Justin’s army proceeded in battle formation towards Hektor’s forces. Like Hektor, Justin had gathered the bulk of his hoplites in the center. The Vhalorasti orcs massed on his right, howling and shouting imprecations in response to every taunt of the Mholorasti orcs. The pagan jotunmiri gathered on Justin’s left, glaring in silence at their baptized kindred.
“Can you see where he has the warlocks and the Dark Arcanii?” said Ridmark.
Calliande’s eyelids fluttered as she drew on the Sight. “I think…the Dark Arcanii are scattered among the hoplites. The warlocks…there is a strong aura of dark magic behind the hoplites, around King Justin’s banner. I suspect he has them gathered around him.”
King Hektor nodded, his eyes hard as he watched the maneuvering soldiers.
Ridmark and Calliande and the others waited with him as the army moved into position, the drums booming over the plain like rhythmic thunder. Couriers sprinted back and forth, carrying Hektor’s orders to the soldiers. The other three kings and the Warlord and many of the nobles had dispersed to command their individual contingents. Even old King Kyrian had drawn his sword and gone to join the hoplites. He might have preferred prayer and contemplation, but when the hour had come, he had not hesitated to grasp his sword’s hilt. Ridmark supposed that spoke well of him. Kyrian might have been old and querulous, Aristotle young and pompous, and Lycureon simply young, but none of the three allied kings were cowards.
Hektor stood with the Sword of Fire drawn. Calliande’s attention was on the enemy, but from time to time she cast glances at the Sword. Ridmark wondered what the Sight showed to her. He had only seen Hektor use the Sword of Fire once, during the attack at Sir Tamlin’s domus, and Hektor had burned through a half-dozen abscondamni with a simple wave of his hand. Ridmark had seen some of the power Calem had unleashed with the Sword of Air.
What could the Sword of Fire do when Hektor brought its full power to bear?
For that matter, what would the Sword of Earth do when Justin unleashed its power?
“The army is in position, my lord King,” said Sir Tramond.
“We’ll stay here, then,” said Hektor, “and let Justin come to us.”
Ridmark said nothing. It was plain that Justin intended to simply march up to Hektor’s army and start the battle. Ridmark did not like that at all. Battles, in his experience, were usually decided even before the first drop of blood had been spilled. Either one commander had drilled his men better or had allies waiting, or had a cunning stratagem that the enemy had failed to anticipate. But this, a battle between two armies of equal strength, was a colossal gamble. It was a flip of a coin. Too much was left to chance.
Would the trisalians be enough to turn the tide? Would Oathshield and the magic of the Keeper make a difference in the coming battle?
Ridmark didn’t know, but he was about to find out.
Calliande’s head snapped around to look to the north, and her eyes widened.
“King Hektor!” she said. “He’s about to use the Sword of Earth!”
###
Justin watched his army advance towards the enemy, the ground shivering a little with the tramp of their boots.
His hoplites would hold formation until they crashed into the foe. The orcish warriors and the pagan jotunmiri, alas, might not be so disciplined. Both had a keen lust for blood and desired to come to grips with the foe as soon as possible.
Perhaps it was time to discomfort the enemy, to cross swords with Hektor Pendragon at last.
Justin took the Sword of Earth and pointed it towards Hektor’s army.
“Lord King?” said Atreus. Brasidas, gallant fool that he was, had gone to join his men in the advance. Perhaps he would be killed, and Justin would be rid of his constant complaining. Many of the others had dispersed to join their soldiers. Only a guard of Ironcoats, Vhalorasti warlocks, and King Atreus remained at Justin’s side. Even Krastikon had insisted on going to the front. No doubt the boy wanted to redeem himself in Justin’s eyes by killing Ridmark Arban. He would probably get killed, but who knew? Perhaps the boy would get lucky.
Urzhalar waited behind Justin, silent in his green robes, face shadowed beneath his cowl.
“It is time to take the fight to Hektor,” said Justin, and Atreus blanched with alarm as Justin called upon the Sword of Earth’s power.
###
The power blazed before Calliande’s Sight, a storm of elemental magic of surpassing strength.
