by John Marco
“But you’re not going to run,” I said. I went to Venger and patted his side, glad to see my beautiful horse. “Thank you for this,” I told Anton. “I’ll ride him with me to the battle, but I’ll need another horse for the fight.”
“Another?” asked Marilius. “Why?”
“Any good warhorse will do,” I said. “Venger will stay in the rear until I need him.” I waved at Sariyah and the others. “Gather,” I said.
They huddled around me, Sariyah jealously taking my right, Chuluun my left. Kiryk stood slightly apart from the rest, attentive nevertheless. I looked at Marilius.
“You’re not a captain anymore,” I told him. “None of you are. You’re all generals now. Congratulations.”
Chuluun smirked. “Is that good?”
“It means you’re a leader,” Kiryk explained.
“That’s right,” I said. “Each of you will report to me directly. And each of you is in charge of your men, like we planned. Marilius, is everything in place?”
“Just as we planned,” he said. “Diriel’s waiting. I sent him a messenger two hours ago like you asked. He’s expecting you.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to fight,” said Anton. “He could have attacked by now but hasn’t.”
“Don’t hope that, Fallon,” warned Kiryk. “Don’t even think it. Diriel lives to destroy. He’s just savoring Isowon like a good meal.”
“Everything he wants is here,” I agreed. “Except for one thing.”
“Crezil,” said Marilius. “That’s why he’s waiting for Lukien. And since I don’t see Crezil anywhere . . .”
“Just buying time,” I said. “That’s all it ever was. Just a ploy. What about that horse?”
Marilius called to one of the remaining mercenaries. “Bring him another.” He turned back to me peevishly. “We can’t really spare horses this way, Lukien. Most of the men are already on foot. Venger’s perfectly suited for fighting. What’s the problem?”
Kiryk cleared his throat. “I should go. My men are waiting.”
Chuluun turned to his brother, Nalinbaatar, who was holding his horse. “We will see you on the field, Lukien.”
I turned to Sariyah. “What about you?”
“I will not leave your side,” said Sariyah. “To protect you.”
“Protect me? You might have that backwards, my friend.”
Sariyah replied, “You are our only hope, Lukien. If you fall we all will surely lose. Consider me like your shadow—inseparable.” He went to his horse, a burly beast with two battleaxes tied to its haunches, one on each side. On any other day one would be enough, but Sariyah meant to take many heads. He mounted up and followed Kiryk and the Bogati to the courtyard gate, where he waited for me while the others trotted off. The man Marilius had dispatched returned with another horse for me, not nearly as splendid or well-armed as Venger. He handed the reins to me almost apologetically.
“The best I could find,” he said.
“Good enough. Now, protect your master Fallon. Don’t be tempted to ride out to join us. Whatever happens, you make sure your master lives.”
The mercenary nodded, mostly because he remembered my threat to kill any of them who abandoned Isowon. “Good luck to you, Sir Lukien.”
“Anton.” I turned to the man who’d brought me here to slay his unbeatable monster. He looked pale, and I could see a trace of some unknown spice staining the flesh beneath his nose. “No more of that false courage,” I said. “You’re stronger than you think. You stayed alive this long, after all.”
His eyes flicked toward Marilius. “Bring him home safe,” he whispered to me.
Marilius shifted. “Anton . . .”
“Don’t be embarrassed by your love,” I said. “Remember what I told you, Marilius? There’s no shame in loving each other.” I turned to Sariyah and said, “Ride ahead for me.”
“I will not leave you, Lukien.”
“Just to the edge of the city. I need to speak with Marilius.”
He agreed grudgingly, and when he was far enough ahead I called to Marilius, “Come along. It’s time.”
He hurried to his horse and sped the beast to where I was waiting. Anton gathered his bodyguards and disappeared into the palace. Suddenly the yard was deserted. The street ahead was nearly empty as well. I could see Sariyah trotting through Isowon, looking forlorn among the fountains and hanging gardens, and ahead of him rode Kiryk and Chuluun. It was a fair distance to Sklar Valley, but the time it took to get there would be the last peace we’d know for days. My plain brown horse clip-clopped down the street. Marilius checked his gear as we rode.
