"This girl," she gasped, rushing to her. "Where did you find her? Look at her head! It is bleeding. Come, sit down, dear."
Lyssa guided Coronea into a chair where she began fretting over her bloody scalp. It occurred to Menleco at that moment that Lyssa had not had any contact with girls her own age--for years perhaps--and he saw at once that these two might have been sisters. The Huntress rivaled Lyssa in beauty, that was plain to see. But if sisters they were, they had long been lost to each other, for one padded through marble halls while the other slept on the hard dirt. Doubtless neither would have been able to comprehend the other's life. One committed murders daily; the other only dreamed of it.
"Don't think this is some village waif we found on the road, Lyssa," Menleco said with a chuckle. "This is the Huntress you have no doubt heard tell of. She is an Epirian killer. She would put an arrow through your heart where you stand if she could."
"Is this true?" Lyssa asked. "You are the Huntress?
"My enemies call me that. My name is Coronea.
"And you fight for Epiria?"
"I fight, my lady. Yes."
Lyssa let her fingers fall from Coronea's injured scalp. Her hands still bound behind her, Coronea sat rigidly upright. Lyssa seemed torn between sadness and anger. She regarded the bound Huntress with an expression of awe and wonder.
Finally, she looked past Coronea's unbrushed, blood-matted hair to Menleco. "So you will keep two of us captive now. Is that the way of it, my lord?"
Vonos burst out laughing. "Two captives? An unequal pair, if ever I saw them! A gilded cage for one, but I would suggest stout iron bars for the other."
"Don't get your hopes up, Lyssa," Menleco said amidst Vonos' guffawing laughter. "I did not bring her here for you to keep."
Vonos barked out another laugh.
"I should have killed him when I had the chance," Coronea spat. "Forgive me, Lyssa. I had an opportunity to end your suffering, and I failed."
"And I am tempted to drive a spear through your pretty breast, Huntress," Menleco said through clenched teeth. The lady was unbowed. It seemed to him they all were. "It would do Lyssa good to see that even a woman as beautiful as you would bleed red and spill her bowels at my whim."
"Perhaps it would do Lyssa more good to hear how you trembled under my bow, Menleco. Someday soon death will find you a quivering coward."
Menleco lunged toward Coronea and raised his hand, but stayed it at the last moment. Coronea had squeezed her eyes shut and she sat there awaiting the blow. Menleco lowered his fist, and began chuckling darkly. He stroked Coronea's face and she jerked her head away.
"Oh, no, I will not bruise your cheek, my dear, but will instead deliver you to the Irrylians unmarked. What do you suppose the Huntress is worth to them? I think they'll be most pleased. They were most appreciative of the last of your kind I delivered to them, and I don't even remember their names. The Huntress in the hands of Pylia should profit me greatly."
"Pylia?" Lyssa gasped. "You wouldn't…"
"Did I not mention that, Lyssa? I should have warned you not to become too attached to our new friend here, for she is bound for Pylia. Perhaps she will not speak so boldly in the witch's lair. Believe me, it is a dreadful place."
"You can't send her to the witch!" Lyssa shrieked. "You just can't. Keep her here. I will tend her…"
"Do not speak for me!" Coronea snapped. "I would sooner face the witch than submit to your cowardly imprisonment. You are no better than he is. You belong together."
Lyssa slapped her across the face, hard. The snap of flesh on flesh filled the tent like a thunderclap. "Go to the witch, then," she said, turning away, her voice full of anger and pain. "I will not save you."
Menleco chuckled again. "You see, Coronea, your tongue has cost you all your friends. And now, here you sit, quite alone."
"Quite alone, yes, but still valuable, if you catch my meaning," Vonos said, grinning. "We may not know what value the Irrylians place on her head, but to you she is worth four silvers, if you remember."
"Of course," Menleco said. "I had almost forgotten. Thank you for reminding me. Raulon, your cloak."
Raulon looked puzzled. "My cloak?"
"Yes," said Menleco impatiently. "Your cloak. Off with it. Hand it to me."
Reluctantly, Raulon removed his long black cloak and handed it to Menleco. The general spread it out on the floor of the tent.
"Now, you shall receive what you have coming to you. Stand on the cloak, please."