She raised her staff, calling the power of the Well and the mantle of the Keeper to her, white fire crackling up the staff’s length.
But it was too late.
Power leaped from Justin’s army, invisible to material eyes but burning like amethyst fire to Calliande’s Sight. The magical force stabbed into the ground amid the advancing hoplites, and the earth heaved beneath Calliande’s boots.
And then the earth opened.
A chasm ripped through the formation, and Calliande heard the scream as men fell into the yawning void. Eighty or ninety men disappeared, and then the chasm clapped shut with a groaning sound, a cloud of dust rising from the disrupted formation.
“Reform!” shouted Hektor. “Sir Tramond, make sure the lines reform! Justin’s attack will be answered!”
Hektor raised the Sword of Fire over his head, and the blade erupted with howling elemental flames. Calliande’s Sight saw the vortex of fiery magic swirl around it, magic potent enough and strong enough to melt iron and shatter boulders.
The power blazed brighter, and a comet fell from the sky.
At least, it looked like a comet. It was a fireball that roiled like a sphere of burning pitch, leaving a long trail of black smoke in its wake. It crashed into the midst of Justin’s advancing hoplites and exploded with a roar and a flash. Dozens of men went tumbling through the air, limbs flailing as the flames devoured their bodies, and Calliande heard the distant screams as more men burned in the grip of the fires.
A ripple went through Justin’s host, and the advance stopped as his hoplites took a moment to reform their lines.
“A potent weapon,” said Ridmark, his voice grim as Hektor’s soldiers finished rebuilding their formation.
“It is,” said Hektor. “Nor is it one I use lightly. But in this, at least, I pray Justin has wisdom. If we both unleashed the full power of our Swords at each other, we would slaughter the gathered army of Owyllain in moments, and soon he and I would be the only living men left upon the field. Whoever prevailed would reign over a realm of corpses, and the Confessor or the Necromancer would easily sweep aside the broken remnants of Owyllain.” His voice grew harder, his expression stern and terrible. “If Justin wishes to battle Sword to Sword, I am willing…but I pray he refrains. He said he wishes to reunite Owyllain, not send it sinking into the earth.”
Calliande grasped her staff and waited, the armies resuming their slow, terrible march towards each other.
###
Justin lowered the Sword of Earth as his army continued its southwards march towards Hektor Pendragon. No more fireballs fell from the sky, nor did the plains erupt in a firestorm. Hektor was staying his hand for now.
“Call upon the Sword’s power!” said Atreus, excitement coming into his face. “Let the earth open up and swallow our enemy whole! See if Hektor and the Sword of Fire can burn their way free from a thousand tons of rock and soil!”
“No,” said Justin, barely keeping the contempt from his tone. Perhaps when this was all over, he could rid himself of Atreus and appoint a more competent king of Cadeira. “I desire to rule Owyllain, not entomb it. Once I kill Hektor and wipe out his children, every soldier here is a man who will fight in my army against the Confessor and the Necromancer.”
“Enemies all,” sneered Atreus. “King Justin, you should slay them all for the crime of opposing you.”
Justin ignored Atreus. At least Brasidas, for all his rigid honor, had better strategic sense. If Justin had let Atreus have his way, the King of Cadeira would rule over a depopulate
d wasteland, starving to death atop his hoard of golden coins.
Instead, Justin turned to the waiting Vhalorasti warlocks. The loss of the High Warlock was a blow, but the remaining Vhalorasti warlocks would serve just as well for what he intended.
“Wise Elders of the Pyramid of Iron Skulls,” said Justin. That was what the fools called themselves. He had seen their ghastly Pyramid in the heart of Vhalorast, its sides stained with the blood of the victims slain to fuel dark sorcery. The Tombs of the Warlocks awaited beneath the Pyramid, filled with the iron skulls of centuries’ worth of dead High Warlocks. Justin had entertained the idea of entering the Tombs and stealing the skulls to create iron swords and armor for his soldiers but had abandoned the idea for fear of alienating his orcish allies.
Also, those who entered the Pyramid tended not to come out again.
