, Isabel knew that it was only a matter of time before she would succumb, but she resolved to resist for as long as possible. She might lose in the end, but her enemy would know that she’d been in a fight. Also, she reasoned, the more she fought, the more energy Azugorath would have to devote to her, thereby sparing the Seven Isles from whatever other uses Phane might have for her.
Isabel stood and brushed herself off before the door opened. A single wraithkin smiled at her.
“Master has summoned you.”
She was tempted to sit back down, but the prospect of escaping her cell, even if only for a few hours, outweighed her desire to snub Phane and his minions, so she followed without a word. After a ten-minute walk through the innards of the black tower, they came to a set of double doors guarded by a pair of wraithkin. They opened the doors without a word. She stopped at the threshold, scanning the room and feeling a little thrill of fear at what she saw.
A long banquet table was set with all manner of food and wine. Serving girls stood along both walls, all looking down as if they thought doing so might make them invisible. Phane sat at the head of the table. To his right was a slight little man with a narrow face that made him look vaguely like a rodent. He was dressed in a perfectly fitted grey suit and he sat very straight, his hands clasped on the table.
The rest of the dozen or so people at the table seemed capable, powerful even. While all of them deferred to Phane, it seemed that some did so grudgingly. Her heart caught in her throat when her eyes landed on Hector and Drogan.
“Ah, Isabel, how nice of you to join us,” Phane said. “Please, come, sit. Share a meal with us.” He motioned to the empty chair on his left.
At the mention of her name, the little man to Phane’s right looked at her sharply, a hint of rage flashing in his beady grey eyes. She ignored him, instead boring into Hector with her glare. He glanced at her once before casting his gaze back down at the table.
She sat down, never taking her eyes off of him. “You can’t even look at me, can you?” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“You want to know why that is, Hector? It’s because you’ve betrayed your own conscience and you know it.”
Several of the men at the table laughed at her. She ignored them, glaring at him, daring him to look her in the eye. He kept his head down, almost like the serving girls lining the walls.
“Come now, Isabel,” Phane said with a jovial smile. “Don’t taunt the man, he’s lost so much already. You can hardly fault him for wanting to save his family.”
She turned her glare toward Phane. “He’s not saving Horace and we both know it. The only one who seems to believe that lie is Hector.”
“On the contrary, my dear Isabel, Hector has served me well. He’s delivered the key to victory right into my hands. Would that all who serve me did so as diligently.” He looked at her pointedly.
“I don’t serve you, Phane, and I never will,” she said.
He smiled like the sunrise, even as the man sitting across from her scowled. The rest of the people at the table fell silent, all eyes on her.
“Do you allow all of your slaves to speak to you like this?” the man in grey asked.
“Of course not, Babachenko,” Phane said. “Isabel is special. I have great plans for her.”
“Oh,” Isabel said with a laughing smile, “so you’re the man who thought he could lie to my husband and get away with it.” She stopped to laugh out loud. “How’d that work out for you?”
The Babachenko’s scowl turned to anger. He raised his hand toward her, beginning to mumble under his breath.
“Stop!” Phane said, slapping the table hard enough to cause all of the silverware to rattle. “Babachenko, Isabel belongs to me. You will not raise your hand to her.”
He struggled to regain his composure, then smiled unconvincingly, rage still dancing in his eyes.
“As you wish, Prince Phane, but I must ask … why have you not used her against the pretender?”
“Oh, I intend to, but she’s not ready yet,” Phane said. “Perhaps later I’ll show you the extent of my preparations to that end. For now, suffice it to say that you and your Acuna wizards have arrived just in time to see the beginning of the end of our enemies, all thanks to Hector and Drogan here.” He held out his hand toward the two men.
Hector still didn’t look up.
“Their successful return has also provided me with an opportunity to demonstrate my power and my generosity. When I sent Hector on this very dangerous mission, I made him a promise—a promise that I intend to keep. In doing so, I’m confident that I will put any doubts you may have to rest, as well.”
The Babachenko started to protest but Phane stopped him with a raised hand and a boyish smile. “It’s all right. I’d be concerned if you didn’t have doubts about our alliance, especially after you’ve lost so much. Tomorrow, under the moonless sky, I will show you that you’ve chosen wisely.”
“How exactly do you plan on doing that?” one of the Acuna wizards asked bluntly, drawing a sharp look from the Babachenko.
“I’m going to resurrect Hector’s brother,” Phane said.
Hector looked up, renewed hope burning in his eyes. The rest of the table sat in stunned silence, a mixture of disbelief and wonder etched on their faces.
“You have every right to be skeptical. I would be were I in your place, but rest assured, after tomorrow night you’ll be as certain of our victory as I am.”
Isabel started laughing, stopping only after all eyes we
re on her.
“If you believe any of that, you’re as delusional as he is,” she said, motioning toward Phane with her head. “First off, the magic of the netherworld is the magic of death. Do you really believe that such darkness can return life to the dead? Second, you’ve met my husband, Babachenko. You had him in a cage wearing a collar inside a warded section of your keep and he still destroyed your city. What do you think he’s going to do now that he’s free to wage war against you on his terms?”
The Babachenko deliberately composed himself and smiled, though his eyes remained alight with anger.
“Admittedly, I underestimated him,” he said. “I can assure you, that won’t happen again. Besides, I’ve recently learned that he has returned to Ruatha. When he had the opportunity to press his advantage and take all of northern Andalia, he chose to run. Not exactly the mark of a courageous leader. In fact, some might say that he’s behaving like a coward.”
“Others might say he has more strategic goals in mind,” Isabel said. “After all, Andalia is of tertiary concern now that the Lancers have lost their magic. I’m curious, do you still call them Lancers now that Alexander has destroyed the power of their force lances?”
The Babachenko started to bristle but collected himself quickly. Phane sat back, swirling his wine goblet, smiling like a kid at a carnival.
“Were it not for Prince Phane’s protection, I would see you suffer for your insolence.”
“I’ll bet,” Isabel said, stabbing a piece of meat and chewing deliberately while looking him in the eye.
“I can cause her great pain without doing any damage,” the Babachenko said, turning to Phane. “Perhaps we could use her to make her husband suffer.”
“To what end?” Phane asked.
“Punishment.”
“I appreciate your anger, Babachenko. I even share it, but your idea of punishment is insufficient for my taste. When I’m done with dear Isabel here, she will become my weapon. She will strike the blow that kills her beloved husband. I expect his despair in that moment to be crushing. But even that isn’t enough for me. After he dies, his soul will be drawn into the Sovereign Stone. There, in that timeless place, I will come to him often to describe in great and sordid detail all of the things I will make his wife do in my name. He will hear stories of lives and kingdoms crushed by her hand. I will tell him of her children—of our children. For every day of my life, I will torment him with the enormity of his failure. So you see, Babachenko, he will pay for his crimes against us.”
Sovereign of the Seven Isles 7: Reishi Adept Page 23
