Raulon approached, leading two horses and handing Menleco his helmet. "Your helm, sir."
Even from this distance, Menleco could discern the Prathian officers by the brilliance of their helmet crests. His own was snow white and extended from ear to ear across the crown, ending in long braids that hung down past his shoulders. There was not a Guardsman alive who would not recognize it at a glance. He placed it on his head and mounted up. Raulon mounted beside him and handed him his spear. Menleco held it aloft as he peered across the field toward the twenty-thousand. He saw them begin to stir as men pointed him out to one another and shouts rose from their lines. Behind him, Menleco heard his own men begin to murmur.
Despite the heat that had sweat trickling down his cheeks and the back of his neck, he smiled under his helm. "To a man, all they are and all they have, they owe to me," he said.
Raulon made no comment, instead pointing out Xanthippus on the far slope. The crest of Xanthippus' black helm was composed of alternating bands of red and white, the red catching the eye like a spot of blood. "There is your man," he said, with little feeling.
Menleco gazed across the field at him and felt his anger rising. What had attracted his eye, however, was not so much the pretender Xanthippus as the figure in the white gown that rode alongside him: Lyssa. "He has brought her to the battlefield with him," he said contemplatively. "He rubs my nose in it."
"Is that the lady Lyssa?" Raulon asked, intrigued.
"I will leave him with what I found him with. Nothing!"
"First the Huntress, and now your lady," said Raulon. "We are opposed by women, General. Things will not end well for them. Look at the Epirians." Raulon gestured toward the left of the enemy line where the Epirians stood, the bulk of the enemy force. "They are poorly armed and virtually unarmored. I don't know about you, General, but I wouldn't be too eager to fight the Irrylian giant and his Bearded Men, I can tell you. I pity the poor bastards. If Xanthippus thinks he can keep his women safe--"
Menleco was only dimly aware of his captain. "The boy was little more than so much stinking flotsam when I found him washed up on these very shores." He gestured toward some distant beach beyond the horizon to a sea that lapped both Isalan and Prathian coasts at once. "By rights, I could have had him hanged. Now, look at him! Commanding my army, with Lyssa at his side. If I could have seen the future--"
"How many men would you have hanged?" Raulon asked grimly, seeming to know the flow of Menleco's thoughts.
Menleco shot him a sidelong glance. "More than you can count, believe me," he answered, making clear by his tone that he was proud of it, too. He could see that Raulon's curiosity was more than academic. If Menleco had any faith in what he saw of the future at that moment, Raulon might just be the first to dance to the hangman's tune. When he saw that Raulon understood more than just the flow of the general's ruminations, he thought of adding, "No offense," but found that he did not really care.
"Raulon, signal a parlay," Menleco said after a moment. "I will speak with Xanthippus and I will claim what is mine."
A few minutes later, under the white flag, Menleco led Raulon and a party of his surviving Shadow Riders into the field between the two armies. Leading his own party, Xanthippus came out to greet him. Menleco felt a rising dread. The Guard must have known it was Menleco by now, and yet they stood as firmly in their lines as ever they had under his command. They had to see their faithful general treating with the usurper. Yet not a man of them seemed to be moved. Obviously, he had filled their heads with lies.
When they were still a few yards apart, Menleco called a halt. Of course, he knew all of Xanthippus' men. Flanking him on one side was the veteran Myrtilus, who predated Menleco's command of the Guard. On the other was Xanthippus' right hand, Nydeon, who should have died with him in Tygetia. Arrayed behind them were twenty mounted Guardsmen, all in Prathian black holding their long spears upright at their sides. Inside the crescent of armed men - traitors all - sat Lyssa, resplendent in her white gown. Menleco felt his heart melt at the sight of her beauty, unmarred in his eyes even by the sneering hatred of her expression. But the moment lasted for just an instant when his tenderness was replaced by rage at how Xanthippus had betrayed him. How they all had.
He saw Xanthippus about to speak, but Menleco cut him off before he was forced to suffer the sound of the traitor's voice. "You are doomed men, Xanthippus." His horse must have felt his anger, for it shuffled nervously when he began to speak, and Menleco found himself turning his shoulders to keep the traitors in his sight. "Look around you. You don't stand a chance."
