by Tom Lloyd
Lord Styrax smiled, and with a deliberately slow movement he reached behind his head and drew the enormous black broadsword. The cheers became deafening and the élite Bloodsworn dropped to one knee, weapons touching the ground as their lord raised Kobra’s split tip to the sky and added his own booming voice to the tumult.
‘We go to war!’ Styrax roared as the thousands raised their own weapons. He turned slowly, watching the faces around him fill with fierce pride.
‘This long march has been hard,’ he called, pausing to give them all time to remember the stories of the tribe’s past, ‘and it is more than the weak who have fallen along the path!’
Deverk Grast had marched the Menin away from the West and ordered that the weak be allowed to fall at the wayside. Once the greatest of the seven tribes, the Menin had endured horrors in the Waste as they travelled to the Ring of Fire; they had nearly been broken as they tried to carve a new home in the wilderness. There were many sects within the tribe who saw this invasion as a return to glory; the rightful return to their place as the foremost of the tribes of man.
‘The pain has been the same for us all, the loss and the suffering shared among proud brothers!’
Styrax felt his face tighten. In his mind’s eye he saw Kohrad exchanging blows with Lord Isak, matching the silver-blurred stokes of the Farlan with all the fire and ferocity he’d possessed. He saw Kohrad struck and stagger, the emerald hilt of Eolis blazing through the storm of magic as he pitched backwards and fell.
‘The end is not yet in sight,’ he shouted, ‘but the reckoning has come. We have beaten all in our path, and when Narkang falls the spine of the West will be broken!
‘The Chetse we defeated, and they honoured us by joining our cause!
‘The Farlan we defeated, and they ran for home!’
Whistles and catcalls came from all around, then laughter. Styrax waited for the noise to abate, then went on, ‘The Farlan ran, and they will run again - but first we take down this self-anointed - a man too afraid to let his rabble of an army past their ditches to face us like men.
‘Show them how men fight, brothers; call the names of our fallen and show them the price of cowardice. We go to war!’
His last words were barely heard as the soldiers yelled in frenzied abandon. General Gaur signalled the drummers to beat to orders, but even the heavy thump of the huge wardrums was swallowed by the clamour. Only when the great curling horns of the Chetse legions sounded and the Menin drums repeated the command did it die down and order resume.
Styrax turned to Gaur and the beastman bowed awkwardly. General Vrill appeared behind him.
‘The legions have their orders?’ Styrax asked.
‘They have, my Lord,’ Vrill called, also bowing. The duke was ready for battle, the ribbons fixed to his white armour trembling in the dull morning light. ‘My infantry are moving out as I speak.’
‘Good. I’ll be counting on you to stir up a little confusion and panic.’
‘While you assault a fixed position,’ Vrill said pointedly. ‘While we both assault fixed positions, with our forces nicely divided.’
Styrax gave the small white-eye a sharp look and sheathed Kobra again. ‘Vrill, you may lecture me about dwindling supplies and lines of communication, or you may remind me of Erialave’s tenets of the field. You may not, however, do both.’
Vrill bowed, lower this time. ‘Apologies, my Lord. I remain yours to command. My concerns are for your safety, not my own.’
‘We’ve overswept his land and killed half his people - still think King Emin is going to conjure up a surprise we can’t handle?’ Styrax said with a slightly forced smile.
He knew Vrill was right about much, but they simply couldn’t wait to devise something intricate, nor could they evade the Narkang force - and he did not want to. Supplies were running dangerously low, and they needed a decisive victory, or they would begin to starve within the week. He’d given the order that there was to be no guard left with the baggage. One way or another, this day would be decisive. Styrax was certain his armies would show their worth.
‘I think a surprise doesn’t need to be your equal if it truly is a surprise - he possesses a Crystal Skull, according to Major Amber and — ’
‘And I have several!’ Styrax growled, ‘to say nothing of the fact none of his mages are my equal, nor Lord Larim’s nor, most likely, half of Larim’s acolytes.’
Vrill opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again with a snap. The decision was made and the most likely result of arguing further would be a swift death. ‘As you command, my Lord,’ he said in a tight, controlled voice. ‘Do you have final orders for me before I go to my command?’
Styrax, his hands balled into fists, made himself calm down. After a moment, he said, ‘Take your time. They’ll not come to you, so once you’ve cleared away the skirmishers you can negotiate the advance ditches slowly. Keep your formation and keep close to the tree-line. If they have cavalry hidden there they’ll run long before you reach them, for fear of being pinned down.’
Vrill looked up at the sky. It was still early and there was a blanket of thin cloud overhead. ‘A good thing they want to keep your wyvern on the ground,’ he commented. ‘There’s a lot of marching to do today; hot sun’s the last thing we’ll need.’
Styrax nodded. ‘With any luck they’ll keep the clouds there for us so I won’t have to.’ He offered a hand to his general who looked startled for a moment before remembering himself and taking it. ‘Good hunting - if you break their line or draw them out, don’t hesitate. Keep a mage close and send me a message if they’re weakening; I’ll get their attention while you win the battle.’