Vonos stepped onto the cloak. "Ah, this must be the Shadow Riders' way," he said in a tone that might have been mockery and might have been genuine admiration. Menleco had given up trying to distinguish what was real with the lad. "The way of the Shadow Riders," he repeated in an unmistakably awed tone. "That's sixteen silvers, remember."
Menleco stepped onto the cloak with him. "Would you like to be a Shadow Rider, Vonos, son of the hated bastard Umey?"
"I would consider it an honor, sir," Vonos said, his grin surpassing even its previous breadth. Did he really consider it an honor? Or was that mockery again in his smile? Menleco wondered briefly and then decided he did not really care anymore. It was a shame, too, because he was exactly the kind of boy Menleco was always on the lookout for. He might indeed have made a good Shadow Rider.
Vonos was all smiles as Menleco reached under his cloak and produced not a bag of silver but a shiny dagger. He plunged it to the hilt into Vonos' gut. The boys' eyes bulged and Menleco eased him down onto Raulon's spread cloak.
"This is the way of the Shadow Riders, Vonos." He gave the dagger a hard twist. "Nobody plays a double game with Menleco," he added, laying the boy down.
Lyssa screamed and Coronea watched impassively, her heart a stone. Menleco supposed she enjoyed it as much as he did. At least they had that to share before they would have to part ways.
"That's sixteen silver pieces I no longer have to pay. Captain, wrap the boy up in your cloak and get him out of here."
"My cloak is ruined."
"Better your cloak than my floor."
"The boy was a thing of evil," Coronea said.
"A more eloquent eulogy I have never heard, Huntress. Composed on the spot, too. Impressive. Must be this Cleonander fellow rubbing off on you." Raulon had folded his cloak over Vonos' body and was dragging the bloody parcel toward the door. He stopped and looked up when Menleco called to him. "Leave his body in the camp for the feral dogs. Then take fifty men and escort our lady here back to Irrylia, to the spymaster, Taler."
Raulon's face brightened. "Yes, sir," he said, and recommenced his dragging with a smile on his face.
When he returned, it was at the head of a column of fifty skull-faced riders and one empty mount for Coronea.
"Mount up, lady. We have days of riding ahead of us."
The sun was beginning to rise and the camp was in full bustle, men tearing down tents, hitching horses, filling packs. Soon they would all be on the road, Coronea and the skull-faced men north to Irrylia, Menleco and the rest of the Riders south to the town where Clautias was hiding, the way marked by circling vultures.
Seized by an impulse, Lyssa rushed to the door to get a last look at the Huntress.
"Coronea!" she called.
The captive warrior looked back over her shoulder, Shadow Riders all around her. Her face was almost lost in a sea of black cloaks.
"I envy you," Lyssa cried.
Coronea's eyes remained hard. "I pity you," she replied. "I pity you all."
Chapter 19
Without the farsee stone, it looked like the Tygetian lines were opposed by fields of flowers: a stand of roses here, of sunflowers there, of indigos, purples and golds. The great Sarian army had spilled over the ridge and now filled the plain before them. There the soldiers stood in their ranks, richly adorned in brightly patterned tunics and quilted corselets, shields, headscarves, hats and helms of every hue and style imaginable. The Sarians were nothing if not flashy, Hurrus would give them that. The sun
was as likely to flash glints of rubies and sapphires as steel across the brown plain.
A closer look, however, revealed thorns on these desert flowers. Sprouting above the bright petals was a thicket of sharpened spear points with burrs of arrows and bows, a league-long briar patch, intended to attract and ensnare.
"Ah, but here is the loveliest flower of all!" Hurrus crooned. This one sprouted from a golden chariot pulled by four white horses. He focused the stone on the unmistakable figure of Memnon, the Sarian god-king, riding the lower slopes behind his army, the royal head shaded by a parasol of purple silk. A hundred armored horsemen rode to either side of him. Sarian soldiers cheered him as he passed. Through the stone, Hurrus could see every detail of his face. A youngish-looking man, he nevertheless had a regal bearing and wore an arrogant expression. His oiled beard hung in tightly coiled ringlets from his chin and his hair was a glistening bed upon which rested a golden crown.
As he contemplated the god-king's face, Hurrus found himself muttering a poem in a harsh whisper.
"Do you know against what type of men you'll have to fight?
We who dine on sharpened swords,
And drink down blazing torches as our wine."
