by Gav Thorpe
"You would give me the throne of Askh? Why should I believe you?"
"I'm not fighting for myself this time. I mean it. If you want the empire, you can have it. Even if I win, I'm not staying as king. You can fight it out with everyone else who wants to be my suc cessor. My word as a man of the legions, I swear to you that if you fight with me and we both survive, I will name you as my heir. Fuck, that's about as good a claim as anybody else has."
Ullsaard waited for the Prince's reply, gazing into the flames.
"Do you remember this place, Ullsaard?" said Erlaan, standing up.
"Looks like any other piece of near-Mekha. Why, have I been here before?"
"We sat at a fire down there," the Prince pointed to hotwards, "and you spoke to me about the Blood. We did not know that it was in your veins too. You told me that the quality of the metal determines the worth of the blade forged from it. You also said that I needed to learn when to change events."
"I don't remember," said Ullsaard. He stood up and looked around. In the dark it was hard to be sure, but he accepted Erlaan's account that he had been here. And then the memory returned.
"Fetch me a brand from the fire," he said. Erlaan narrowed his eyes in anger. "Please. It is too hot for me to get one for myself."
"As you asked nicely," said the Prince. He strode towards the flames, into heat and smoke that would have felled a normal man, and returned quickly with a burning branch in one hand. Ullsaard took it and headed down the hill to dawnwards, waving the brand left and right as he scanned across the stubby blades of grass. Erlaan followed close behind.
"Fuck me…" he said, catching sight of the thing he sought in a patch of dirt. He handed the branch to Erlaan and squatted down to dig with both hands, pulling free a smooth stone a little wider than his outstretched fingers. On one side was a crudely scratched rune of the Crown. "It's still here!"
"What is it?" Erlaan bent down, bringing the brand closer to see what Ullsaard held.
"I placed this here on that night. I don't know why I did it."
"The destiny of the Blood, perhaps?"
"Fuck that," said Ullsaard. With a grunt, he slung the rock out into the darkness. He turned back to Erlaan and drew his sword. "Men make their own destinies. Which one do you want to make? Are you going to fight with me or not? If it's the second, I am going to attack you here and now. Just so you know."
Erlaan laughed and pulled himself up to his full height. In the light of the brand the Prince's golden eyes seemed like pools of fire.
"I think you are right. You are the bastard son of a whore and a king, Ullsaard, and somehow it falls to you to be the defender of the world of men. It is not the destiny you chose, but it is the one you have created. I will fight with you."
"Good to have you with me," said Ullsaard, extending his hand.
"And my ninety thousand warriors," Erlaan added, engulfing Ullsaard's hand in a mass of bulging knuckles and curved talons. "Be glad you have persuaded me."
II
Against the bright sun of the desert, even the shadow-cloud of the Eulanui failed to bring night to the day. From his vantage point atop his palanquin, Urikh surveyed his army with pride. By the morning after the next Ullsaard would be brought to battle. If he continued to retreat, the swift advance of Urikh's forces would catch them on the march and the king knew his father would not allow that to happen. The thought of the reckoning being so close at hand made Urikh laugh.
"The red-skinned scum will not help them," he declared, looking at Lakhyri, who had brought the news that a large force of Mekhani had joined with Ullsaard. He waved a hand towards the mass of writhing, black-skinned creatures following in the wake of his tame legions, like goads driving a herd. "When their gaze falls upon my host they will run screaming for their desert hovels or fall down to their knees to grovel for my mercy."
"Your host?" said Lakhyri. The priest turned his golden stare upon the king but Urikh did not care.
"I am still king, and this is my army; the grand army of Askhor. I do not know why you delayed so long in bringing them. Too cautious by far. If you had brought me these allies when you first approached me I would have swept aside everybody without all of the fuss."
"The Eulanui do not serve any but themselves," said Lakhyri, leaning closer. "Without the precinct network carefully harvesting the energy of the world to sustain them, they will devour everything, as they did with the civilisation of Mekha. I was rash then. This time was meant to be different."
"Well, it does not matter, does it? We are where we are."
"If our masters countenance for one moment that we are not wholly dedicated to them, it will be you and I that are consumed. You have lost your mind and should still your tongue before it gets us both killed."
"Look, my idiot general approaches," said Urikh, spying Lutaan and a body of men walking back down the advancing column. "He will complain that the men are exhausted and in no condition to fight, just as he did yesterday and the day before. If he mentions it again, I will have him killed for distracting me with his insubordination."
The king spoke a word to the men leading the abada and his throne-wagon slowly came to a halt to allow Lutaan and the others to approach. Amongst the knot of helmeted men, Urikh saw a familiar face: Noran Astaan.
"What is that doing here?" the king demanded, rising to his feet to jab an accusing finger at the traitor. "Kill him now before he lies to me again."
"A moment, supreme majesty," said Lutaan, falling to his hands and knees in deference. "We caught the herald trying to pass our army last night."
"Do not execute him yet," snapped Lakhyri. "We know he was trying to hire Nemurians. We must know if he was successful."