“You look anxious,” I said. “Are you?”
“Anxious. Terrified.” Marilius put his hand on his sword. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You checked your sword already. Leave it. Remember what I told you when we faced Crezil—when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
“This isn’t like that, though.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s much worse than that.”
Marilius laughed nervously. “How come you’re not afraid, then?”
I thought for a moment. I searched myself for fear. Maybe it was because I had no soul. Or maybe I wanted to die. “You’re right. I’m not afraid,” I said. “But I wish I could be. The only fearless people I’ve ever known have all been madmen. Maybe I’m one of them now.”
“Maybe it’ll come back when this is over,” said Marilius.
“What? My soul?” I shook my head. “That’s gone for good.”
“Your sanity, then. Maybe when you finally get home, it’ll be there waiting for you.”
I smiled beneath my bronze helmet. “I like that. I’ll remember it.”
“Why are you bringing two horses, Lukien?” asked Marilius. “I know you don’t have much luck keeping them alive, but still . . .”
“I have a plan. Don’t ask me to tell you what it is, because I won’t.”
“You’re asking all of us to trust you, but you don’t trust us. I have to say, I’m not inspired.”
“Marilius, if this is going to work you need to stop thinking so much. Worry less about what I’m doing out there and more about what you’re doing. Use your wits to keep your men alive, not to untangle my motives.”
“All right,” he grunted. “But I’m going with you when you ride out to see Diriel.”
“I want you all there,” I said. “Kiryk, Chuluun, and Sariyah too. I want the Akyrens to see what they’re up against.”
“Why? Diriel won’t care. He already knows.”
“Fuck Diriel. I want his men to see us.”
* * *
A horde.
That’s what I saw when I reached the battlefield.
Horses and dogs. Archers and infantry. Dirty conscripts, dead-eyed Akyrens, pikes pointed skyward, flaccid banners of a ruined country. Eager, soaring buzzards. A vast, badly stitched quilt of legionnaires and starved slaves, of Drinmen and Kassens in chains, of swords and hammers, of wagons, of war sleds, of terror and disillusionment. Bringers of death. Bringers of worse than death. Made whole by the whips of madmen, and a king on a chariot adorned with peacock feathers.
From a berm in the sand I watched with the wind in my face. Diriel had rolled out from his horde when he saw me on the hill. He drove his chariot through his front line of dogs and conscripts. My own men—my four tiny armies—waited in perfect formation, facing the black wave from Akyre. In front were Marilius’s mercenaries, lined up in three tight rows of infantry and horsemen. Kiryk and his Silver Dragons held the north flank, bolstered by other Drinmen who’d heard the call. A contingent of Zurans and Bogati horsemen secured the south flank to my left, not really under the command of anyone. There was no way to hold them back, I knew, so I’d given them no orders at all. Once the fighting started, they’d fly into battle.
We were outnumbered in every way I’d feared, except for horses, where we had the advantage. We were also better rested and better fed. But we were half as many
as our enemies. Even with all our horses and all our axes, I still didn’t know how we’d take so many heads. The conscripts posed no threat at all. But the legionnaires . . .
I spied them from the berm, counting and sizing them up. There were at least as many as I’d seen at Diriel’s castle. They wore collars now to protect their necks, thick leather bands they’d started using after their brief war with Drin. I knew they wouldn’t stop the Sword of Angels, but I worried about the battle-axes. Sariyah, who sat next to me upon his horse, rested his big axe on his shoulder and scanned the field for Asadel. Chuluun galloped out from the Bogati, and Marilius called up from the bottom of the berm.
“That’s Diriel,” he said, pointing at the approaching chariot.
“I see him,” I replied, then guided my nameless horse slowly down the sandhill, leaving Venger in the care of a young servant boy. His name was Cern, and he promised to protect Venger with his life. It was the kind of loyalty I didn’t expect from one of Isowon’s puffy young men. I believed him enough to trust him, and he’d be far enough from the fighting to keep himself alive.
