Such was the fanatic zeal of the temple’s militant wing, the Protectors.
Hotak’s good eye narrowed warily. Though he resented the Protectors hovering over them, he put a pleasant expression on his face for his wife. “I meant no disrespect, my love.”
Nephera’s dour countenance did not change as she stepped closer. The Protectors moved as if they were puppets attached to her hips by invisible strings. “I sometimes wonder, my husband. This time you bring an army to my steps, as though threatening my flock with arrest if they prove too concerned for my well-being.”
Hotak removed his helmet, gaze sweeping so quickly over his mate that she likely did not even notice his scrutiny. Much closer now, he saw further changes in her appearance of which he did not approve. Nephera’s eyes had sunk deeper and her flesh appeared somewhat gaunt. A red tinge surrounded her eyes, and she seemed nervously on edge. Despite that, she also radiated a dark strength that Hotak had rarely sensed even on the battlefield. And in spite of all that, she was still beautiful; he noted that as well.
“Since we’re being blunt, my dear, let me say that it’s been some time since we’ve seen one another. My missives are not answered, and our chambers have not been honored by your presence. Naturally I miss you, and naturally I miss your wise counsel.”
“So you came in person this time … and with a column of soldiers preceding you. How caring.”
He gave her the smile that had, years ago, won her heart. “I am, after all, the emperor.”
His smile was met with an inscrutable expression that hinted of displeasure but also, he hoped, of the old fondness. “And I am high priestess of the largest sect in all the imperium, one which has backed your regime to the fullest, yet here you treat me like an enemy of the state! If I had not come out now, would you have had your fine soldiers tear through this building and drag me out in chains?”
“Of course not. You misunderstand me, my dear. I wouldn’t do any such thing. My regal entrance in no way is meant to undermine your authority here, but my own leadership position demands of me a certain image. The ranks of soldiers … they’re more a show of the esteem I hold you in—an honor guard, you might say. The emperor visits the temple, and all that. After all these years, you should know how I feel about you … and your religion.”
She would not be mollified. “Should I? It seems everything I do for you accounts for nothing! It was the power I wield, the might of the temple, that helped you rise to emperor, my love! My eyes were your eyes, my ears yours!” With a gesture, Nephera indicated the giant specters lining the inner walls. “They are as responsible for your victories as your own troops.”
She was being more difficult than ever. It was hard for Hotak to check his annoyance, but he tried to keep his tone even. “And your sentinels have been remiss of late,” he countered, mildly. “The reports sent to me by Maritia arrive with more haste than those from the temple. There have been vital engagements, shifts in strategy, and I know nothing of their consequences, my love. Only your sentinels can tell me what I need to know, only you can help me.”
At first, his wife said nothing. The emperor suddenly felt a chill. Hotak glared around at the statues, as though daring them to speak.
Lady Nephera had turned her head away from him, slightly to the side, almost as though listening to someone—even though neither of her towering guards had uttered so much as a sound. Hotak watched her carefully, hoping for a positive sign.
“You’ve turned the resources of the empire over entirely to the invasion of Ansalon, my husband,” the high priestess finally said. “You’ve demanded that the clans redouble their efforts to build ships and battle supplies. You’ve conscripted thousands of young males. These are difficult decisions, which we have debated. And despite the success of everything thus far, those decisions weigh on you. But the temple has been busy maintaining the spiritual welfare of the empire, while you attend to the physical might, and our Protectors have assisted you in many areas.”
It was true that the temple was increasingly involved in government affairs, but Hotak had not really had much choice. Many of those on the Supreme Circle, the governing body overseeing the daily lives of the people, were members of the faith. The more the emperor had required sacrifices on the part of his subjects, the more the sect had grown integral to his policies, for they convinced many of the necessity for obeying Hotak’s dictates.
At least he had kept the succession of the throne from the temple by already anointing his second son, Bastion, as his heir, over his eldest, Ardnor. Ardnor was among his mother’s most fervent followers and had risen up inside the temple. Bastion was of the same mind as Hotak; the Forerunners, despite their ambitions, did not deserve the same reverence the minotaurs once gave to Sargonnas. Bastion would keep the Forerunners at bay.
“No one is denying your part in our success, my dear. The empire is running as smoothly, as efficiently, as at any time in the past—more so! Indeed, I desire your presence in the palace so all can see my mate, my consort, is a valued part of the regime.”
“Yes … so long as I wear gowns and hang on your arm.”
Hotak bit back a sigh. “Your place is at my side, my dear. The palace is your home. Too long have you been … hiding out here.”
The hollow eyes took on an unsettling aspect. “But this is my calling, husband. Your own words assure me of the importance of that.”
“Your calling, yes, but staying here for such long periods of time, not communicating with me. Is this your way of still punishing me for choosing Bastion over Ardnor as my heir?”
She looked past him … at no one. “Ardnor was your legitimate successor!”
“Bastion is the better soldier, the more experienced at politics, the more appropriate choice!”
“Ardnor is your firstborn!”
Hotak took a deep breath. “Ardnor holds a high place with the Forerunners, and that is important, too. I want our differences worked out, my dear. Please return to the palace so that we can be more closely in touch. You … you are missed.”