"Very well, if that is your counsel," said Urikh. He gestured to the guards holding Noran. "Bring him here."
The herald did not resist as he was guided past the abada to stand at the side of the palanquin. This duty fulfilled, the legionnaires swiftly retreated, not once raising their eyes to the platform.
"Hiring mercenaries against me, Noran?" said Urikh. "Just how treasonous have you been? I am sure your funds stretched to a few hundred. Tell me, how many will be joining my father?"
"See for yourself," said Noran. He turned and pointed hotwards. There was a low cloud of dust in the distance, which Urikh had thought to be a small sandstorm. The cloud was quickly lengthening to hotwards, kicked up by the tread of many feet – many, many feet.
"How many?" Lakhyri demanded.
Urikh did not like the sly smile on the herald's lips and repeated the priest's question. Noran pretended to count on his fingers and then shrugged.
"All of them."
III
Lutaan and his legions were doomed, that much was obvious, but the desire to die fighting rather than face the terror of the Eulanui forced them to attack. The shadow-creatures made no move to support the men as they advanced, twenty thousand against more than ten times their number. The army of Ullsaard was spread along a line of hills, the Askhan legions forming the centre, the mobs of the Mekhani out on the flanks where they would not impede the manoeuvring of the phalanx.
The desert-dwellers had brought twelve behemodons with them, and groups of lacertil riders with slings and javelins. The war beasts grunted, bellowed and hissed as the kolubrid riders advanced from the line, predators and prey forced alongside each other by the chains and reins of their respective masters.
Spear throwers and lava throwers were drawn up in batteries, sited amongst the spear companies, two protecting the Fifth and Thirteenth at the centre and another two guarding each end of the line. Crews readied their engines, drawing back the torsion bows of the spear throwers, pumping the bellows of the lava machines.
Into the heart of this, the legions of Urikh slowly advanced, the men dragging their feet from fatigue, barely able to hold up spear and shield. Their narrow-faced icons of Urikh were collected at the centre, where Lutaan led the other first captains and their guards from the back of an ail
ur.
"Poor bastards," muttered Muuril, standing to Gelthius's right. Beyond the Companion stood the king, next to the icon of the Thirteenth. Ullsaard turned his head as he heard Muuril.
"They made their choice," the king said grimly. "We'll put them out of their misery soon enough."
It did not seem right to Gelthius and he could not keep his opinion to himself. The king was hardly like to punish him for speaking out of turn, not there and then. And if the day went with the king, Gelthius would be glad to live to suffer such punishment as would be due.
"It's not their fault, king," he said. "They got homes and families just like us. Homes and families they had to protect the only way they could, right enough."
"Feel free to offer yourself up to their spears, captain," the king replied. "Or maybe you think you could ask them nicely to… Wait. You might have a point."
The king stepped out of the front rank and turned to call to the right, where Anasind was leading the second company of the Thirteenth.
"Hold position! We're going for a short walk."
The general's response was lost in the laughter of the company as Ullsaard waved for the men to follow him. They broke from the line at a steady pace, a few steps behind their commander. His course was obvious, heading directly for the opposing commanders. Despite the bedraggled appearance of the other army, Gelthius was acutely aware that he was one of only one hundred-and-twenty men marching to face off against more than fifteen thousand.
Lutaan recognised what was happening and his command staff stepped up their pace, moving ahead of the rest of their army. The two contingents met roughly halfway between the two lines, stopping a few dozen paces apart. Lutaan looked uncomfortable perched atop the ailur, awkwardly holding a golden spear in one hand and the gilded links of the reins in his other. The general's mount become more agitated, flicking her ears, swaying her head and pawing the ground while a bass growl sounded against the backdrop of tramping and scuffing steps.
"That's my fucking spear," Ullsaard said. "And my fucking cat!"
"You can have them back," said Lutaan. He tossed the spear down into the dirt and almost fell out of the saddle.
Relinquished of her rider's control, Blackfang surged forwards, almost barging Ullsaard to the ground as she was reunited with her real master. The king scratched her hard under the chin and behind the ears, eliciting a deep purring.
"Good to see you too, beautiful," said Ullsaard. He grabbed the horn of the saddle and swung himself over the ailur's back. "Companion, fetch my spear."
Muuril ran out to retrieve the discarded weapon, returning to place it in the king's outstretched hands before taking his place again in the front rank.
"You army seems to have wandered into my battle, general," Ullsaard said loudly. "I would get them out of the way before they get hurt."
"We will fight for you," called out one of the other captains as Lutaan rejoined them.
"Not a fucking chance. You'll be worse than useless," Ullsaard replied. He turned and pointed to hotwards, beyond his army. "The camps are that way. Be sure to have the fires burning and the wine poured for when the real soldiers return."
It took time for the news to percolate through the weary legions, but slowly by company their line broke apart, dejected men dragging spears behind them, leaving their shields in the short grass so that they did not have to carry them any longer. Ullsaard's company turned about and returned to the Thirteenth while the jeers of the king's warriors ushered out those who had surrendered.