Vrill couldn’t help but grin at the prospect, a flush of animation crossing his usually composed face. Lord Styrax was not a man who shared victory easily, but this he meant. Duke Vrill had the right flank; he had ten legions to march to the tree-line and in through the narrow channel King Emin had left on the edge of the forest: two thousand cavalry to protect his flank and eight thousand infantry to throw against the enemy line.
Once past the defensive ditches of the Narkang Army it would become brutal, bloody sword-work. With a breach, the quality of the Menin heavy infantry and the savagery of the Chetse élite axemen would come into their own.
‘Good luck to you too, my Lord,’ Vrill said with meaning.
The bulk of the army, double the number at Vrill’s command, would be directly assaulting the fort at the heart of the Narkang defences, marching straight towards the enemy on ground of the enemy’s choosing. A further six legions protected their left flank and rear, where the Narkang cavalry would be trying to make their greater numbers count.
They would be assailed on two sides, barely able to fight back until they breached the fort’s walls: it would be the greatest test the Menin Army had ever faced. Their enemy was ruthlessly inventive and had had weeks to prepare for battle; that made it a horrific prospect — but Lord Styrax himself would be leading them, and that was enough for the army.
Styrax watched Vrill go, then raised an armour-clad arm and struck it against General Gaur’s. The two had no need for parting words. Gaur had devised the plan with his lord, and he knew his part well enough; everything else was understood. He left without a word.
Styrax looked out towards the enemy lines, visualising what he’d scouted from wyvernback the previous evening: two great defensive ditches, each running for more than half a mile, reached out from the castle called Moorview in a diamond shape, with a wooden fort at the nearest point and Moorview at its rear. The castle was set in an indent of the forest, although there was open ground on its right flank. His scouts reported smaller, staggered defences set beyond each of the great ditches.
The Narkang cavalry would be concentrated on the open ground on Styrax’s left, which gave them space to manoeuvre. The bulk of King Emin’s army would be behind the ditches, probably concentrated at either end, and he guessed their orders would be simple enough: stay put, and res
ist assault. Doing anything so complicated as advancing would leave inexperienced troops vulnerable - and they were inexperienced; six months before they’d all been farmers and ploughboys! - so it was unlikely the Menin would be able to tempt them out. Still, Vrill had a few hundred captives to execute in plain view, just in case he could torture them into forgetting their orders.
‘Sound the advance,’ Styrax called, ‘and let’s show them what they’re all afraid of.’
The Bloodsworn around him turned to march to their positions - on foot, fighting as his bodyguard - but two lingered, staring straight at Styrax, barely ten yards away. He felt a prickle of magic tremble through the air and was drawing his sword before he’d had time to think.
As the man on the left ran forward, the Bloodsworn armour started to disintegrate, pieces cascading from its body as it moved with impossible speed. It had covered the ground between them in a heartbeat, bringing up a shimmering sword, ready to strike. Styrax threw himself back, but his attacker followed, blindingly fast, his sword distorting the air as they parried and broke, and moved again, and again.
Styrax blocked with desperation, the weapons moving too fast for a normal human to clearly see. His armour turned a glancing blow in a shower of sparks and Styrax went briefly onto the attack with a volley of blows that would have felled any normal man — but each was met and blocked, and the ring of their blades came so fast it sounded like shattering glass.
Distantly he felt a flicker of apprehension as he finally recognised the figure attacking. The armour now was identical to his own, and the sword seemed to tear at the air it passed. Styrax found secure footing and drew on his Crystal Skulls. The magical artefacts pulsed at his command, tendrils of spitting light lashing out, burning furrows through the earth and scorching the moorland grass.
Koezh Vukotic pressed his advantage. Staying light on his feet, he dipped and weaved his way between the savage streams of magic, cutting through the storm with his rage-filled sword. Koezh forced Styrax to turn, deflecting his sword up and catching the Menin lord a glancing blow across the ribs. It didn’t pierce the metal, but even as Styrax slashed at his opponent’s head, Koezh had moved and cut across Styrax’s cuirass, nicking the edge of the monogram plate bearing Koezh’s own initials.
Styrax hurled himself forward, using his greater bulk as a battering ram to drive Koezh back, but the vampire rode the blow and turned it to his advantage, nearly managing to thrust his sword point into the back of Styrax’s knee, then smashing the pommel of his sword into Styrax’s chest. The white-eye saw the blow coming and slashed crossways, forcing Koezh to retreat or be decapitated. He won himself an instant to breath —
— and a second figure flew forward while flames erupted from the ground all around them, and Styrax twisted with unnatural grace, parrying the blow and filling his sword with magic to score a blistering trail down the other attacker’s thigh - but his blow was turned by the same whorled armour, and his attacker had already pivoted and kicked out at him. Styrax dropped to a half-crouch, pinning the armoured foot under his arm and punching with his left hand into the side of Zhia’s knee. He didn’t wait to see if he’d caused any damage, but rolled his body through the air, moving around Zhia to use her as a shield against Koezh’s follow-up.