Her gaze finally fixed on his again. She said nothing for the moment, then, in a softer voice, replied, “I will come see you tomorrow … and I will endeavor to find out the latest information which you desire, and will bring with me any news possible.”
With that, she turned and glided away, the two Protectors close behind.
With almost a smile, Hotak replaced his helmet then headed back to the temple entrance. He walked with a spring in his step. Not only was his wife returning to his side, but he would have his valued news from her ghostly sentinels, useful in the theaters of operation.
He would find a way to keep her at the palace. Perhaps if he embraced Ardnor, made him a valued part of the throne again—father and son had not spoken much since the death of Hotak’s youngest, Kolot, and the announcement that Bastion would be heir. But there was no reason they shouldn’t reconcile their differences.
As the ranks saluted his return, the emperor descended silently to where his horse waited, mounting smoothly. He took one last look at the edifice claiming so much of Nephera’s energy.
“Rumors, nothing more,” he said to himself. The emperor was glad that he had not brought up that subject, certain to infuriate his wife. It could wait for a more appropriate occasion. “Whatever this cult’s become, it’s certainly not degenerated to that.” He signaled his troops to depart. “There is no blood on my wife’s hands save that sanctioned by me … none whatsoever.”
The grassy plain nestled between the lightly wooded hills made for a perfect battleground, and the line of knights, undeterred by the threat of foul weather, took their disciplined positions, lances poised. They barreled toward the ogre force stretched too long and raggedly before them.
Behind the cavalry charged four rows of armored foot soldiers, commanded by the Talon Leader himself, leading them from horseback. Swords low and shields up, the foot soldiers paced the riders as best they could, hoping for some glory of their own.
The ogres waved their clubs and swords and charged wildly toward the superior numbers of their superior foe.
Dust rose behind the Knights of Neraka, almost making it seem as if they left fire in their wake, so swiftly did they charge. Visors down, they evoked a sinister vision out of the days of the gods, a dark host still bearing the outdated mark of Takhisis.
The perfect line of lances held true as the gap between the converging humans and ogres rapidly dwindled. The knights had been ordered to give no quarter, show no mercy to the beasts.
But suddenly the ogres panicked and routed. They turned tail and fled toward the dubious safety of the easternmost hills. They shoved one another aside, trampled those slower than themselves.
Unwilling to win so easily, the lancers urged their mounts on, pulling farther and farther ahead of the foot soldiers behind them.
Thunder boomed and crimson bolts of lightning assailed the northern horizon, but the Knights of Neraka paid them scant attention. The first of the cowardly ogres was nearly in range. It would be as easy as skewering a piece of meat at the table.…
Then, in the midst of the line, the earth exploded, sending men and horses flying, screaming. Bodies crashed to the ground. The line instantly twisted and folded in on itself as the stunned knights tried to make sense of the eruption. Some looked up at the storm clouds, thinking a bolt had strayed in their direction.
But then the sound of something huge hurtling through the sky caught the attention of many of the knights … alas, too late.
The huge rock fell upon the ranks of foot soldiers, crushing several into paste and metal and throwing up huge chunks of earth and rock. The Talon Leader signaled for an immediate halt, recognizing the strike of an expertly aimed catapult.
A third massive projectile plummeted toward the terrain between the riders and the foot soldiers. Though it hit no one, the shock of its impact stirred more confusion and fear. Ogres did not use catapults; they did not even know how to build them.
And then the horns sounded—first from the south, then the north. A unified shout arose from both directions, one that set every knight’s nerves taut with apprehension.
The fleeing ogres suddenly turned in one body. Baring their tusked teeth and howling like wolves, they charged the stunned knights.
“Get them! Get them!” urged the Talon Leader.
Yet, who exactly his men should fight proved to be a complex question, for from the north emerged a stream of unexpected riders and from the south another huge line of armored, orderly figures, that in no way could be mistaken for humans or even ogres.
To the blare of battle horns and their own fierce war cries, the minotaurs and their ogre allies closed in on the dark knights.
The left flank of the lancers turned to face the riders. As they neared, though, a flight of arrows fell upon them from the hills. Despite armor, several men fell dead and twice as many were wounded; dying horses spilled their passengers, further adding to the mayhem.
The much-reduced line collided with the mounted minotaurs. The force of a lance charge is enough to lift even a three-hundred-pound minotaur in breastplate, and more than one of the horned warriors flew from their saddles, impaled. Some of the large, sturdy minotaur steeds fell prey to the skilled lancers.
But armor was no great protection against the heavy, twin-edged axes of the minotaur legionaries. Once among the lancers, one minotaur cleaved open the chest of his foe, then, for good measure, removed the helmeted head with a second vicious swing. Another minotaur soldier leaped from his horse onto a knight’s, sending both crashing to the ground. His horns slammed through the protected chest, goring the squirming human.
What remained of the right flank of lancers swung to face the attackers closing on foot from the south. As they reached the enemy, however, the first line of minotaurs suddenly peeled away in orderly fashion, leaving a second crouched in their wake.
