by Hal Emerson
And then the Imperial Army itself emerged on the far side of the Plains of al’Manthian, bathed in the white and gold of Tyne, with banners flying the Imperial sigil of the Diamond Crown encircling the triliope, and the roaring lion’s head of Rikard himself. Drums beat and horns sounded as his brother’s army spread out in rank upon rank, file upon file, covering the field with terrible radiance even as the clouds above blocked out the rising sun.
Raven turned away at last and mounted Melyngale, spurring the stallion down the side of the ridge to join Tomaz and Leah as they marched out onto the field, what dawn light had managed to make its way through the cloud cover forcing him to squint.
They had twenty-four hours to finish this. The Empire needed him dead, and the Kindred needed him victorious. Twenty-four hours to kill the last of his brothers, to overthrow the capital seat of the thousand-year Empire of Ages, to fulfill prophecies so old the parchment they’d been written on had long since crumbled into dust. Twenty-four hours.
One day to change their world.
Chapter Seventeen: The Battle of the Plains
The armies met.
The first clash was so surreal that Raven felt as if he were living a waking dream: he had been thinking of this moment for so long, dreading it in nightmares that repeated themselves over and over every night, that as the reality unfolded before him he was unable to distinguish it from his own anguished thoughts. The heavy infantry regulars of the Kindred army fought against the heavy infantry of Tyne, and spearmen and rows of pikes did what they could on both sides to contain the fighting and prevent a flank attack.
Arrows flew from the Imperial archers, blacking out the sky and whistling catcalls as they lanced down and spited those too eager or too unwary on their terrible points.
Raven raised the shield Tomaz had forced on him at the last minute as they joined the army, and continued following the giant, knowing that in the tightest of spots, even his Talisman might not be enough to save him.
His thoughts went briefly to Davydd, and he felt himself wishing with a strange desperation born of panic that he had been gifted with the Fox Talisman.
If only Aemon had made seven daggers that could transfer and share powers instead of just one sword.
Arrows thunked into the wood of his simple kite-shield, and he was suddenly grateful for the iron bars reinforcing it. As he watched, Kindred fell in droves as the clouds roiled overhead, excited by their battle. More Kindred took the place of their fallen comrades, continuing the advance across the field. The Scouts from the field and the regular archers from the ridgeline replied in kind, sending an answering flight of arrows arching through the sky, a deadly rain of broad-head shafts that would pierce armor and flesh with indiscriminate glee.
Tomaz came out from beneath his own shield, an enormous thing nearly as wide as he was, and roared out a guttural, animal challenge. His armor seemed to glow from beneath as if heated with burning embers; two or three Kindred stumbled away from him, stunned that he had grabbed them and saved them from the rain of death that had descended seconds before.
Leah, riding beside Raven, grabbed his shield and pulled it up; a late arrow stuck, quivering, in the wood instead of burying itself in his exposed throat.
“Stick close, princeling,” she said as her eyes turned back from blue to green. The battle fever was on her – she was like Davydd: when she smelled killing, it brought something out in the her, something primal that was both beautiful and terrible.
The Kindred and Imperial armies both continued their advance, the first ranks now too mixed to distinguish friend from foe. Fallen men and women were already being pulled back from the front line by men and women in white robes – Healers, with Commons wearing white sashes running along beside them with out-stretched shields to protect them as much as possible.
“Here we go,” Leah said, looking forward. The front ranks were just before them; they were almost at the heart of the battle now, with Kindred behind them ready to step in when they tired or fell. Tomaz was to their right, still roaring, rallying the Kindred with his very presence, and standing out as a terrifying beacon to the Imperial army in front of them.
“Don’t let me become that thing again,” Raven said to her suddenly, almost viciously. “You do whatever you have to – but don’t let me become that creature. You keep the promise you made – and you make sure the others do too.”
Leah glanced at him, her long black hair flying across her face and squinting green eyes as wind and sound buffeted them.
“Hold onto the Blade,” she shouted back, “and I won’t need to!”
“That’s not good enough!” he protested, grabbing her with his shield arm. “You promised – say it again. Say you’ll do what has to be done!”
She looked back at him, and once again everything that had happened to them over the past year seemed to hang in the air between them.
“I promise,” she mouthed, her words caught and taken by the wind.
And then they were in the thick of the battle that would define their Age. Raven unsheathed Aemon’s Blade, the Valerium metal standing out like a white-hot brand against the blackened, burned earth and the press of black-green-and-silver Kindred soldiers at his back. He slashed and cut, killing three men in a manner of minutes. As soon as the first was dead, his speed doubled, his strength doubled, and the world grew more vibrant. He killed three more and felt invincible. He began to pull back – he cut hamstrings, parted hands from arms, and knocked men unconscious. Nothing could stand before him.
Tomaz worked beside him; Malachi swung through the air with screaming fury, ending men left and right and opening up a huge bubble of space around them into which no Imperial soldier dared or wished to enter. He was an invincible force; with every life he saved he gained strength and power, and soon his skin was tough as leather so that not even the best-timed thrust could pierce his hide.
