"As most assuredly they will," Kerraunus added. "You should at least let me give them the option. Fight me or join me. Let it be their choice. I'm sure they would not want their fates to be left to this hothead right hand of yours." He indicated Deon. "I can see in his eyes that he would like to murder me where I stand. Perhaps you have changed your mind and now prefer assassination to war."
"I will fight you, if I must, Kerraunus," Hurrus said. "But I would rather you stand aside and let us pass in peace."
"That I cannot do," said Kerraunus. "Now that Garon is dead, I cannot allow you to re-enter Tygetia with your army."
"Garon is dead?"
"You didn't know? He fell in the fighting on our flank. Tragic. Perhaps you would have known had you come to our aid as Tepes ordered you. Perhaps you might even have prevented it. Who knows? But I understand you were busy…"
"So that's what this is about," Hurrus said. "Is Bellog with you?"
"Bellog…" Kerraunus laughed. "As always, Bellog is with the victor, Brother. He waits to see who that is before committing himself…"
"And Myletos?"
"When this day is through, there will be but one army in Tygetia - the army of the Snake Man - and Myletos will have but one heir."
"Myletos will never call you heir."
Kerraunus gave his horses a swat with the chariot's reins. "I give you an hour to deploy your troops, Hurrus," he said, his chariot turning sharply. "I would offer you a chance at single combat, but I see you are not fit for it. The god-king business is not as easy as it looks, is it?"
Kerraunus laughed and his men reined their horses to follow him back to their lines. One of them, riding close to Deon, gave him a sharp crack in the ribs with a spear shaft as he passed. Deon's sword rasped from its scabbard and split the shaft in two before the snake-man had a chance to withdraw it. Startled by the speed of the attack, Kerraunus' man found himself in the next instant straining cross-eyed against the point of Deon's naked blade kissing his throat.
"That is your spine next time, snake-man," Deon hissed. The snake-man's companions whipped out their swords and circled back. Xandros and the companions drew theirs' as well.
"That is enough," Hurrus said. "We do not need to kill them now."
Deon swiped his sword away from the man's throat, missing his windpipe, but laying open the flesh under his chin. Blood spilled down the front of his snow-white tunic. Deon quickly pointed his sword at one and then another of the approaching snake-men.
"Who wants to be next?"
None of them did.
An hour later, Hurrus saw just how meager was his force. When he had swept across the flanks of the Sarian army, he had done so at the head of two thousand cavalry. He was lucky to have three hundred left. His infantry, the ranks thinned as much as he dared, would be swallowed by the sheer breadth of Kerraunus' line. Bravery meant nothing in the face of such odds.
"Perhaps we can stall until nightfall," Xandros said, "and escape under the cover of darkness."
Hurrus' men stood grim-faced in their ranks. He could hardly bare to look upon them. The ground rumbled with the sound of Kerraunus' men banging their weapons on their shields, a rhythmic pounding like the thunder of an approaching storm. Hurrus' men could do nothing but stand in silence amidst the fearsome roar. Their own war cries in return would be as the tinkling of a tin drum.
Hurrus considered Xandros' words, then he looked his old friend in the eye. "Xandros…" But no more words were forthcoming.
"The men will fight bravely, Prince," Xandros said.
Hurrus nodded. He rode to the Silver Shields and dismounted. Of all the men in the army, the Shields were his. His head swimming, he leaned against his horse until he regained command of his balance, then he approached the men.
They stood in their usual formation, sixteen men across. Hurrus walked up to the first man and held out his hand. The Shieldman took it and they clasped one another wrist-to-wrist. He moved on to the next man. They clasped wrists, and then he moved to the next, and then the next.
The fifth man in line would not let go. Their eyes locked. "Let the bastards come," he said in a deep rasp amid the war thunder of Kerraunus' host.
Hurrus nodded. "Let them come." The man released him and Hurrus moved on, shaking each hand in turn.
"On to Epiria," the fifteenth man said. He was the only one of them who had managed a smile and his grin filled his face. For a fleeting instant, Hurrus almost believed it was still possible. Then he remembered that it was not even possible for him to re-enter his own country.
