Cries of "Eagle Man! Eagle Man!" swept the phalanx as the men pumped their spears in the air. Gradually, starting with a single voice, the chant transformed itself into the now-familiar "Let them come! Let them come!" until even neighboring units had picked it up. Soon Hurrus' entire front was shouting "Let them come!" and banging their shields with the shafts of their spears, drowning out even the drums and trumpets of the advancing enemy.
Hurrus left Deon in command of the Shields and hurried back to the head of his cavalry brigade. Battle raged on both flanks. To his right, Kerraunus was fully engaged. The fighting seemed to ripple all along his line. Thickets of slender pikes rose out of the roiling dust and masses of horsemen disappeared over the horizon racing for the flank. On his left, the Sarians struck Xandros as with a blow from a powerful fist. Hurrus could hear the shrieking of the Sarian footmen as they leveled their pikes and a great crack when the shields crashed together. Only the Sarian center held back. Across the plain from Hurrus, the enemy line stood with improbable serenity. Memnon was content to attack the flanks of the army, just as Hurrus had supposed.
He rode rapidly to the rear to get better look at Xandros' command. Already, his line was beginning to buckle. His infantry bulged dangerously in the center as Memnon's spearmen crashed shield-to-shield into Xandros' phalanx. The depth of the Sarian line was double that of the Tygetian's, and Xandros' men lurched backward whenever they collided.
Yet the men held. Their long spears crashed through the weak Sarian shields to skewer the men behind them. The enemy masses retreated, spitting out heaps of dead in their wake. In places, Hurrus could see that parts of Xandros' line were held by a depth of but two men. Still, Xandros continued to strip his right to feed his left. Hurrus could see him as he galloped from one end of the line to the other, directing men into position. Armored horsemen charged with lances leveled only to vanish inside clouds of swirling dust as if they had charged into oblivion. Light cavalrymen swarmed to cover the empty flank, and Sarian men and horses alike collapsed under showers of plunging javelins.
But always, the Sarians kept coming as Memnon weakened his center to bolster his right. More and more men, fresh to battle, piled onto the flank, moving ever leftward, as Xandros rolled his line out to meet them.
There was such a great crashing and booming of noise now that no single object seemed to produce a sound of its own. Hurrus watched men silently hacked apart, saw the wounded soundlessly crying out as they were trampled underfoot by charging horsemen.
Still, Memnon held his center and Hurrus realized that he was trying to do to Hurrus what Hurrus was doing to him. The temptation to strip his right to reinforce Xandros was nearly irresistible. How long could Xandros hold? Was it even possible? Before, the line had merely grown dangerously thin; now, great gaps began to appear in it. Soon, the Sarians would find them and spill into Hurrus' rear.
The only thing that saved the flank was Cunama. The Sarians had gotten snagged on it and a gap had formed in their own line. Archers and javelineers pumped a murderous fire into the flanks of any Sarian trying to bypass the village. The enemy sent wave after wave of men in an attempt to clear it. Hurrus wondered if Xandros, perhaps, could exploit that somehow…
He had no time to think about it, for just at that moment he noticed that Kerraunus' infantry - those who had been deployed next to his armored cavalry - had vanished. It had been shifted to the right to assist in some unseen crisis. Kerraunus must be faltering. Untethered from the rest of the army, Hurrus really was on his own now, and he knew Memnon could wait him out. He must force him to commit.
He raced back to his cavalry wing and ordered an about-face. All two-thousand cavalrymen turned as one and Hurrus led them away from the front. A tremor rippled across the Silver Shields as they saw their flank uncovered. Had they been abandoned? Hurrus understood the risk of causing a general panic if he was seen to be retreating, but he must entice Memnon to attack. Deon will not let them run, he thought.
Once he had cleared the front, he wheeled the unit in an exaggerated, highly visible maneuver to his left. From Memnon's position, it must have looked like Hurrus had blinked. He was racing off to reinforce his beleaguered flank, leaving a yawning gap in his line. The god-king's plan was working to perfection.
Memnon unleashed his center just before Hurrus came wheeling back.