I reached the bottom of the berm—my sandy command post—and didn’t say a word as Chuluun and Marilius wheeled their horses to flank me. Sariyah came after me, equally silent, and as we trotted forward, Kiryk broke away from his men to join us. Our troops watched silently as we rode out together toward Diriel, whose own contingent gathered around his chariot. We had agreed to meet in the spot between our facing armies. Amazingly, Diriel had brought Grecht, the midget from his castle, the one who’d greeted me and Cricket at the bridge. He bounced out in front of Diriel’s chariot like a weird little herald, carrying an already tattered flag and, I think, whistling.
“Who is that?” whispered Chuluun when he saw Grecht. He rode slowly at my side, scimitar sheathed, unable to take his eyes off the midget.
“If only they were all that size!” said Kiryk.
I took the point, letting the others fan out behind me, matching Diriel’s deliberate speed. Four legionnaires came with him on horseback, the only four with perfect uniforms, I supposed, each of them pale and expressionless. And, as I’d hoped, Wrestler was with them. His bald head caught my eye at once, gleaming and helmetless, with a sword at his side and his loose black clothes draping his uncanny body. He smiled, a grin I felt more than saw, a laughing, contemptuous leer aimed right at me. He almost looked like he’d grown since our fight, his arms more apelike, his chest even more like a beer keg. Finally, I’d be close enough to kill him.
At last Diriel’s chariot came to a stop, and the king himself dropped the reins of his twin horses and stepped down on the battlefield. Grecht performed what looked like a curtsy, then stepped aside for Diriel to pass. I jerked my horse to a halt just a few paces in front of him. His legionnaires remained in the rear, but Wrestler rode up to protect him. Diriel’s vulnerability was meant to calm me, I knew, but I couldn’t help thinking how stupid he was. He held apart his empty hands in greeting.
“Why don’t I see the creature with you?” he asked.
“It’s sleeping,” I replied.
“I’ve waited, Lukien. You promised to bring it to me.”
“If you believed that, you’re even dumber than I thought.” I glanced at Wrestler and said, “Get yourself an advisor with some brains, Diriel. Maybe you’d make better decisions.”
“I see you brought your sword this time,” taunted Wrestler. He pushed back his robe to reveal his own. “I’ll toss mine away if you want to go again, Liirian. I’d love the chance to snap your neck again.”
“Not just my neck.” I pointed at my eye. “See? Magic.”
“Then take a good look, Sir Lukien,” advised Diriel. “You’re outnumbered. Even you can’t beat all of them. Does Anton Fallon know you’re throwing his life away?”
“Anton Fallon has a message for you,” chimed Marilius. “Isowon is his. He built it, he rules it, and he’s not given it over to you. Lukien speaks for us all. If you want Anton, you’ll have to kill us all first.”
Diriel looked up at Marilius, flashing his sharpened teeth. “Why doom yourself, boy? Run back and tell your master I’ll spare him if he surrenders to me. But I want the monster, too. I want what was agreed upon.”
I laughed in his face. “Idiot. The monster was never going to be yours. I told you that to buy us time, to build this army!” I leaned over my horse to look at him. “If you want the monster, go get it!”
“Where is it?” demanded Wrestler.
“In its lair,” I said. “In the crypts of the old Akyren kings.” I heard Marilius shift with surprise at my admission. “That’s where the mummy powder came from, Diriel—from your dead ancestors! Anton Fallon dug up your mothers and fathers. He ground them into dust and let you feed them to your men!” I took great glee in my taunt, and in the shock on Diriel’s face. “He played you like a fool, and you know why? Because you are one! Did you really think I’d ever hand over a weapon like Crezil to you? Are you so deluded to believe I’d let you take control of it? Crezil belongs to me!”
Diriel was so unbalanced by his rage he could barely speak. His eyelids fluttered and his fingers clenched, and he looked up at Marilius and seethed, “Imagine the worst death you can for yourself, boy. I will flay you. I will boil you for what your master has done!”
“You’ll do nothing,” I spat. “Because you’ll be dead. And then Crezil will be mine. Anton Fallon will take over Akyre, and together we’ll drink beer until our bladders are bursting and piss on the graves of your ancestors. But they’ll be empty, because Anton dug them up and turned them into fairy dust.”
Truly, I thought Wrestler’s bald head would explode.
“Death!” he screamed, his hand flying to his sword. “Sweet Diriel, let me kill this foreign pig,” he pleaded. “Let me pull out his intestines, I beg you!”