The sixteenth man was Deon and he nodded to the south. "Do you see something, Hurrus?"
Between the upraised spears of his infantrymen, Hurrus saw it. Columns of dust rose into the sky, the wind arcing them to the west where they merged into a single ominous cloud. At the base of the swirling columns, he could make out black shapes. Galloping horses. Thousands of them.
"It is cavalry," Deon said with a quaver in his voice. "By the gods, Kerraunus means to destroy us utterly."
Hurrus turned at once and walked quickly back to his horse, calling for Xandros. It cannot be this easy to kill us. He would take as many of his enemy with him. It was Bellog, he was sure of it. The man had chosen, but only when the carcass already lay dead on the ground. He would see to it that Bellog would take no joy in destroying him.
"We must refuse our flank," he said when Xandros rode near.
Xandros gazed across the empty plain at the approaching horsemen. When he looked back again to Hurrus, his eyes were ablaze. "Kerraunus gives us an hour to deploy," he spat. "An hour for him to march his horse onto our flank! We cannot resist this. It is madness, Hurrus. Kerraunus' army will advance on us any moment. We will be crushed between them."
"Refuse our flank, Xandros! I order you! We will meet these horsemen with Gyriecian spear points. If we must die, we will die with the Snake Man's blood on our spears! By gods, we will!"
"Let us call another parlay, while we still have a chance. When Kerraunus comes out to meet us again, I will throttle him with my own hands…"
"Refuse our flank, damn you!"
A few moments later, Hurrus heard Xandros bellowing commands and soon the left flank angled away from the main line like a broken limb, bristling with spears. Hurrus fished in his saddlebag and brought out his farsee stone. What he saw puzzled him. The horsemen were dressed all in blue. Their headscarves were of a traditional Tygetian style, blue with yellow stripes. He saw curved swords at their belts, glinting in the setting sun. He took them for some kind of desert raiders. He called for Xandros.
"Who are these men?" he asked, handing Xandros the stone. "They are not Bellog's. Nor are they snake-men."
"Mejadym," Xandros said. He handed the stone back, laying it softly in Hurrus' palm. "They fight for Tygetia. Kerraunus controls them."
"Is all of Tygetia against me? What a fool I have been."
"Hurrus," Xandros began. Then, seeing something on the plain, he said, "Look…"
The legion of horsemen had halted a quarter-mile from Hurrus' line. Out of the mass rode three men alone. The man in the center wore a beard that fell to the middle of his chest. Led by Xandros, Hurrus' companions rode forward and intercepted them before the three men could approach the prince.
"Let their leader pass," Hurrus said.
The man with the beard rode through the cordon and leapt off his horse. In his hand was a bright yellowwood staff.
"Gods be praised!" he cried. "We are not too late." Planting the staff in the ground before him, he fell to one knee and bowed his head. "Prince Hurrus, it is told you are a true son of Kunuum. Therefore, I am your servant. Tygetia lives in you. Therefore, I pledge the Mejadym to you." The bearded man stood. Hurrus caught a flash of dazzling white teeth amid a bush of black whiskers. He looked strong as a bull. "My five thousand horse are yours to command, sire. My name is Jorem."
Hurrus felt a bolt of lightning race down his spine. "You will fight by our side against Kerraunus' men?"
Suddenly, Hurrus could not feel the pain in his head or the blood trickling over his brow or the ache in his shoulder. "Then align your men on our flank and together we will lop the head from this army of snakes! Xandros!"
It was not until the Mejadym horse was in position and he had told his men that they were no longer three thousand but eight that he realized the enemy had ceased the thumping of their weapons. Looking across the plain, he saw that the mere sight of the strengthened host caused their lines to waver. Men jostled one another as those in front turned away only to be thrust forward again by those in the rear. Incensed officers rode along the lines haranguing the irresolute with their vicious tongues and lashing the cowardly with their even more vicious bullwhips. Their lines did not settle until the horrifying rumble reached their ears from across the plain. Then they stood silently in fear.
Hurrus himself had begun to tremble, for his men now slammed their own weapons against their shields in a pounding crescendo backed by voices that might have reached all the way to Archentethe itself, voices full of anger, hatred and a murderous thirst to avenge what had been threatened them.