Leah’s eyes continued to flash back and forth from blue to green, as she grabbed the Aspect of Sight for three-second intervals only to lose control again. But whatever glimpses she was seeing were enough – she dodged blows before they even appeared, and stabbed air where a man had yet to appear, only to have him fall on one of her wicked, enchanted daggers.
They pushed forward together, the three of them at the tip of the attack, cutting into the Imperial army and killing with impunity.
Raven had no idea how much time passed, or how many men he felled. The clouds above them blocked out any light or natural sign of passing time, and the sun had long since left the slim edge of space on the horizon where it was easily visible. Shadows fought alongside them now, dancing among them in the terrible faux-night. The Kindred soldiers behind him continued to rotate out in shifts, keeping the line of attack strong by moving the exhausted men and women to the back while fresh arms and legs moved to the fore.
“Raven!”
He killed the man before him, absorbing another life that gave strength back into his failing limbs, and turned, crouching low to prevent an attack from behind.
It was Leah – she was motioning to him frantically to return to her. Tomaz was by her side and the other Kindred were falling back as well. He turned back to the Imperials and found himself in a strange bubble of space where the two armies were breaking apart. Seams appeared in the line on either side of him, and he realized they were fighting now in the center of the Plains, and that the battle had somehow rotated. The Imperials were backing off, pivoting their formation.
And as soon as the soldiers were far enough away, the arrows began again, numerous as falling leaves in autumn. Raven ran, shield slung over his head, for the safety of the Kindred line, side by side with a number of stranded Kindred soldiers; he was able to save two, but the others were too far away.
Leah caught him as he ran into and through the line in his haste to escape the onslaught, and wiped a gauntleted hand, thick with blood, across his face to pull his hair away from his eyes. She was holding out the reins of Melyngale, whi
ch he grabbed quickly. The stallion looked eager for battle, and Raven was sure that soon he would get his taste of it.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his voice coming out rough and ragged; he had been screaming wordlessly for what must be hours now, shouting down the men who attacked him, screaming just to hear himself and prove he was still alive.
“Autmaran formed up the force to the west,” she said, holding a message from a runner standing nearby; they were all crouched behind a wall of shields held by Tomaz and three Eldorians of similarly massive stature. “He’s attacking – he needs us to pivot east and attack their rear and flank when they turn to meet him.”
“Attack their flank?” Raven asked. “We’re the smaller force – how?”
“Not anymore,” Tomaz rumbled with a bloodstained grin.
“What?”
“We’ve decimated them,” the giant rumbled. “Normal soldiers can’t stand against the Aspects – especially not three together.”
“Rikard must have known that,” Raven said, bewildered. “What’s he playing at?”
“Don’t under-estimate Autmaran,” Tomaz rumbled. “He’s the only one who’s ever beat Goldwyn at a game of chess.”
“I hardly think that applies to a real world battle – ”
“Not the time, boys.”
“Right you are,” rumbled Tomaz. “LET’S MOVE!”
The roar carried even over the noise of the battlefield and their force began to circle the enemy. They crested a small rise, and as they did, Raven could see the Imperials, still an enormous force, reforming and milling in the center. The Kindred had split into three groups now – a central force, held down by Stannit, Jallin, and the ferocious core of the Commons and Kindred that had united together; a left flank led by Autmaran himself, with Lorna by his side and whatever force they had managed to rescue from Tyne; and the right flank, now led by Leah, Tomaz, and Raven, circling to close the Imperials in a vice.
“How did Rikard let himself get into this position?” Raven asked, shocked.
As if in answer, a single word in a black, incomprehensible language cracked and rolled across the battlefield. It passed over Raven, leaving him unscathed, but all the soldiers nearby, including both Leah and Tomaz, missed a step and stumbled. They turned as one and looked back toward the center of the battlefield, and saw the front row of the central force of Kindred fall as one, without a single sword, arrow, or fist anywhere close to touching them.
Rikard had simply told them to die.
“Shadows and light,” Raven swore, panic surging through his blood like fire, “he’s leading the attack himself – he’s going to crush the central force and break us in half!”
Aemon’s Blade was in his hand before he knew it, and he was astride Melyngale in a flash of forgotten memory. He was shouting wordlessly, calling for the Kindred to follow him, hoping frantically, praying with everything he had in him, that they weren’t too late.
He flew across the field on Melyngale, dangerously jumping concealed chasms and bursting up the side of the short, rolling mounds of burned land. The wind was blowing in his face again, and he realized he’d somewhere lost his helm and his shield. Power from the men he’d killed surged through his veins, as the memories of their lives pounded behind his temples. He pushed the thought of them away; if he focused on the men he’d killed, if he put names to the faces, he might lose himself again.
He was halfway across the field, leading the charge, when he heard a distant horn begin to blow, the sound carrying the short, sharp quality that meant it belonged to the Kindred.
Raven looked to his left, from the opening of the pass through the Elmist Mountains, the mouth of the Imperial Road, and saw Autmaran himself leading a charging horde of Kindred into the end of the faltering line that Rikard had attacked.
“No – go back!”