The departing legionnaires quickened their pace, and soon started to run, glancing with terrified eyes over their shoulders. As the army dispersed, the black mass of the Eulanui was revealed, the air dark around them. A hot wind kicked up the dust in the wake of the breaking legions and drove as a wall through the army of Ullsaard.
Gelthius held his shield in front of his face while the sandstorm raged around him, men choking and coughing as the wind swirled and the dust rasped skin. The unnatural gale did not last long, but when the Salphor lowered his shield, black tendrils of clouds were creeping overhead and the shadow army was advancing fast.
IV
The attention of Urikh and Lakhyri was focussed on the battle. Noran eyed the pair of them carefully as they stood next to the grotesque block of bones and black rock that Lakhyri had brought with him. There were a few dozen Brothers around the camp, watching the army of Ullsaard and the Eulanui swarm from the vantage point of the wooden palisade further down the hill.
Nobody seemed to be paying the herald any attention.
With another glance around, Noran hurried between two pavilions, disappearing from view. He headed coldwards, away from the battle, and broke into a jog, not believing his luck. He moved between rows of smaller tents until he reached more open ground around the kitchens and storehouses.
"Running away?"
Noran stopped and looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen tent. Luia stood there with arms crossed.
"Yes," he replied, figuring that he had a good enough head start even if she chose to raise the alarm.
"Be kind to my sister," said Luia. "You will find her in Enair, if you wish to look for her."
Noran was about to continue on but there was something about the queen that made him backtrack a few steps.
"You should come with me," he said. "One way or another, this is not the place to be right now."
"I would not expect you to understand," Luia said to him, glancing up at the summit of the hill where Urikh and Lakhyri could still be seen. "I have to protect my son."
"I think it is a little late for that, Luia. Come with me, I will make sure you are safe."
"No." Luia turned away and started to walk back up the hill, towards the centre of the camp.
"Suit yourself," muttered Noran.
The legion had not finished building the fort when they had been ordered to assemble for the attack. The hills of nearMekha rose up in front of Nora, and beyond them the more welcoming lands of Ersua. The herald looked back but could see nothing of the battle unfolding. That was probably for the best, he thought, and broke into a brisk walk, heading back towards distant civilisation.
V
The Mekhani were the first to respond. Amplified by runescribed lips, Erlaan-Orlassai's voice boomed out across the battlefield and the red-skinned hordes surged forwards. The grunts and hoots of the behemodons sounded out alongside the harsh blaring of war horns. Skirmishers on reptilian lacertils raced towards the oncoming army of shadow, their sling stones and javelins falling like rain into the dark mass; the effect was much the same as the Eulanui poured onwards, ignoring the missiles falling upon their leathery flesh. Scorching hot gusts of air forced the lacertils back, the riders unable to control their mounts as they scurried away from the searing heat.
With a sea of Mekhani warriors streaming around them the behemodons plodded forwards, catapults on their backs launching boulders into the press of swarming black bodies. The rocks thudded into unearthly flesh, cracking chitin plates. A few of the Eulanui were caught directly beneath the fall of the boulders, their black limbs thrashing under the heavy projectiles.
Through the dust and gloom, the king of the Mekhani could see a throbbing miasma surrounding the Eulanui army. Beneath the oil-slick cloud the grass withered and bushes crumpled into nothingness, their meagre life essence absorbed by the flowing horde of monsters. Where a Eulanui fell beneath a plummeting rock or was pinned by a storm of javelins, gouts of energy sprayed out into the seething, invisible morass.
Bellowing his challenge, Erlaan-Orlassai led the charge, a stone-tipped axe in each hand. Whooping and yelling, the Mekhani avoided attacking their gangling foes directly, but swept wide around the flanks of the enemy army. It was their task to use their numbers to swamp the ends of the enemy line, dragging more and more creatures towards them from the centre.
The Eulanui responded to the Mekhani mobs pouring around the sides of their host, groups of shadow-nightmares peeli
ng away to face the threat like a smoke scattering into tufts on a breeze. The ground started to shake, and Erlaan-Orlassai felt a quivering in his gut as the shadow-things roared to each other below the range of even his superhuman hearing. The reverberations intensified as the Mekhani and Eulanui came closer, resonating inside the desert king's head.
Whipping tentacles and scything tongues met bronze- and flint-tipped spears as the Mekhani closed in on the attack. There were no shouts of pain when tendril-tongues lapped at flesh and armour, dissolving through hardened leather and bronze studs, stripping away skin and fat and muscle. Spears scratched against unnaturally tough hide and rang from crystal eye clusters. Flint shattered on bony barbs and bones snapped at the sweep of horn-sheathed limbs.
Erlaan-Orlassai ploughed into the midst of the Eulanui swinging his axes to left and right. Their heads split and their shafts splintered in moments and the desert king tossed aside the remnants of the weapons and laid about with bronze-clad hands and iron-hard talons. In a welter of spewing yellow ichor, the rune-carved warrior tore away coiling appendages and ripped gouges into black flesh.