Xandros' deep voice snapped him from his reverie. "What is that from?"
Startled, Hurrus looked and found his friend sitting his horse beside him. He hadn't noticed him ride up. "It is from a poem Nadia taught me as a boy," he replied. "It speaks of Xarhux's men as they set out on their campaign into the Eastern Lands. Today it speaks of Hurrus' men." He gave Xandros a smile and slapped the stone down into his palm. "On this day, my friend, it speaks of us."
"The Sarian line outflanks our left by at least a quarter-league," Xandros observed, unconvinced.
"Ah, but we dine on sharpened swords, remember? Of whom can this be said more than you, Xandros?"
Xandros frowned. He had never been one for poetry. "I don't understand."
"Memnon outnumbers us on the left, it is true. But I have something on my left that he does not."
"What is that, my lord?"
"I have Xandros."
Hurrus rode away. The other thing he had on the left was Cunama. Xandros had filled it full of archers and slingers and then arrayed his talons behind it. Any Sarian attack on the left flank would break upon the village. Smoke still rose from its smoldering ruins. Hurrus rode behind the line of infantry. He could admire the soldiers in their bronze cuirasses and bronze-faced round shields, but he could not help noting the thinness of the ranks. It was even worse among Xandros' horse, a mix of heavy and light. For a moment, his attention became morbidly fixed on the last soldier in the line, the left of the left. What he saw was an unarmored man riding a bareback pony with a deep quiver full of javelins. The horse was jittery and the rider a Tygetian, a remnant of Tepes' command. Hurrus wondered if this man was all that stood between victory and defeat. Beyond him was nothing but an open plain across which stood rank upon rank of armored Sarian horsemen. You're going to need more javelins, Hurrus thought, tearing his eyes from the man, who, in his mind, he already counted as dead.
He turned away from the flank and came riding back to find Xandros following him a few paces behind. His tour of the left had unnerved him, but he would not reveal that to Xandros.
"Whatever I've had for lunch, whether swords or torches, I fear you might be overestimating the impact of one man," Xandros said.
"Just carry out the plan, Xandros. I do not overestimate your abilities. Perhaps it is your heart that should concern me."
"My heart would beat stronger to the tramping of another thousand marching feet, my lord. Stronger still to two."
"Would not all of ours? But there is not another thousand, Xandros, nor two. With these men - and no more - you will hold our left. We can expect no help. Kerraunus' corps will be attacking on the right and Bellog has placed Garon's reserve behind Kerraunus. There is nothing to our left, and nothing behind us. We hold on our own."
A mile to the south, Hurrus could see the white-clad lines of Kerraunus' Corps of the Snake Man. Behind them, deployed on rising ground, were Garon's troops, as garish as Sarians. Combined, the two corps comprised over twenty thousand men. Yet, even these were overmatched by Memnon's hordes. When Bellog saw the Sarians overlapping Kerraunus' right, he had moved Garon to cover his flank. This left Hurrus utterly on his own.
"You are to defend our left, Hurrus," Bellog had barked at him as he inspected the deployment. "And defend only."
He had become suspicious when he saw that Hurrus had placed two thousand armored lancers at the right of Hurrus' corps, wedged between his Silver Shields and Kerraunus' phalanx.
"That looks like a strike force to me," he had said. "On defense, it is a waste of good horsemen. Your left flank is where they belong."
"My cavalry is fine where it is," Hurrus replied. "You needn't worry about this flank, Bellog. To Kerraunus goes the honor of the attack. I will hold his left."
Bellog had merely narrowed his eyes and ridden away.
Xandros turned to observe the battle array off to the south. "Kerraunus may not be in much of a mood to support you now, anyway."
"Nor I him," said Hurrus with a smile.
"You mean to attack." Hurrus could not tell if Xandros was asking or telling.
"I mean to keep my options open."
Xandros furrowed his brow. "It is a great risk."
He knew Xandros was right. Ever since he had seen the size of the Sarian army, he had been assailed by doubts. All his life growing up in Myletos' court, he had studied the masters of war, had practiced with sword, spear and shield until these things were as mere appendages to him. He knew great victories were not won without great risk. But he also knew that a great risk resulting in failure was called foolishness. What could one learn from the words of poets and long-dead heroes, really? What did one know of war without fighting it?