The Sarian infantry was on them almost instantly. Shrieking their war cry, they sprinted across the field and crashed into the Tygetian line. Memnon had indeed thinned his ranks, but, in order to extend his frontage, so had Hurrus. The Silver Shields alone retained their original depth. They were Hurrus' armored fist.
Hurrus' line of spearmen shuddered, but held.
He led his cavalry forward, back toward the yawning gap. His feint had worked perfectly. He had given Memnon just what he was waiting for. The god-king's infantry had bounced off the heavier Silver Shields. Dazed, the Sarians retreated a short distance to regroup. Hurrus could see that the Shields outnumbered them two-to-one.
"Attack!" he cried. "Attack now! Deon, attack!"
How could Deon possibly hear him? Damn it all! He had planned to be at Deon's side, not leading a feint to the rear. He was about to spur his horse forward when he found that Tepes had somehow located him in the chaos and ridden up alongside him in a state of great anxiety.
"Kerraunus' center has been breached!" Tepes cried, his voice cracking with emotion. His horse turned a complete circle and Tepes swiveled his head to keep Hurrus in his view.
"Out of my way!" Hurrus snapped. "Can't you see what is happening here?"
Tepes rode in front of Hurrus' horse and grabbed his reins. "Did you not hear me? Our center has fallen, I say! All is lost! Garon's corps is fully committed and Kerraunus is on the verge of collapse. Bellog orders every available man to the right, and that means you."
"By gods, you let go of my horse," Hurrus growled. He whipped his head around to the left. Xandros had refused his flank and his line had nearly doubled over onto itself. Sarians had found the gaps and began to spill through. Hurrus' heart plunged when he saw the last man on Xandros' left with the bloody tip of a Sarian spear protruding from his back. Two enemy horsemen swarmed around the spot where the doomed man had stood. Xandros himself, sword in hand, galloped to cut them off.
The Silver Shields surged forward with a bloodcurdling cry. Hurrus looked up with joy in his heart. Deon had heard him! The Shields crashed into the Sarian line, splintering it with a great crack like wood under an axe.
All of this was lost on Tepes. He was unaware of anything but his own panic. "We have no reserves!" he shrieked hysterically. "Shift your line to the right! Kerraunus wavers! All is lost, I tell you!"
Hurrus drew his sword and held it to Tepes' chest. He should just run him through now; there was no time to argue with him, but Hurrus would give the man a chance he did not deserve. "Ride with me to glory!" he shouted into Tepes' face.
Ignoring Hurrus' blade, Tepes yanked on his reins, as if he could propel him to the collapsing right. "Bellog orders--"
"Ride with me!" Hurrus shouted again. The Sarian infantry splintered by the attack had dissolved into a mass of panicked men as the Shields hewed into them. Now was the time! "Tepes! Ride with me! To glory!"
Tepes' yanked again, putting his whole body into it this time. Hurrus lifted his sword and brought it down with all the strength he could muster, lopping off Tepes' arm at the elbow. Hurrus' horse blinked at the spray of blood in its eyes. Tepes howled and tumbled to the ground.
"Charge!" Hurrus screamed.
As a single entity, Hurrus' two thousand horsemen surged forward, trampling Tepes where he lay.
Without orders, the cavalrymen adopted a wedge formation with Hurrus at the point. To their front was a disorganized mass of fleeing men. The horsemen struck them at full gallop, skewering them with their long spears, slashing at them with swords, riding them down where they stood. The world had turned red and was full of the screams of dying men.
Half of the horsemen turned right and slammed into the flank of a thick block of enemy footmen, hitting them by surprise. In the next instant, the formation was a bloody shambles. The men who survived the onslaught dropped their weapons and ran for their lives. The horsemen cut them down without mercy. A contagion of panic spread among all the Sarians. A cheer went up from the Tygetian spearmen. They rushed forward to the attack and the enemy line burst like an overfull bladder.
Hurrus led the other half to the left. His heart leapt at the sight of the Silver Shields advancing in a solid block through a field of carnage. Having laid waste to the first enemy, they wheeled to the left and crashed into the flank of the next. They impaled men on their spears and plowed the survivors into the ground with their shields. The enemy evaporated before them.