"Let them come! Let the come! Let them come!" the men cried out in unison though only three thousand of them knew what it meant. The sound crossed the plain like a wave that threatened to topple the enemy line.
Hurrus could not even hear his own voice when he shouted, "Silver Shields, you are my hammer!" His words had become meaningless. There was nothing he could say that his army did not already know - and what they knew was that now they would be killing instead of dying and when they began to march forward, the Corps of the Snake Man knew it too…
…and they began to run.
Chapter 24
"Your uncle's not here today," Xanthippus said. "Do you think you can manage?"
"Fuck you, Prathian!" Thalen snapped.
The dagger in his right hand, the young Irrylian captain stood in a fighting crouch, shifting his feet deftly. He was a coiled sinew. Xanthippus was relieved to see no sign of fear or weakness in the lad. He did not bother looking to where Nydeon stood to his right. The Shadow Rider opposing him Xanthippus counted dead already.
Three Shadow Riders had entered the room. When they saw the men, they unsheathed their swords and began to fan out across the space slowly, carefully. Even though they had seen Gorgeo disappear into the trapdoor, they did not rush madly into the room as Xanthippus had expected. Instead, they warily took the measure of the men confronting them. They moved ponderously, their heavy leather boots resounding overloud on the marble floor. Xanthippus could vaguely make out human eyes inside the iron skull sockets of the black faceplates--cold, blue, killer's eyes. Their blades flashed silver against their raven cloaks. Unlike the ornate daggers wielded by both Nydeon and Thalen, the Riders' blades knew what it was to drip warm blood. Xanthippus lowered his spear and kept it pointed at the center Rider's chest as he circled cunningly.
"Was that Clautias we spied escaping down that hole?" one of the Riders asked, his voice muffled under the mask. "For he is the man we seek. Show him to us and your lives will be spared."
None of the three responded.
"We know these men," another of the Riders said suddenly. "But it is impossible! Can it be that the Shadow Riders are confronted by ghosts?"
"Not by ghosts, but by dead men," the center Rider said. "Brothers Xanthippus and Nydeon, sent to their deaths by Menleco, and yet here they stand before us in the flesh."
Xanthippus lunged, thrusting his spear at the gut of the Rider who had just spoken. At the last second, the skull-faced man twisted and turned the point aside with his sword. It glanced off the Rider's leather armor. Xanthippus drew back, poised for a counter-thrust.
"Ah, I forgot who I was fighting, and it near cost me my life," the Rider said. Xanthippus could see confident humor flash in the man's shadowy eyes. "The vaunted Prathian Guard are men of few words. Dangerous men of action they are, though they be mere cupbearers to the Shadow Riders. It is a pity to have to kill your own serving boys, but General Menleco meant you dead--and dead he shall have you!"
Lunging, the Rider delivered an overhand slash intended to cleave Xanthippus' head from his shoulders. The Prathian slipped out from under the killing blow and with a backhanded jab delivered a sharp punch to the Rider's face with the blunt end of his spear. Xanthippus felt the shaft shudder with the impact on the iron plate. The Rider's head snapped back and he staggered in a daze. Xanthippus leapt towards him, plunging his spear once again into the Rider's armor. Failing to penetrate fully, the iron spear point merely tickled the flesh. The man swung his sword wildly, blindly, rending only air. Pulling the spear from leather, Xanthippus swept the point in a blur across the Rider's face, loosing a bloody shower before it. The Rider's sword hit the floor just before he did, clanging like a bell where the Rider thudded like a ham, the one clean as the day it was forged, the other spilling blood from a throat rent wide open.
He turned immediately to his left and saw Thalen artfully dodging blow after blow of the Shadow Rider's sword. Breathing hard, his assailant paused, the effort of killing the Irrylian perhaps more than he had bargained for.
"Thalen!" Xanthippus called. The young captain looked and Xanthippus tossed him the spear. That little dagger would merely get him killed. He let it fall to the floor. He took up the longer weapon and his eyes flashed malice as he crouched, facing the Rider. The Rider met his gaze for just a second. Then he turned and bolted for the door. Thalen caught him between the shoulder blades. He drove the spear home with a powerful thrust until the Rider lay motionless on the floor.