Xanthippus wore an insufferably calm expression. "Is that what you called me down here to tell me? That I am doomed? For I have been told this before--"
"As always, Xanthippus, I only point out to you what is obvious. For the benefit of those who are too dense to see it for themselves." One at a time, he gazed at all of Xanthippus' men, Myrtilus and Nydeon, the men arrayed behind him; he peered directly into Lyssa's eyes. "Perhaps Xanthippus has deluded you with high-minded words. I invite you to cast the scales from your eyes and see for yourself. For your own good." With a sweep of his arm, he revealed the full scope of the Irrylian army arrayed against them, but not a man looked away from Menleco's face. Menleco scoffed at their pig-headedness. "Do I need to point out to you the Irrylian giant, Nacthus? Do you really need me to show you his corps of Bearded Men? And what have you to stand against them? I see a gang of hooligans armed with pitchforks and scythes." He indicated the Epirians on the Prathian left, and was encouraged when he saw doubt creep into some of the men's expressions. He knew he was on the right track. Always appeal to men's fears, he thought. "You call this an army? How long will the Epirians hold your flank against the giant's Bearded Men? How long before you find Irrylian cavalry slamming into your sides? Your lives are measured in minutes. You know what I say is true. I can see it in your eyes."
"You do not see it in my eyes," Lyssa spoke up. "In my eyes, you see only burning hatred. I have come here for one reason: to tell you to your face how much I hate you and pray for your death."
Menleco laughed, though her words cut him like a knife. "You think you are the first to pray for my death? Well, pray all you like. Your hatred of me will be small consolation when Nachtus gets his hands on you, Lyssa. Perhaps, if you are nice, I can convince him to give you back to me. Then you will understand how good you had it and what you have thrown away. I would make you Queen of Prathia."
"I would die first."
"That is your decision, Lady Lyssa," Menleco said. "Though, I daresay, most women would choose Queen over death."
"Have you come to make us an offer?" Xanthippus asked, his condescending manner stopping Menleco short. It was infuriating.
"An offer? Why, yes, I have. I give you the opportunity to offer me fealty as King of Prathia," Menleco said defiantly.
Xanthippus' party broke out in laughter and guffaws. Xanthippus merely smiled. "These men behind me are kings of Prathia, Menleco," he said, gesturing towards his twenty-thousand.
"Kings? Does the realm empty its dungeons to find its kings, now? When you were a boy, I could have had you hanged, Xanthippus. Or worse. The same as all of these…kings of yours."
"Could have? I would even venture to say 'should have'," Xanthippus answered. "Should have while I was still a harmless lad, that is. It is rather too late now."
"You were never harmless. Did you know that Lyssa? This man you follow is one of the vilest cutthroats I have ever known. And you can see the kind of company I keep." He gestured towards Raulon who sat without expression beside him. He looked back to Xanthippus. "I wonder if Areus knows of your 'kings'? And what is in it for them? My army wanted for nothing, Xanthippus. What is it you offer them?"
"Honor," Xanthippus said.
Menleco burst out laughing. "And have your men - my men - had a taste of fighting and dying for honor yet?"
Xanthippus said nothing.
Menleco went on. "At this time tomorrow
when Nachtus' Bearded Men are wiping Prathian blood from their swords, will your men's bellies be full and their pockets bulging with honor? Will their hearts be brimming with allegiance to their new leader?" Xanthippus had no answers. Encouraged, Menleco gave heel to his horse and he began riding alone towards the Prathian lines. "I will speak to your men. To my men."
"You're going nowhere," Myrtilus said, reining his horse to block Menleco's path. Half-a-dozen grumbling Guardsmen followed him.
"Let him pass," Xanthippus said. "Let him see for himself that he no longer commands the Guard."
Menleco smiled and rode towards the Prathian lines, leaving Xanthippus and his party behind. The more he considered it, the more he began to believe his own words. These men had no honor. They would fight as long as it profited them to fight, and they would follow a king before a pauper, any day. He could see the men watching him as he approached and he rode towards them until he could see their eyes inside their black helms.