"That is why I rely on great men," Hurrus said, instead of what was in his mind. "Harden your heart, Xandros. I need you."
In resignation, Xandros closed his eyes and bowed. "It will be as you say."
Deon rode up at that moment in a state of high excitement, primed for a fight. "The center stands ready, Prince!"
"My armored fist!" Hurrus cried when he saw him. "What of my Silver Shields?"
Deon put a hand to his ear. "Listen and you can hear them."
The three fell silent. Out of the clamor of thirty thousand men standing at arms, Hurrus could hear a deep rhythmic thumping, suffused with what sounded like an animal growl attempting human speech. His skin prickled when he heard the words. "Let them come! Let them come!" All of his doubts fled at that moment.
"By the gods!" he cried. "We can't let these men down! Xandros, when the Sarians march, continue to extend your line to the left. Thin your ranks as necessary. Roll your horsemen to the left, always to the left, raising great clouds. March your infantry behind them. Don't let the Sarians get a good look at them, but keep the flank flowing ever leftward. The god-king will follow you. So intent is he on outflanking us, he will follow you wherever you go. And, as the gods will it, he will thin his front to do so.
"Deon, you attack on my order, in echelon from right to left, Silver Shields in the van. When the Shields break the line, I will lead our horse into the breach. Now, Xandros, go tend to your men. Deon, accompany me to the front. I must see the Shields."
Hurrus and Deon rode rapidly to the front, weaving through the ranks of Hurrus' armored horsemen. As the men saw the prince, their fists instinctively thumped their breastplates in salute. Their horses snorted and pawed at the earth. The men held their long spears upright at their sides so Hurrus felt as though he were riding through a forest of spindly trees. He could see the men's faces through their visorless helms; a grim anxiety played on them all. Their countenances grew grimmer still when the sound of drums and trumpets exploded across the plain. By the time the two men reached the front, the Sarian army was already in motion - the fields of
deadly flowers had begun to sway.
Far to the right, on Kerraunus' front, great clouds of dust spewed from Memnon's charging horse. The infantry followed. Even from this distance, Hurrus could see rank upon rank of pikes arcing toward the ground as foot soldiers leveled them for the attack. Kerraunus' men raced to meet them. Waves of sound swept the field like a raging wind - the clash of iron and bronze, the thundering of hooves and cries of dying men.
The Sarian right, facing Hurrus' corps, had been held until after the initial clash on Kerraunus' front. Then they began marching, step after implacable step, coming ever sharper into focus until it seemed as if Hurrus' men would have no hope but to be swept away by a great wall of advancing shields. Away on Xandros' left flank, Hurrus caught sight of the Sarian cavalry horde advancing at a trot.
The Silver Shields had fallen silent in the face of the enemy advance. When Hurrus rode out in front of them he could feel their eyes on him, burning hotly. Though the men followed him with their gazes, he knew that the sight of the Sarian host growing ever larger behind him dominated their vision.
He walked his horse before them, studying the faces of the men of the front rank. Their expressions were hidden inside their helms, only their eyes could be seen. He caught sight of Aryk of Irrylia in his usual place in the line. Hurrus stopped and leaned down to speak to him. He reached out his hand and each man grasped the other's wrist in a firm grip.
"Are you afraid, Aryk?" Hurrus asked. Drums thumped and trumpets blared behind him. Aryk's eyes were cold and hard, but he said nothing. Hurrus could feel him tighten his grip. "See the shields the enemy carries?" Aryk's gaze moved past Hurrus' face. He nodded, very slightly. "Our spears will punch right through them. Our shields" - Hurrus rapped Aryk's with his knuckle - "are faced with silver and bronze. Their weapons will glance right off of them. Fear nothing!"
Hurrus squeezed Aryk's shoulder and straightened to address the entire unit.
Rising into the sky from behind the phalanx, Hurrus saw the roiling dust cloud of the Sarian horse as they charged Xandros. An instant later, he heard the first clashes of battle. He had to shout to make himself heard. "Soon you will see the faces of the enemy, and you will see the shock and horror in their eyes as they learn what it is to fight the Silver Shields. Any of them who survive will boast to the end of their days that they fought men such as you, that they fought the Silver Shields and lived to tell of it. Today, the Shields will forge their legend!"
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