"Your uncle was more than a patron of the arts," Xanthippus said.
"He was a patron of the arts of war," Thalen replied. He set his foot on the dead Rider's back and pulled the spear free.
"Now, you have fought a real 'Prathian battle'," said Xanthippus, and Thalen grinned in return.
"Quickly! Into their garb," Nydeon called from the other side of the room. He was already pulling off the armor, boots and cloak of the dead Shadow Rider who had faced him. Xanthippus did not know the manner of the fight, but he could see that it had not lasted long. Cupbearers, indeed!
"Yes!" Xanthippus saw at once Nydeon's plan. He was thinking beyond the door before they burst through it. That was the beauty of having Nydeon by his side, forever considering later before later became now. It was a talent Xanthippus himself would someday like to possess.
Through the window, they could see more Shadow Riders, some on foot, some on horseback, swarming all over the grounds. They could hear the sounds of battle and cries of merciless death. It would be mere moments before more of them came upon this room.
They dragged the bodies behind some couches where Nydeon and Xanthippus could don the garb of the Riders under concealment.
"Not you, Thalen," Nydeon said. "We need you as you are."
After they had stripped two of the bodies, they threw all three into the trapdoor. Then, dressed as Riders in all but helms, they replaced the carpet over the door and slid the couch back on top of it. Xanthippus fit the Shadow Rider's helmet over his head, instantly becoming a fearsome reaper.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Good enough for a bellyful of cold steel," Nydeon replied. "And I?"
Xanthippus had no time to reply, for the door burst open at that moment and in rushed a further gang of Shadow Riders, nearly catching Nydeon bareheaded as he slipped the helmet into place.
"Ye, gods!" one of the skull-headed Riders exclaimed, looking about the room and seeing smears of fresh blood. "What has happened here?"
Xanthippus grabbed Thalen by the scruff of his cloak and yanked him roughly towards himself. "This one's a fighter," he said, affecting a harsh tone. The yank had swept Thalen off his feet and his face slammed into Xanthippus' bloody leather corselet.
"Damn you!" he gasped, under his breath.
"From the l
ooks of you two, a fighter from hell, I'd say!" said another with a laugh. "Hand your prisoner over to us. You two should go get your wounds tended."
Nydeon looked down at his black garb, shiny with blood. "It's nothing," he said, brushing at his breast as if he could whisk away bloodstains as though they were breadcrumbs. "A little blood. It looks worse than it is."
"This is our prisoner," Xanthippus said, yanking on Thalen's cloak again. "He goes nowhere. Certainly not with the gang o' you."
The Shadow Rider held his hands up in a warding gesture. "We meant no harm, brother," he said. "Clearly, you have a debt to collect from this little bastard. Far be it from me to stand in your way."
"Well, you are standing in my way." Xanthippus moved toward the group at the door, dragging Thalen along with him. "Now stand aside. I'm taking this one to Menleco."
The group parted and the men began moving past them.
"Does he know anything of this man Clautias?" one of the Riders asked.
"I'm not his damned inquisitor!" Xanthippus snapped. "Now, out of my way!"
Outside, Xanthippus took a deep breath.
"Dammit, Prathian!" Thalen snapped, once they found themselves alone in the yard of the house. "You near broke my neck!"
"Try to look like a prisoner, at least," Xanthippus said. "You'll get more than a broken neck if we're found out. I wish I had something to bind your hands," he added, reflectively.
Nearby, he found three horses tethered to a post. He assumed they had belonged to the dead Shadow Riders. Rummaging through a saddlebag, he found a length of twine.
"Put your hands together," he ordered.
Thalen complied, and while Xanthippus bound him, he said, "You'll not allow me to fall into their hands, will you? You must promise me."
Xanthippus cinched the knot tight, and Thalen winced. "It has to be convincing," he explained, finishing off the knot.
"Apology accepted," Thalen said with a scowl.
Xanthippus smiled inside his mask. "Don't worry. You'll not fall into their evil hands. I will stake Nydeon's life on it."
The Blood Gate Page 33