Hurrus reined up. Xandros was still under extreme pressure as enemy cavalry continued to swarm around his faltering flank. Hurrus was about to wheel in that direction when a flash of light caught his eye far to the right.
The golden chariot!
It had gotten trapped in the crush of panicked men and horses that filled the ridgeline in the Sarian rear. Hurrus could see Memnon frantically whipping the reins. The chariot lurched forward only to be blocked again by knots of his own terrified men. Memnon's cavalry escort charged and began slashing at them with swords. The men scattered like birds, leaving a clear path for the chariot to clatter through.
The god-king must not escape.
"Prince Hurrus!" one of his companions was shouting. "Your orders?"
The battle continued to rage on Xandros' flank. Freed from the clutter of men, Memnon's chariot rushed past the throng and dipped below the far side of the ridge. Hurrus was not the only one to see it go. Abandoned by their leader, the Sarian army fell into a general rout. All along the front, the Tygetian line surged forward. Hurrus wanted to pursue Memnon. He wanted that crown. By gods, he had earned it!
"Your orders, sir!"
The cavalry brigade was motionless. Never could he be closer to the total annihilation of an enemy. Would there ever be such an opportunity as this? Hurrus actually felt his body jerking in one direction and then the other. The god-king's crown on his own head…
"Prince--"
Hurrus winced. "Hi-ya!" Digging in his heels hard, he reined his horse to the left. "To Xandros!" he cried, raising his sword. The brigade followed on his heels.
Men who had been fighting from the battle's outset inside Cunama were the first to see him charge. A wild cheer rose from the embattled village and quickly spread to the spearmen of Xandros' front. Some of the units were down to a single line of men as they struggled to hold off the tide of Sarian attacks. Men actually wept when they saw Hurrus' horsemen racing to their rescue. Heartened, cries of "charge!" spread across the front. Ranks closed up on the gaps left by the wounded and solid lines of reenergized spearmen surged forward over the bodies of their dead.
Hurrus locked his gaze on a single Sarian cavalryman. He was part of a formed body of lancers advancing to the attack on Xandros' flank. Hearing hoof beats - perhaps one, then a dozen, then a thousand - he turned with a look of horror. Two spears pierced his chest before he could even open his mouth to scream. The formed body exploded in a shower of blood. Survivors scattered in every direction. Panic swept the Sarian lines. With a cry, Xandros' horsemen charged. By the time Hurrus had reached the flank, there was little left for him to do.
He turned back and rode across the victorious front. Soldiers raised their spears into the air and cheered as he passed. He found the Silver Shields kneeling on the bloody ground that would have been the Sarian rear - had there any longer been a Sarian front. When they saw him, they sprang to their feet, lifted their arms high, and roared ecstatically. Many of the men had removed their helmets and Hurrus could see their faces. He rode until he saw Aryk, ginning and cheering wildly. Then he drew his sword and held it high above his head.
"How does it feel to be men today?" he roared.
The Shields erupted in pandemonium. Hurrus gazed at them fiercely with his bloody sword raised high. "King Hurrus! King Hurrus! King Hurrus!" the men chanted as he passed.
Deon had ridden up alongside him. "No longer Eagle Man," he said with a smile. "Now it is King!" Then he frowned, and added, "Your face, Highness…"
Hurrus touched his cheek and his fingers came away bloody. "I wear the blood of my enemies," he said. "Where is Xandros?"
"My lord." He heard Xandros' deep voice behind him and turned. There was a weariness in his tone. "The flank held," he said.
"You should have attacked," Hurrus snapped.
Xandros' face fell. "Attacked?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard correctly. He blinked in bafflement. "I should have attacked who? Where?"
"At Cunama, you oaf! The Sarians had split their line at the village, just as I supposed they would. Two exposed flanks dangling right before your eyes--"
"Have you lost your senses?" Xandros eyes bulged and his face had grown red. "I had not the men to hold the ground I stood upon! And you expect me to have attacked?"
Deon walked his horse in between the two mounted men. He laid a hand on Xandros' shoulder. Xandros swatted it away and strained to see past him. He looked as if he would have leapt from his horse to reach Hurrus if he could have.
