Mikaren, Chalis, and Dolias fought ferociously at his side. Chalis cut down two men threatening Nerris’s flank while Dolias dueled with a soldier holding a spear. Mikaren sheared straight through the collarbone of another man with his saber, and launched a stiletto at a villager sneaking up on Colonel Quin’s horse. The small blade bit through the man’s hauberk and he fell with a surprised grunt. The spearman managed to knock the helm from Dolias’s head, but it threw him off balance and the spear fell from his fingers. The Agossean wasted no time in running him through with his longsword.
Nerris turned his head in time to see a soldier heft his spear and launch it at his side. At the last moment, Nerris pulled sharply on the reins, forcing his mount to turn. Instead of taking him in the ribs, the spear took his horse in the throat. The animal gave a terrible scream and fell to the ground. Nerris managed to launch himself off and roll when he hit the grass, coming up unscathed.
The soldier drew his blade and came at Nerris, swinging in a downward arc. He gripped his katana with both hands and brought the blade up to meet the wild swing. He turned the man’s blade with one quick stroke, and the loyalist fell to the ground, his throat sliced open. Poetic justice for his poor mount, Nerris reasoned.
He heard many hooves galloping across the ground, and glanced around, hopeful. However, it was not Rade’s men coming to their aid, but Lord Bosmick’s cavalry, who had circled around the flames to cut them off at the sides. Along with their hidden spearmen, they closed ranks on Nerris’s men, hacking and slashing at any infantry they came across.
Mikaren came up behind him, now also on foot. He dispatched another soldier with his saber and turned to face away from Nerris. “They got my horse too. I’ll watch your back, Commander.”
Nerris nodded, and they fought back to back. Between skirmishes, Nerris witnessed several men pull Dolias from his horse and cave his skull in with a blow from a mace. Elsewhere, Colonel Quin attempted to reform his cavalry units to break through the closing enemy ranks. Nerris knew the battle was lost; even if they reformed behind Lord Bosmick’s force as planned, he had lost half his men, maybe more. He would be of little use to Qabala when she came west, if he still lived.
The wind picked up faster than he could react, blowing the detestable stench of smoke and blood and bowels from his nostrils. In fact, the wind picked up so violently it blew straight down the flame wall, pushing the flames to either side and opening up a path.
Nerris turned his head as fresh battle cries and the thunder of hooves filled his ears. From either side, Rade’s sabres rode out of the trees and they weren’t alone. Thousands of men in black cloaks were at his back, many wielding clubs, mauls, or serrated blades. Nerris recognized the robes, as well as the patterns embroidered on the rims. He had seen them before, days back, in that glade deep in Yahd’s Walk. But what business did cultists have here? He forgot the battle for a moment as his blood boiled. How dare those murderers show their faces here?
Rade’s riders took their assailants off guard. Many now ran, but could not get far with horses thundering after them. Just like that, they were in the clear and Colonel Quin gestured toward the open path through the flames with his saber. Now filled with hope, the men followed him through and toward the remainder of Lord Bosmick’s forces.
“No, we must fall back!” Nerris called out. “Sound the retreat!”
Colonel Quin didn’t hear him, and the men rushed to engage the enemy, this time augmented by Rade’s forces and the black-robed cultists. Nerris wheeled around to ask Mikaren why he hadn’t blown the retreat. The black-haired tracker lay on the ground, a spear in his belly. He was immobile, but for the blood gushing from his side, and his good eye staring lifelessly at the sky.
Nerris’s shoulders slumped. The first rule for a mercenary was to not get attached to your comrades, but Nerris had liked the gruff, dependable forester. He hadn’t even heard him cry out.
“Commander!” Rade rode up to him and reined in his horse. “Thank Yala you’re all right.”
“What’s going on?” Nerris asked.
“Those cultists showed up shortly after the battle began. Thousands of them. Don’t know where they even came from. Their leader said they were sent by Qabala, that Petaka Bosmick laid a trap for us and that Prince Lahnel isn’t here, and has already taken a ship for Lesta.”