Or if they did emerge, they came out like the High Warlock, who hadn’t been quite sane.
“King Justin,” rasped the eldest of the surviving warlocks.
“The time has come,” said Justin. “Send forth your creatures.”
The warlock grinned behind his yellowed tusks and his ragged beard.
###
“Archers!” shouted Sir Tramond.
Ridmark watched the ranks of archers advance, hundreds of them, bows held ready in their hands. The two armies were less than a mile apart now, close enough that massed arrow fire posed a danger.
“Release!” bellowed Sir Tramond.
The archers drew back their bows and released in unison, and a storm of bronze-tipped arrows hurtled over the advancing hoplites and fell like deadly rain amongst Justin’s soldiers. The arrows did little damage, deflecting from the helmets and shields of the humans and orcs, though here and there a man fell. Justin’s archers answered in kind, and Hektor’s hoplites and orcish warriors raised their shields to meet the barrage.
Men died as the arrows fell, but not many. This was just the beginning, a brief crossing of the blades before the duel began in earnest.
“The warriors of Mholorast will want to charge soon,” said Sir Tramond in a low voice.
Hektor nodded. “They will have to wait. We need them to counter the Vhalorasti orcs. If the Mholorasti warriors can punch through the Vhalorasti warriors, they might be able to attack Justin’s hoplites from behind.”
That seemed like a risk. There were just as many Vhalorasti orcs as Mholorasti, and the Vhalorasti orcs could count on the aid of their warlocks. And if Justin’s orcish allies broke through, that could decide the battle then and there…
“King Hektor,” said Calliande, looking northwest.
Ridmark saw flickers of movement among the ranks of the Vhalorasti orcs, dark shapes loping through their ragged lines.
“What is it, Keeper?” said Hektor, not looking away from the imminent battle.
“There are creatures of dark magic with the Vhalorasti orcs,” said Calliande, her eyes hazy as she drew upon the Sight. “Some more urvaalgs. And…quite a lot of minor undead, I fear. At least several hundred.”
Ridmark grimaced. Skeletal undead and animated corpses, the kind of weaker undead that the warlocks of Vhalorast could command, posed little threat to a Swordbearer. But against the orcish warriors and the hoplites, they could be devastating.
“Where are they moving?” said Hektor.
“I think they’re getting ready to charge the Mholorasti orcs,” said Calliande.
“Then they will serve as the spearhead,” said Sir Tramond. “Undead and creatures of dark magic mean nothing to King Justin, and he will sacrifice them without hesitation. While they hold the attention of the Mholorasti orcs, the Vhalorasti will charge and try to break our lines.”
“Master Nicion,” said Hektor, turning to the scowling Arcanius. “Take half of our reserve Arcanii and go to meet them. We must repulse the undead and the urvaalgs.”
“I will go as well, lord King,” said Ridmark. He saw Calliande take a deep breath, and she nodded to him. “That is where I can best serve.”
“Go, both of you,” said Hektor. Nicion turned and started barking orders at some of the Arcanius Knights, who fell in around him. “May God lend you both strength.”
“And you as well,” said Ridmark.
He looked at Calliande and wondered if he would ever see her again.
She mouthed “I love you” in silence, and Ridmark did the same.
Then he took a deep breath and turned. Third, Tamlin, Aegeus, and Calem awaited him. Third and Calem looked impassive as ever, Aegeus seemed eager, and Tamlin looked only grim. Perhaps he hoped to cross swords with his murderous father.
“Let’s go,” said Ridmark, and they jogged towards the waiting Vhalorasti orcs.
###
Tamlin followed Ridmark and the others, the thunder of the drums, the shouts of the archers, and the hiss of arrows filling his ears.
He had gone into battle so many times before that he was used to the fear, the tightening of his stomach and the thrill of the nerves. But he had never gone into a battle of this size.
And he had never gone into battle against a host commanded by his father.
A sense of finality closed around Tamlin as if his entire life had been a path leading to this day. He knew in his bones that before the battle ended, he would face his father. Perhaps he could, at last, avenge his mother and all of Justin Cyros’s many, many other victims.