But it was no use: the roar of a hundred thousand voices and the clang of a hundred thousand swords thinned his shout and weaved it into the overarching tapestry of chaos and destruction. Raven dug his heels harder into Melyngale and the horse added as much speed as possible, racing across the field.
He reached the flank of the Imperial army just as Autmaran with his scarlet cloak of office disappeared into the middle of the fray, Rangers and Rogues fighting alongside him, trying to bolster the flagging Kindred.
“Thou shalt die!”
The words cracked out again in the tone of Command, and Raven knew it was Rikard. All the Kindred around him stumbled and faltered, and the ones within twenty-five yards simply fell to the ground, never to rise again. Even Melyngale lost a step and stumbled. Raven vaulted over the horse’s head, leaving him behind, knowing that if he brought the stallion any closer Rikard would only kill it.
“RIKARD!”
The shout ripped from Raven’s mouth, but the man wouldn’t be dissuaded. He’d spotted Autmaran with his golden knots of rank, and he spurred himself forward, rushing for what was clearly a commanding officer. The Rogues and Rangers around him were throwing everything they could at the Lion, but his personally trained bodyguard was more than equal to the task, and soon it was just Rikard and Autmaran facing one another.
Autmaran unsheathed his sword, but Raven knew there was no chance.
“Be thou still as stone!”
The words rolled out of Rikard’s mouth, and froze Autmaran and twenty nearby Kindred in place. They were cut down in seconds, and Rikard spurred his horse forward, raised his claymore, and brought it down in a slicing diagonal cut.
Autmaran fell, a bright red line of blood traced across his armor.
No! NO!
Rikard began to laugh, and the sound made Raven laugh as well, even as inside him a small voice, drowned out by Rikard’s Talisman, railed and beat against the inside of his chest. The laughter grew, and suddenly everyone was laughing, laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks as Rikard’s joy spread in ripples across the army. A woman nearby cut down an Imperial soldier, even as both of them smiled and laughed at each other, and two men in the green and gold of Rangers were holding their sides in mirth as they were spitted upon pikes from behind.
Rikard turned as if sensing that he was not alone, and locked eyes with Raven. He smiled, his handsome face creasing into the perfect expression of amused condescension.
“That was the man you hoped to replace me with?” Rikard called out to Raven, his voice booming out, deeper and louder than Tomaz, more commanding than anyone besides the Empress herself. “How droll. A decent commander, but obviously not superior.”
Raven threw himself from Melyngale’s saddle and cut down three Imperials fighting beside his friend’s body. He fell to his knees beside Autmaran and saw the man was still alive.
I’ve got one shot at this. Shadows and fire, I can’t risk letting him die – this is going to be way too damn close!
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, as the man gasped for breath. Raven saw understanding blossom in Autmaran’s dark eyes just before he sank Aemon’s Blade into his side, killing him. He felt his friend’s life pulled from his body, and saw Leah come up behind him, her eyes shining with blue light, already running for them, ready to keep the body safe, understanding and anticipating his plan.
There’s no going back now – if Leah can keep his body safe, then I can bring him back just like Tomaz. His memories are inside me, and if I can pull the Lion Talisman from Rikard, I can use it to put them back.
“Leah! Tomaz!”
They turned to him, and he tossed them Aemon’s Blade. Tomaz threw Malachi back at him in exchange, and Raven’s hand caught the enormous hilt just as the giant’s fist closed around the Blade and Leah dove to join him.
Light and heat exploded through him as both of their Aspects joined together and flew to him. Blue lines shot across his vision, and red light infused his body. He spun, the heavy six-foot-long steel ribbon of Malachi weighing no more than a broomstick, and launched himself at Rikard.
The Lion’s eyes w
ent wide in shock, and he threw himself off his mount just as Raven cut at where he’d been seconds before. The warhorse rose up on its hind legs and flailed its hooves at Raven before he cut it down with Malachi, sending it crashing to the barren ground. Raven turned to Rikard and advanced.
“Stop!” Rikard shouted at him, but Raven shrugged off the Command, relishing the terror in his brother’s face.
“You hold no power over me,” Raven said, feeling his voice roll out of him with a booming strength of its own as blue lines continued to splinter his vision, telling him where to go, and scarlet fire burned through his muscles, pushing him on. He launched himself again at Rikard, and this time the Lion had no chance but to parry and defend himself as best he could against the onslaught.
“Die!” Rikard hissed, and Raven stumbled as the word slammed into him, but continued on.
“Be thou dry as dust!”
The phrase slipped past the defenses of the Aspects, and Raven felt every pore on his body suddenly gush sweat, which fell from him and soaked the ground. His head began to ache as he lost what felt like gallons of water and passed through the first stages of severe dehydration.
“Be thou cold as ice!”
Shivers convulsed Raven’s arms and legs, and his next swing went wide, missing Rikard once more. The Lion was smiling now, revealing beautiful white teeth in a gorgeous face made only slightly less so by spatters of mud and blood.
“Be thou hot as fire!”
A fever engulfed him immediately, and he staggered, his head spinning. He was losing – he couldn’t even focus his eyes. He had no idea where his brother was.