"Men of the Guard!" he shouted. "It is I, Menleco, your commander!" Confident now, he felt his words begin to boil up inside him, but before he could open his mouth, he saw a palm-sized stone arcing at him through the air, a small black speck growing larger as it plunged towards him. Instinctively, he ducked. The stone missed him and instead struck his horse with a meaty slap. The horse reared, and before Menleco knew what was happening, he found himself laying on his back on the ground, dazed and out of breath. When he lifted his head, he heard the laughter of 20,000 men rising into the air as one.
He should have expected such a thing. Some stinking flotsam he should have had hanged years ago. He rose to his feet. "You would follow this pauper," he shouted, pointing a finger at Xanthippus, "when you could be led by a king!"
Another stone, this one aimed at his head and following a flat trajectory, flew from somewhere out of the phalanx. He nearly lost his balance dodging it. More stones began falling all around him. He danced out of their paths as though he were dodging raindrops. The men were laughing and jeering him. A stone struck his helm, making a dull clank. He ran for his horse and vaulted into the saddle, the men laughing. Some even threw javelins now, the shafts quivering in the ground where they stuck.
He galloped away, feeling his face grow red with rage. He saw Xanthippus and his men doubled over in laughter.
He had never before that moment seen Lyssa laugh.
"Xanthippus!" he snarled. He reined his horse, turning to face him. Though he had killed many men, he had never felt such viciousness inside him. "If I break through your lines, you better pray I don't find you. You and your girl."
Xanthippus stared at him with steely eyes, and said in a low rasping voice, "If..." to which his gang doubled over again in laughter.
Menleco galloped away, his men dutifully filing in behind him. He could hear the Guard laughing at him all the way back to his own lines. He reined up to tell his men that they were to give no quarter in the coming battle, when his lines suddenly surged forward. Menleco fell silent, dumbfounded. Had the Guard's shameful mistreatment of him goaded them into attacking? En masse, their lines parted as his soldiers streaked past him.
"Stop!" he cried. The men paid him no heed. They plunged down the slope and into the valley. Menleco turned to Raulon. "What are they doing? Stop them!"
It was then that he heard his men. They were shouting, laughing and calling out to their comrades. In horror, it dawned on him that they weren't attacking - they were defecting. Xanthippus' men lifted their arms and cheered as their comrades raced across the field towards them.
"They cannot do this to me," Menleco cried, looking about desperately as if he should be able to find some way to stop it. "Raulon, they cannot do this to me! Make them come back."
Raulon, who was still carrying the white flag of truce, let it fall to the ground. He turned to Menleco, shrugged, and galloped off across the field after his comrades.
"Raulon!" Menleco cried from his now-empty hilltop, his voice ringing across the battlefield. "Raulon! RAULON!"
Chapter 36
Laughing, Xanthippus slapped men on their backs as they scampered past him into his lines.
"Welcome home," he said to them.
"Hail Xanthippus!" the men cried just before their comrades mobbed them. It was amusing to Xanthippus to hear the familiar clatter of arms on armor when it was not the result of marching and battle, but of clasping hands and happy embraces. Not a man was sorry to leave the command of Menleco.
Xanthippus could still see the man sitting his horse alone on the hilltop across the valley. Suddenly, he saw a group of mounted Irrylians ride over the crest and begin to converge on the general. With increasing interest, he watched Menleco prance away as they tried to gather round him. A humorous, silent pantomime, Xanthippus thought. But of what, he could not tell. An instant later, Menleco was galloping down the slope and across the field toward the Prathians. The Irrylians gave chase for just a moment before halting.
When the men saw Menleco coming, angry oaths replaced the sounds of the happy Prathian reunion. Menleco raced up the slope, dismounting before his horse had even come to a full halt. His helmet flew from his head as he stumbled to the ground and fell to his knees.
"Please, Xanthippus, I beg you," he began, a terrified expression on his face. "You must take me in. Do not leave me to the Irrylians."
Puzzled, Xanthippus looked from Menleco's imploring gaze to the mounted men he had escaped on the far ridge. They sat peering across the valley at him. Even from a distance, Xanthippus could see that they were cold-hearted, patient men, waiting to draw steel on their erstwhile ally. Understanding now, he looked back down at Menleco. Here was a doomed man, a troop-less leader lost between two hostile armies. Though he recognized the man's wretched despair, he could not pity him.