“Qabala sent them?” Nerris asked. “But she has no dealings with such people.” Even as he said it, he remembered lying in her tent and catching a glimpse of black mist. The same black mist he had seen that night in the glade.
Rade shrugged. “I’m in the dark, same as you. But we needed the help. They were slaughtering you out here.”
Nerris swore. “I told Qabala I was no commander, or I would have seen...” He stopped short as cheers welled up in the distance. He glanced at the village of Gelnicka. Many of the homes were on fire, and he could no longer see the enemy or his own men. “What—”
“Fighting in the village,” Rade said. “We must have routed them somehow.”
With cold fury, Nerris sheathed his blade. He found a black destrier, made riderless by the battle, and climbed into the saddle. He snapped the reins and the beast took off in the direction of Gelnicka, despite Rade’s calls to wait. He recognized the smell as his horse leapt over the dwindling flame wall. They had soaked the ground in oil. No wonder the brush had caught with such haste.
It was a short ride to Gelnicka at a gallop, but upon arriving in the town square, Nerris reined in the big warhorse. Everywhere he looked, chaos and carnage reigned. Soldier and villager alike littered the street, dead eyes staring up at him. Several cultists held down a man while another ripped open his chest with one of their serrated blades, all the while chanting in their foul language. Smoke and flame permeated the air, and framed the whole bloody picture.
Nerris wanted to weep, to rage, to tell them to stop, but he was only one man. His own soldiers were part of the frenzy, looting and pillaging alongside the cultists’ sacrifices, as well as committing other atrocities.
Nerris dismounted and drew his blade at the sound of a woman screaming from down the street. A girl, no more than an adolescent, lay on the dirt while one of his men kneeled between her legs pumping in and out of her with frantic urgency. He recognized Cheld, the man who had helped Chalis pick off those archers a few days past.
Nerris set his blade against the man’s throat. “Get off her.”
Cheld stopped mid-thrust and climbed off the woman, pulling his up his breeches. The girl stumbled to her feet and fled behind one of the homes untouched by the flames. Cheld gave Nerris a confused look. “Commander?”
“Who gave you leave to do this?” Nerris asked.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, Commander. No one gave us leave. They tried to burn us to death. We’re giving them’s that died justice.”
“And the girl?”
“Commander, please,” Cheld said.
Shouts of alarm rang out as Nerris turned his head, coming face to face with several cultists. “He fights against us!” one man yelled from behind a white metal mask.
“Wait,” Cheld told them. “This is Commander Nerris. Commander, please lower your blade. No one else cares about that girl. She’s nothing, one of them—”
With one swipe from Noruken, Cheld’s head left his body and splattered against the earth. The cultists shouted in surprise and brandished their weapons.
“Offer his blood to the Tattered Man. Make him a sacrifice! Let him meet our savior!”
One of the men stepped up to Nerris. “You will die!”
“After you,” Nerris said, proceeding to cut straight through the three men with deadly precision. The masked man was the last to fall. Nerris’s blade slashed through the mask and sheared off half the man’s face.
As the last body fell, more men converged on him, his own men. They wailed on about him attacking true Yagols, and four of them pounced at once. Nerris railed against them and managed to get in one cut, which
took a man’s arm from his body. Then something smashed into his helm, and Nerris’s head swam. Everything grew blurry as the other men grabbed at his arms, forcing Noruken from his grip.
Some shouted for him to be sacrificed to something called Eversor, while others favored taking him before Colonel Quin. A few even shouted for him to be freed. Nerris never knew what they decided. He collapsed to the ground as his mind descended into blackness.
Chapter Eight
NERRIS RUBBED AT his head as he rode. He had been hit with the flat of a wood ax, but luckily his helm had stopped him from a braining. Unfortunately, it had driven the inside of his helm straight into his skull, and the pain lingered.