Of course, Tamlin knew that war did not care what he felt in his bones, and he might catch an arrow through the throat and fall dead to the ground long before he ever faced Justin. It was a mordant realization, but Tamlin prayed that he would get to face his father before he died.
Some men prayed before battle, others cursed. Sir Calem was as silent as the grave.
Aegeus made jokes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever gone into battle alongside a woman before,” said Aegeus, looking at Third.
“Eh?” said Tamlin. “Yes, you have. Lady Kalussa and Lady Calliande.”
“But that’s different,” said Aegeus. “They hung back and threw spells at the enemy. They didn’t get into the battle with a sword like Lady Third does. Strange feeling.”
“If it comforts you, Sir Aegeus,” said Third without looking back, “I was killing enemies long before your great-grandfathers and your great-grandmothers ever were born.”
“That’s not even remotely comforting,” said Aegeus with a laugh, “but I’m glad you’re on our side.”
Tamlin did not think Third would answer, but she did.
“For centuries,” said Third, “I fought at my father’s will, killing as he commanded. Now that he is slain, I fight for causes that I find worthy. That pleases me.”
Tamlin found he understood.
A moment later they reached the front of the orcish line. Warlord Obhalzak and his chief headmen stood there, glaring at the advancing Vhalorasti orcs. Obhalzak had his double-bladed axe of dark elven steel in his hand, and the black tattoo upon his green face made him look mad and fierce and wild. Behind him, the warriors of Mholorast shouted jeers and taunts at the advancing Vhalorasti warriors.
“Shield Knight!” boomed Obhalzak. “You come to fight alongside us? Excellent! Let us drive the dogs of Vhalorast before us like the cringing curs that they are! Let us see if their black magic and blood gods will save them from our wrath!”
Warlord Obhalzak did not lack for confidence.
“They have urvaalgs,” said Ridmark, and Obhalzak growled, “and a great many undead. Master Nicion and a troop of Arcanii are coming to reinforce you, but…”
“Warlord!” shouted one of the headmen.
The undead emerged from the lines of the Vhalorasti and charged.
There were hundreds of the things, their eyes glowing with ghostly blue fire. Most of them were mummified orcs, but Tamlin saw animated human corpses among their number as well. All of them carried bronze swords and were armored in either battered bronze cuirasses or coats of metal rings over leather. Such creatures wou
ld not be immune to normal weapons and could be battered down and destroyed. Nevertheless, a living man was at a severe disadvantage when fighting against a thing that felt neither pain nor fear nor fatigue.
The undead were dangerous, but the urvaalgs bounding through them were far deadlier.
God and the saints, how many of the wretched things had the High Warlock brought to the battlefield? Tamlin spotted at least twenty urvaalgs hurtling towards the orcish warriors.
“Third, Calem, and I will deal with the urvaalgs,” said Ridmark, drawing Oathshield. The blue sword burst into harsh white flames, the soulblade’s magic rising into response to the urvaalgs and the undead. “The rest of you, deal with the undead.”
Tamlin nodded and drew his sword, calling elemental magic to his left hand. Aegeus raised his axe and conjured a shield of ice on his left arm.
“Pity we don’t have Kalussa with us,” said Aegeus. “She’s good with fire magic. Bet she’d make these undead go up like kindling.”
Tamlin shook his head, making himself smile as he watched the approaching undead. “You just want to sleep with her.”
“I would if I could persuade her,” said Aegeus, setting himself with his icy shield raised and his axe drawn back to strike. “But she’d probably give me orders the entire time. And she’d keep giving me orders after. A man doesn’t need that kind of hassle.” He grinned. “After this, we’ll get drunk as lords and find some lonely women.”
“Aye,” said Tamlin. “After.”
There might not be an after. This might be the last day of his life. Tamlin knew with cold certainty that this day would be the last day for many men in the army.
But what he wanted, more than anything, was to make Justin Cyros pay for what he had done.
To save your sword, you must first break it, the Dark Lady had told him.
Tamlin didn’t know what that meant.
“Find me again,” said Tysia in his memory. “The New God is coming.”
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