Styrax caught a glint of red light in the air and summoned a grey dome of energy to deflect the bloody fire lashing down at his head. He released Zhia, but kept her between himself and Koezh, knowing her to be the weaker fighter. White swirls danced around her body, exploding into sunbursts of sparks as his sword hit them. She retreated, keeping her sword close to her body as she waited for a chance to get inside his guard. He obliged; smashing an elbow forward as she stepped into a thrust and snapping her head back.
With both fists around his grip Styrax punched her in the chest, putting all his power into the blow. It smashed her backwards, driving Zhia through the air, but before she’d even hit the ground Styrax was moving, striking out as Koezh came at his other side. The blow was parried and he dropped low to slash at the vampire’s legs, but it was deflected into the ground even as Koezh hacked at his neck and was stopped by a grey bar of magic.
Koezh made a twisting gesture with his hand and Styrax felt his feet wrenched sideways. He turned into the movement, flinging himself around, and as he dropped, he lashed out wildly, as Koezh turned the blows with practised ease.
One-handed, Styrax turned his first two blows, and stepped into the third, casting forward a corkscrew of raw energy, and somehow the vampire managed to both drive himself backwards while at the same time twisting so one arm pierced the centre of the spiral. With one hand, Koezh grasped the stream of magic itself and savagely ripped it away.
With the energy dissipated, he cut upwards at Styrax, but the white-eye had already retreated and he smashed Kobra down, nearly catching Koezh on the upswing- but the vampire sprang away, sliding backwards across the magic-scorched grass.
Styrax braced himself and unleashed the full force of the Skulls at Koezh, but the twisting cable of uncontrolled magic unravelled, spraying wildly all around while the Skull fixed to Koezh’s own armour blazed bright white.
Zhia appeared in Styrax’s periphery. The whorled pattern on her cuirass was distorted and buckled, but it didn’t hamper her as she raced back into the fray. Styrax stepped away from her charge, taking a glancing blow from her sword on his pauldron as he extended his sword and felt it pierce the flexible mesh covering her armpit. He drove forward, and as Kobra’s fangs skewered her flesh he dragged and her side around and lifted his weapon, pulling her on to her tiptoes.
Then, sensing Koezh behind him he tugged Kobra out of Zhia’s armpit and slashing left-handed as he moved to the left, away from the vampire’s onrush. Koezh anticipated the move and a grey bar of energy caught Styrax’s sword before it could cover his body. The vampire cut up at his exposed wrist; Styrax had to lean forward to take the blow on his vambrace instead, but still he felt the sword pierce the metal and a hot burst of pain flowered in his arm.
He dived forward frantically, evading the next crippling blow, and rolled close to the perimeter of flames that was keeping his soldiers away. He felt the sizzle of acid on his flesh: Koezh’s sword had scarred his skin again. Now he placed both hands on his own sword and flooded his body with magic to wash away the pain before leaping to his feet and immediately dodging to strike inside Koezh’s follow-up blow.
The vampire moved even faster now, aware his sister was injured and the fight was all his own. They struck and blocked and parried in turn, until they locked swords, pulling each other to within a few inches. Each tried to shove the other off-balance in the split-second before retreating, but their unnatural strength was equally matched.
Styrax stepped back first, cutting up at Koezh’s hands, checking the blow and lunging at his face. Koezh, the smaller man, dodged with astonishing speed, diverting the thrust upwards with the guard of his sword and turning it into a thrust of his own. Styrax stepped into the blow, catching it on his chest before Koezh could get any force behind it, then slamming an elbow down onto Koezh’s shoulder and at last getting him off balance.
Side-on to his enemy, Styrax swung down as he moved clear; trying to chop into the vampire’s throat, but Koezh dropped flat on his back and the blow caught only thin air. As Styrax stabbed down, Kobra’s fangs met a flat grey disc. With his full strength behind the blow, the weapon penetrated, but the impact juddered right through Styrax’s body and the fangs were stopped by Koezh’s cuirass — and Styrax had to hop gracelessly back to save his ankles.
Koezh was already striking as he leaped to his feet and caught Styrax’s blade as they both moved into the attack, locking weapons again. Styrax, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, threw himself backwards as Zhia arrived. He gave ground right up to the encircling flames, desperate for space to evade her - only to watch in astonishment as Zhia’s slender sword ran straight and true into the seam of the black cuirass, driving deep inside.
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br /> Her brother faltered, driven sideways by the unexpected impact, but before he could react, Zhia forced her sword further into Koezh’s guts. A gasp of pain escaped his lips as she retracted the weapon and stepped back. Her brother staggered and dropped to one knee, his hand going to his side as a spurt of black blood spilled out.
Styrax didn’t hesitate, advancing and smashing Koezh’s sword aside. With the vampire defenceless, he cut at his opponent’s neck and felt Kobra tear through the armour. Koezh fell, limp before he hit the ground and a sudden silence descended.
‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Zhia whispered, her voice strained, ‘but it must be this way.’
She turned to Styrax, who faced her with his weapon raised warily, but the Vukotic princess shook her head and sheathed her weapon.
‘You will have to enjoy your battle alone, Lord Styrax - I am done for the day.’ Her right arm went to the armpit where he’d injured her. He could hear from her laboured voice that the wound was severe.