All around him, the men rode in silence. According to Chalis, after Nerris had been felled by the cultists, Rade had shown up in Gelnicka to identify him as the commander. He and Colonel Quin had patched him up for the march to Palehorse. Their original strategy was out the window now. The bulk of Lord Bosmick’s men had run when they saw a militant force of cultists coming at them, and those who did not were slaughtered. Lord Petaka Bosmick himself had been taken prisoner, which would keep his son from mounting any kind of retaliation for the time being. And even if that was not the case, three thousand of Nerris’s troops remained, most of them belonged to the cavalry he had placed under Rade’s command. Their victory had cost him over half his men. They were of no more use here.
The men stepped around him carefully after Gelnicka. Nerris was furious at their behavior, and he had berated Quin publicly for being unable to control them. The hardened soldier gave him a wide berth after that. Nerris didn’t care; he had looked upon what remained of Gelnicka after the battle. Not a single house was left habitable. Every one of them had burned to cinders, or stood as charred remains. All the villagers had been sacrificed to whatever foul deity the cultists worshipped, and he had been helpless to stop it.
It was his own fault. The wanton slaughter, the fire, the rape, all of it brought back memories he had tried very hard to abandon. He had been correct in his assessment about himself to Qabala. He had no business commanding a battle. He realized soldiers did these things, and had always been able to detach himself from it. However, it was different when he was the one responsible. He had lost his head, and was lucky he hadn’t lost it for true.
Rade rode up beside Nerris and Chalis, and reined in. “I finally got some news,” he said. “Lady Qabala has taken Palehorse. Even now, she sits in the Aeternica, waiting for us to arrive. She wishes you to be present at her coronation. She has let it be known that when she is Aeterna in true, she will immediately name you Dume-General.”
“Where did you hear that?” Nerris asked.
“From one of the cultists, a messenger sent by their leader,” Rade said gravely. “A man named Meznas. He sits by Qabala’s side in the Aeternica even now.”
“I was under the impression this cult was just an occasional roving band.”
“That was the case, until a few years ago,” Rade said. “This Meznas has united them all, it would seem.”
“And Qabala has found a godstone, then?”
“No,” Rade said, “but she seems confident on where to find one.”
Nerris shook his head, bringing on new stabs of pain. “She becomes the monster more every day. I was foolish to think I could influence such a woman. Maybe if I had met her sooner—”
“Don’t give up on her,” Rade said, “I beg you. She needs you, Nerris. If you will not help her, then I will have to.”
“Rade, you saw what she was willing to unleash on her own people,” Nerris said. “I’ve talked to her, ridden with her, shared her bed. She doesn’t plan to stop here. Once she smashes Prince Lahnel, she’ll turn her eyes on the rest of Tormalia.”
Rade cast his eyes downward and sighed. “Nevertheless, I will stand by her side for as long as she will have me.”
“Why?”
Rade swallowed hard, and pulled back on his reins. His mount squealed in protest, but Nerris’s column soon left him behind. He could have commanded him back, but Nerris knew better than to try and get a straight answer out of Rade at this point. He glanced over at Chalis, who had been watching the conversation. Ever since Gelnicka, he had appeared ashen-faced, his eyes bloodshot and watery as if he might weep at any moment.
“Is something wrong, Chalis?”
“It’s just that... I don’t know where it went wrong.” The youth’s exuberance was gone now, replaced with a chill tone. “I’ve been in battles before. But never have I witnessed such wanton carnage. I saw a man I know... sweetest disposition you’ll find of any soldier... I saw him raping a girl young enough to be his daughter. And me... I was so angry at the villagers for getting involved in the battle. I rode down anyone in my path... young or old... and cut them down.”
Nerris put a hand on his shoulder. “You were caught up in the bloodlust. Maybe it was my fault. I’m just not a good enough commander.”
Chalis shook his head. “No. It was the cult. The men never touched a single home or person until they instigated an attack. Why would Lady Qabala send such men?”
Nerris shrugged. “We needed help, and they were close. Though I wonder. It does seem a bit convenient.”