"You sent me to my death, and now you want me to save you from your own treason?"
"Yes!" Menleco exclaimed eagerly. "By the gods, yes!"
"And why would I do this for you?"
"For pity's sake," Menleco pleaded. "Do you have any idea what the Irrylians will do to me?" He cast an anxious eye to the men waiting on the far slope.
"Why? Because you did not bring them my head on a pike?"
"No. It is because I did not bring them the Guard. I told them that I commanded the Guard, but I can see now that you do. You have stolen my happiness. Now you will steal my life. I was a father to you, Xanthippus. Does this mean nothing?"
"I have had an unlucky run of fathers, Menleco."
"If you have any mercy in you, make me your captive. But save me from the Irrylians."
Sitting in the saddle, Xanthippus raised his foot and planted the soul of his boot on Menleco's chest and kicked him over. "I have no mercy in me," he said. Then he called for Coronea and she appeared riding her bareback pony around the flank of the Prathian line. "Show our visitor the door."
"Gladly!" Coronea exclaimed, pulling an arrow from her quiver. Menleco had clambered to his feet and stood staring at Coronea as if he were seeing a ghost.
"It is meant for me!" he gasped as Coronea nocked the arrow.
"It is indeed," said Xanthippus. "I suggest you run."
And run he did. As soon as Coronea had drawn her bowstring and Menleco's eyes, as wide as targets, saw the arrowhead pointed at his heart, he turned and ran. Coronea loosed and the arrow pierced the earth right where the scampering Menleco could see it. He let out a scream, changing direction to avoid the shaft of which he seemed to have an almost superstitious terror. His legs pumped desperately, taking short, choppy strides as he raced down the hill, zigging and zagging, as Coronea chased him with arrows. Menleco cried out each time a shaft found the earth at his feet.
"It is cruel sport," Lyssa said, but Xanthippus saw that she was stifling a laugh as she spoke.
From the lines behind him, Nydeon's voice rose above the clamor. "Ten coppers on the Huntress!" he shouted. There was a rush of soldiers towards him.
"I've got three on the general," an
other declared.
"I'm giving two-to-one," Nydeon called, encouraging bets on Menleco as he happily gathered in handfuls of coins.
Holding their breaths, the bettors watched each arrow Coronea loosed as the shafts arced through the air at the descending general, whose form was rapidly diminishing in the distance. The arrow would land at his feet, the men would hear Menleco cry out as he changed direction and the bettors would groan loudly in disappointment or cheer in approval, depending on where their money was. Nydeon continued taking bets, reducing his odds the further Menleco ran. Finally, when Menleco had reached the level plain below, Coronea loosed and even Xanthippus, who had no money on the outcome, could tell where this one was heading.
"No more bets, gentlemen," Nydeon announced, his eyes following the inevitable shaft as it sliced through the air. An instant later, the bettors erupted as Menleco tumbled to the ground, the arrowhead buried in his thigh. The commotion of payouts followed.
Later, as Xanthippus rode along the lines preparing for battle, he prodded Nydeon lightly with the blunt end of his spear.
"You'll be a target for every Irrylian in the field today," he said. "You jangle like a human coin purse."
Nydeon grinned. "I suckered them into putting their money on Menleco. Not a mistake I would ever make."
"How does that saying go again?"
Nydeon did not miss a beat. "'Given this life, one dreams of revenge'," he said.
"That's exactly the one the I was thinking of," said Xanthippus with a smile. He had witnessed the Irrylian horsemen surrounding the stricken Menleco and sweeping him away over the far crest. He knew what the Irrylians would do to him - the same as Menleco would have had done to Coronea. He also knew that he would sleep well that night, if only the sleep of death, for they were in no way guaranteed to survive the coming battle.
He could feel the grimness in the air, had even seen it in Nydeon's eyes, despite his bulging purse. The Irrylians outnumbered them - badly. They had redeployed a corps of Bearded Men to replace Menleco's defected Prathians. Xanthippus had watched the strange men march over the crest of the opposing hill with a sense of unease that he could not explain.
The Blood Gate Page 46