The knights could not have anticipated their tactic. The long, deadly pikes wielded nimbly by the minotaurs brought down all but a few in the front. Those still alive were quickly overwhelmed by the bloodthirsty legionaries. The knights held on as best they could; their commanders had always led them to believe that minotaurs were brutes akin to ogres. The trained, skilled fighting force before them was certainly contrary to that. Pitched duels broke out as the ordered ranks of the legions cut off the surviving foe, one from another. A dekarian pushed back two humans fighting side by side, cutting one down at the legs then running the second through. He then turned and beheaded the maimed knight before the other finished his fall.
The human foot soldiers found three ways to die. The minotaurs were converging from the north and south simultaneously, cutting off the rear. The knights formed a double line, with lances in the second rank giving protection to their swordsmen, but the legionaries’ axes made short shrift of the sword points, enabling them to pour over the first rank in overwhelming numbers.
From the east, the ogres gleefully fell upon their pinioned foes, battering heads to pulp and crushing bones with little exertion. The ogres lacked the sophistication of the minotaurs’ attack, perhaps, but the combination created an unstoppable force.
Desperate, the Talon Leader tried to surrender. However, before he could make the distasteful signal, a heavy, rusting ogre sword plunged through his throat, sending him toppling off his horse. His corpse was ignobly crushed in the melee.
As the last of the knights perished and the victors let loose with their various war cries of triumph, a new band of riders appeared from the east, a mingled party of minotaurs and ogres. At their head rode a female minotaur, a slim but curved young officer bearing the purple cloak and crested helmet of a legion commander. Her luxurious brown mane flowed from underneath the helmet. Her legionaries saluted her smartly as she neared.
Accompanying her was an ogre like no other. Smaller of build than most of his kind, clad in flowing forest green and brown garments akin to those of an elf, he almost looked as though he sought to fashion himself in the image of that detested race. His long black mane was well brushed and to enhance his softer, less-pronounced native features, he had shaved down his tusks to mere nubs—very unusual for one of his kind. A musky perfume enveloped him, in contrast to the sweat-soaked bodies of the rest.
Holding aloft helmets, enemy weapons, and the various bloody body parts they prized, the ogres in the throng cheered the Grand Lord Golgren with loud cries of “Sarak H’kan! Sarak H’kan!”
Next to him, a grinning Lady Maritia de-Droka remarked, “I don’t think I know that phrase, Grand Lord.”
“They praise only our victory, son of Hotak, nothing more.” Ogres did not view females with the same equality that minotaurs did, and so to ease her acceptance in matters of warfare, the ogre leader had taken to calling the emperor’s daughter ‘son.’ Doing so conveyed upon her all the respect of a male.
“They look only at you.”
“Yes, they slight your contribution, but time will increase their respect of the minotaurs. Also, you are a female chieftain. They do not understand. It gives you some discomfort,”—he shrugged—“but it is a small failing, yes?”
The legionaries began to reform ranks, whereas the ogres simply milled about. Golgren suddenly barked something in Ogre to a particularly large and hairy brute wearing an old Solamnic breastplate, with the image of a kingfisher still visible through the rust and blood stains. The ogre immediately began accosting his fellows, batting at them with fist and club and slowly creating something of a semblance of order among the minotaur allies.
Amused to watch the ogres try to imitate the minotaurs’ discipline, Maritia eyed the carnage. “These dark knights, they are stupid. They shouldn’t have been so loyal to the old leadership. They should’ve headed south and joined this Mina.”
“But what a pleasure they did not. The black ones, they owe mine much blood.” He smiled as he gestured, revealing teeth as sharp and long as any ogre’s. “This battle pays in part.”
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“The plan was executed well, Grand Lord. We did well together.”
“So thought this one.” With a wave of his fist, he accepted more cheers of “Sarak H’kan!” from nearby ogres. “The homelands are nearly free now.”
These knights represented the last major human force in Blöde or Kern. The ogre realms were indeed free now, which meant that the full invasion of green, glistening Silvanesti was next.
All around, the minotaur legionaries were gathering their dead for an honorable burial. Some of the ogres were stripping their own comrades of any valuables, arguing over the spoils, while others had begun searching the corpses of the knights.
Maritia glanced at the Grand Lord, who seemed very proud and contented. “You find it no trouble to be allied with other legions of the Knights of Neraka, now that Mina leads them?”
“No more than an alliance with minotaurs, yes?” Golgren smiled at her, knowing that she could not argue with his clever reply.
Changing the subject, Hotak’s daughter said, “If we are to march to the shield that surrounds Silvanesti, and be there when Galdar advised, we must head south in the morning, Grand Lord. Will your forces be ready? We need to meet the supply wagons.”
“Nagroch will see all is ready.”
“Nagroch?” At the mention of his name, the hefty, armored ogre from Blöde looked up. He rode close behind them. Nagroch had originally joined the command as his Chieftain’s surrogate, but he had been acting more as Golgren’s second-in-command. He stank like most of his kind, but was as wily as the wiliest ogre.
Golgren put on an expression of regret. “Forgive this one, son of Hotak! I did not perhaps make this clear earlier! I have appointed Nagroch to lead the ogre army to Silvanesti!”
Tides of Blood Page 5