“Then I’ll just come back,” I sneered. “An eye, a neck—haven’t you figured it out yet? I am forever! And you, you demented child raper—you’ll be dangling at the end of my sword soon.”
Wrestler was about to pull his blade. Chuluun nearly pulled his own. But Diriel wasn’t stupid enough to end things yet. He regained his composure, ignoring everyone but me.
“One more chance,” he warned. “Behold, Sir!” He swept his arm toward his warriors. “Think. The monster and Anton Fallon, and you ride back to Liiria with everything you had.”
“Not everything,” I said.
Wrestler took my meaning. “No, not everything,” he agreed. He licked his lips. “Not your pretty squire. She fought a little with her little girl fists, but she loved me on top of her. I showed her some of my best wrestling holds.”
“Demon,” hissed Sariyah. “She was a child.”
“She was candy,” crooned Wrestler.
I could barely keep myself together. I could have—should have—leapt off my horse and torn his throat out. But I remembered why I’d come, and somehow steeled myself. Behind Diriel waited his army, with the dogs and conscripts at the front. The conscripts seemed little more than slaves, starved-looking and in rags, poorly armed with whatever throw-away weapons the real Akyrens didn’t want. There were hundreds of them, too, some still in the chains that had dragged them to battle. The only expression on their gaunt faces was dread. I spurred my horse away from my men, past Diriel and knocking past Wrestler.
“Hear me!” I cried to the conscripts. “We are free men in Isowon! We do not bow to evil! Be free and join us!”
Sariyah hurried to my side. The legionnaires surrounded us both. Diriel laughed.
“They won’t join you,” he said. “I have broken them. They’re mine.”
“They will join us,” I answered. “When they see your heads rolling in the sand, they will.”
I could see Kiryk’s hand twitching on his sword and Chuluun was just dying to fight. I turned one more time toward the horde, raising up a defiant fist toward his enslaved soldiers.
“Watch how free people fight!” I cried. �
�Watch and grow strong!”
Diriel made his way back to his chariot, waving off his legionnaires. “Sir Lukien,” he said, “you should never have come here.”
“On that, we agree,” I replied. “If you have a devil, Diriel, make your peace with him. By tomorrow you’ll be in hell.”
Then I spat onto the ground between us, spun my horse around, and led my men back toward our army, turning my back on Wrestler and his king in one final act of contempt. I didn’t look back—I pretended not to care. I just kept on riding as Marilius caught up to me.
“Lukien!” he said insistently. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you tell Diriel about the mummy powder?”
“To kick a hornet’s nest,” I said. “Why do you think?”
34
I had barely reached the berm with Sariyah when I heard the arrows overhead. Up on the dune, Cern pointed skyward with a shout of alarm. A peculiar buzzing filled the air, and when I spun my horse around, the sky was black with missiles. My men held their places in the field while their commanders rode and cried out orders. I shouted up to the top of the berm where Cern stood.
“Cover yourself! And protect that horse!”
Cern couldn’t really do both so scrambled to guard Venger with his own unarmored body. The arrows wouldn’t last long, I knew—maybe one or two volleys. Diriel was too impatient for archers. Kiryk’s Silver Dragons raised their shields as the arrows arched, and the mercenaries with armor crossed their arms over their chests. The Zurans jeered at the arrows, daring them to strike, and Marilius rode furiously at the front of the army, rallying them all to stand fast.
I meant to climb the berm but didn’t. I should have commanded from there, at least for a while, but Wrestler’s taunts still rang in my brain, and all I wanted was the chance to fight. I wouldn’t be a general who, from a place of safety, ordered men to die. And I had trophies of my own to take. Out sprang the Sword of Angels, to my lips came a curse, and I rode out screaming for the arrows to strike me. Like a heavy rain they fell, around me, pelting me, bouncing from my armor, and pounding on my helmet. Men cried and dropped about me. I galloped through them, willing the arrows to catch me, snapping them off as they pierced my bronze armor. I turned my face toward them, howling, and Chuluun picked up my wolf-cry. Soon a chorus of howls erupted from his Bogati, even as the arrows pounded them.