"It is what a great man would have done! And I need great men to lead this army, leaders who can turn defeat into victory and certain death into a chance to live. Listen to those men, Xandros. Listen to them! It is not for you they cheer."
"Damn you!" Xandros said between clenched teeth.
"Hold your tongue, or I will have your head as well as Memnon's. Deon, prepare the men to march."
Deon gave him a blank look.
"March?" Xandros spat in disbelief. "You really are mad if you think to make these men march now!"
Hurrus had heard enough. This was weakness and would not be tolerated. "No, it is you who are mad if you think I came out here to fight over yards of barren ground, if you think these men who lie slain around you died to claim this pile of dust. It is you who are mad! I fight for empires, Xandros, not for flanks and dirt. I fight for empires and the destruction of kings!" He laid the point of his sword at Xandros' deep chest. "Now, prepare your men to march. I will pursue this god-king to the gates of hell if I have to, and when I catch him, I will bathe in his blood.
"Do not make me spill yours."
Chapter 20
They were six altogether, Gonatas and his five picked men. He had known them all since he was a boy. Three of them had been boys with him. The other two were ten years his senior, men of twenty on the day that the madness had seized Irrylia; men in their prime now, riding through the Demetrian countryside and into the heart of madness itself.
They all wore the mustard cloaks of Irrylian guardsmen, even the prince Gonatas, though he was entitled to the royal purple. In his mind, he had ceased being a prince the day his mother had taken her own life. The older men had known the queen in life and their hearts had been hardened by their love for her. The younger had been Gonatas' boon companions and would follow him anywhere. Now, they were among only a handful of men who knew who Gonatas truly was, not the heir to the throne of Irrylia, but the non-prince who had denounced both throne and father all on the same day, even though he would not become fully aware of it until years later.
Now, that year was upon them.
They pushed their horses hard along the road out of Lacecia. Once Clautias' name had spilled from Pylia's lips, Gonatas knew they had little time. She would bring riders to Clautias' door no less than she had brought the madness to Irrylia; and Clautias would no sooner survive the witch than had Demetrius' reason. Even without her hideous divinations, she had begun to regard Gonatas with hateful suspicion. How much worse when she finally prised his identity from Clautias' mind? All the waters of Epiria would run red with blood, that was certain, and the last of the brave men of Irrylia, the band of six riders included, would be snuffed out forever.
When the road turned west, it followed the course of the River Irius, whose waters ran wide and clear along the face of the Prathian mountains before emptying into the Middle Sea. Even though they could feel the dankness of the river at the base of its steep, wooded bluff, the road the six traveled was dry and dusty. Occasionally, it dipped into the timber and they rode through the canopy's chilly twilight, their horses' hooves splashing through puddles. But they would always emerge again into the bright, hot daylight of the Gyriecian summer, kicking up clouds of dust to coat their now mud-spattered cloaks.
Trotting out of one such leafy tunnel and reemerging into the blinding light of day, it seemed to Gonatas that the sun had stolen a march on him. Going in, he would have sworn the light had been at his back. Now, just minutes later, the sun seemed to shine directly overhead. Time was getting away from him. He heeled his horse, his mind racing. Hurry…Hurry…Hurry… All Gonatas could think about was whether they could reach Clautias in time to save him -- to save them all. It was more than just the lives of his friends at stake. It seemed to him that the fate of the entire world hinged on it. The slaughter he had witnessed at Lacecia was only the beginning of what he knew his mad king of a father would soon unleash on all of Gyriece.
Gonatas had never thought to become tied to the Epirian rebels. Even now, looking back, he seemed to have slid into it by accident. It started innocently enough when at court he would secretly cheer the rebels' victories while expressing outward rage. That had been a simple guilty pleasure. The more Demetrius was vexed by them, however, the bolder Gonatas became. One day, while leading a punitive column of mounted men into Epiria after a rebel raid, the leader Gorgeo was brought to him in chains. He had heard of this man, for who had not? He was the source of endless irritation to Demetrius and in Gonatas' mind, Gorgeo had attained an almost mythic stature. He prowled the Epirian countryside, striking Irrylian interests and then slipping through pursuers' fingers like a wisp of smoke.
The Blood Gate Page 27