“Nerris, I think Rade is right,” Chalis said. “Please, stay with us. Qabala needs you. If you leave her with the likes of Falares and Meznas hovering around her, you doom us all.”
One thing Nerris was glad for was the fact that they no longer needed to march through Yahd’s Walk. Instead, they turned southeast toward Palehorse. With the wounded to care for, it took them three days longer than it would have otherwise. At least the cultists had drifted away from their force. In groups, they gradually filtered out of their midst and back under whatever rocks they crawled out from. Even if they had not just perpetrated a horror on innocents and those simply trying to defend their village, their presence was making the men anxious. Most of them did not know whether to thank the cultists, run away, or run them through.
Finally, the scouts came back to report they had seen the Blue River, with Palehorse standing tall on the opposite side. Nerris hadn’t been sure what to expect when he set his own eyes on the city, with Qabala’s banner flying high over the Aeternica. He half expected to see half of it burnt down or smoking, but it did not look to be in too much disrepair.
Palehorse was a fairly new city, in a manner of speaking. Back in the days of the Aristian Empire, it had stood as the capital, a true wonder of the world. A great war with the barbarian tribes of the east had seen the city destroyed, which marked the end of the empire. The ruins sat on the edge of the Blue until three hundred years ago, during one of Yagolhan’s civil wars. When the south of the country split off to form its own kingdom, Palehorse had been rebuilt as its capital, which was why its name was in Tormalian. All of the kingdom’s older cities had their origin in Old Yagol. Palehorse had reigned as capital ever since, even after Yahd the Enslaver reunited North and South Yagolhan over forty years ago.
An honor guard emerged from the North Gate to meet them about a league from the city. The leader removed his helm to expose long, silver hair and inclined his head to Nerris. “Commander Nerris Palada, I am Lukas Kord, formerly Second Watchman of Palehorse. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
Nerris extended him the same courtesy. “Master Kord.”
“Our Eternal will be most pleased to see you,” Lukas said. “When we learned of Lord Bosmick’s trap, we feared the worst.”
“Save your sympathies for the victims at Gelnicka,” Nerris said. “I would speak with Lady Qabala about the conduct of her new allies.”
“Of course,” Lukas said. “Queen Qabala Aeterna gave orders for you to be conveyed to her presence as soon as possible. Your men will be given quarter in the city barracks.”
Nerris issued some brief orders to Colonel Quin to make sure the men got settled in, and split off from the main force. However, Master Kord did not take him to the Aeternica, but to a place called Ha
rpek Square toward the middle of the city. When they arrived, Nerris could not quite believe his own eyes.
The citizens of Palehorse were lined up, each receiving food in turn from Qabala’s sabres. The soon-to-be queen herself stood in the middle of the gathering, radiant in a teal gown with a huge smile spread across her face. She handed some bread to a small child, enveloping him in a hug as she gave it to him and murmuring comforts into his ear. Falares stood behind her with the next recipient’s bread. His frown clearly stated he had no wish to be present.
Lukas smiled at his expression, which must have been quite shocked. “Inspiring, isn’t it? You should have been here this morning, when she hanged the instigators behind the looting and raping when we took the city. Never has a crowd’s cheering sounded so sweet.”
Nerris fixed him with a glare. “You were our informant, were you not, Master Kord? Word has it the city fell with you in charge of your own mob. How is it you didn’t hang?”
Without another word to Lukas’s falling grin, he dismounted and approached Qabala. Seeing her like this gave him hope the woman underneath would one day see past the privileges of power and remember her duty to her people. Her smile infected every person who accepted food, and they left with similar expressions. Emotion welled up inside of him. He had missed Qabala during his campaign, but he did not realize how much until laying eyes on her beautiful face again.
Qabala saw him, and her smile grew even wider. She gave the loaf in her hands to Falares and approached Nerris. He restrained himself from embracing her. Proprieties would need to be observed, and by the way Qabala moved, he suspected she was thinking the same thing.
Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) Page 7
