When Hurrus rode close enough to make himself heard, he called out. "You are the man called Xanthippus?"
Lyssa grasped Xanthippus' arm in both of her hands - in love and, he thought, a little fear. "I am," Xanthippus answered. He saw the spread-wing eagle embossed on Hurrus' silver breastplate. Behind him rode a score of impressive mounted men, Gyriecian soldiers of old. Xanthippus' heart leapt. He must have been in a dream. Was he seeing ghosts? Waiting down on the plain was Hurrus' corps of infantry and cavalry, some of whom carried shining silver shields. He might have been in the presence of Xarhux himself, conjured from the minds of poets and made flesh before his eyes.
"I am Hurrus," the man said.
"I know," said Xanthippus. "We have been waiting for you."
Chapter 37
"Move your men aside," Hurrus commanded. "My 3000 will stand to the right of the Epirians. I myself will ride with the cavalry, and your men, Prathian, will guard my flank."
Even before he had finished speaking, the man named Deon began moving Hurrus' troops to the crest of the hill. They wore scarlet cloaks over their bronze armor. One group of men, some hundreds strong, carried splendid silver shields, intricately embossed with the same spread-wing eagle Hurrus wore on his breast. The cavalry were armed with long lances and wore iron helms, visorless so as not to impede their vision. They all had the bearing of seasoned soldiers. To Xanthippus' mind, they seemed to march out of the mists of history itself. Even in his most romantic dreams of the Gyriecian past, he would not have dared envision men such as these.
For an instant, he felt lost in the maelstrom of the would-be king's sudden appearance. On the Epirian front, a big man named Xandros had begun supervising the unloading of the wagons Hurrus' men had brought with them. Thousands of bronze breastplates, greaves, helms, spears and swords found their way into the hands of Epirian soldiers. Soon, the entire Epirian array stood gleaming in polished armor, bristling with bright spear points that glinted in the sun. Now, Deon and his officers were shouting for the Prathians to stand aside. Emerging from his astonishment, Xanthippus grasped this Deon by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
"3000 men?" Holding Deon in his grasp, Xanthippus glared up at Hurrus, still mounted on his white stallion. The silver eagle wings sprouting from his helmet made him seem unnaturally tall in his saddle. "Have you seen the enemy arrayed against us? You mean to win this battle with your 3000 alone?"
"You have never seen such a three, my friend," Deon said. He looked contemptuously down at Xanthippus' hand gripping a fistful of his tunic and swatted at it angrily. Xanthippus released him with a disdainful shove.
"And you, my dear, are the Queen of Prathia?"
It was Antona's voice. Sitting sidesaddle on her bay mare next to Hurrus, she gazed down on Lyssa who stood at Xanthippus' side. A slight smile played upon her painted lips. Her skin was smooth and brown from the sun. Her long slender fingers drew Xanthippus' eye. The nails were glossy and clean, for she had not spent the night digging in the mud. It was plain to see that she was no daughter of Prathia. Awaiting her on the plain, were four shirtless attendants dressed in Tygetian headscarves standing alongside a litter with gossamer curtains.
Lyssa took a bold step forward. Xanthippus saw that she easily exceeded Antona's beauty, even with smudges of mud on her face and gown, which in his eye made her only more attractive.
"I am a princess of Prathia," Lyssa announced proudly, "soon to be queen." Xanthippus wondered if that meant he was soon to be king, but held his tongue.
"And Prathian princesses are to be found on battlefields?" Antona asked.
"No less than Epirian queens," Lyssa countered. "If that is what you are."
"Soon to be," Antona replied, her smile broadening.
"Then we have a royal army here, do we not? Epiria and Prathia locking arms."
"We have common cause," Hurrus said.
"Your Prathian men, all in black, are a fearsome lot, Princess Lyssa," said Antona.
"I am afraid on this day that it is the enemy who strike fear into the hearts of our men."
"Under King Hurrus, my dear, the men know not fear."
"Alas," Xanthippus cut in, stepping forward and glaring up at Hurrus, "my men, perhaps alone on the field, do know fear - and folly. To hold the flank of your 3000?" He strode rapidly to the crest of the hill and looked across the field. Deployed alongside endless brigades of Bearded Men, he saw blocks of Irrylian heavy cavalry, spear-wielding humans in bright yellow cloaks. The Prathians had no cavalry to match them. Even Coronea's horse archers and javelin men were deployed on the Epirian flank. Xanthippus turned back and spread his arms. "My men will have to fight off the attacks of the Bearded Men to our front and the cavalry to our flanks. What you are asking of them is pure folly. Come see."
"I do not need to see," said Hurrus. "I ask no more than what is possible, Xanthippus. Perhaps failure is clouding your judgment."
Drums began beating from across the valley. Rising above the thunder, Xanthippus recognized Nachtus' booming voice. The enemy too had finally emerged from its stupor.
"Failure?" Xanthippus asked. "My failure to what?"
Hurrus smiled. "To kill me," he said.
Xanthippus was stunned. "You knew?"
"Prathians rise fast," Hurrus said with a smile. "From lowly assassin to…" He paused, casting a glance to Lyssa and then back again to Xanthippus. "To would-be king."
"Asander told me…" Xanthippus began, almost unaware that he had spoken aloud.
Hurrus cocked his head, still with that smirk on his face. "Ah, Asander! I remember him, poor man. What is it he told you, Prathian?"
"That I would someday see you in Gyriece."
"And so you have." Hurrus spread his arms, presenting himself to Xanthippus in all his glory. "The day Asander foretold has arrived, just in time for me to save your life. So what?"
"He said I would wish I had killed you."
Hurrus laughed. "I'm afraid that is quite impossible now. But, never fear, Xanthippus, you may yet have an opportunity to try. Deon!" The man appeared at his side. "You are in command. I must go and see to Xandros and my left. The enemy stirs."
No sooner had Hurrus uttered the words than Xandros came riding up in great haste.
"It is the enemy giant, my lord," he cried. "He calls for you."
"Does he, now?" Hurrus asked in good humor. "Well, let us go see what the fellow has to say. Giants should not be kept waiting. Come, Xandros. You will accompany me. Deon, prepare the men to attack. Xanthippus, I'm counting on you."
With that, he and Xandros rode away. Down on the plain, Xanthippus could see the giant Nachtus where he had marched out ahead of his army under a flag of truce. Even the mounted members of his party seemed men in miniature in the shadow of the giant's great bulk, the fiercest of their destriers seeming like ponies, their riders no more than boys at play. Nachtus himself looked to be challenging the entire enemy, though he called out for Hurrus alone. "Show me this king of yours," he bellowed. "Show me this Hurrus. Bring him to me!"
When Hurrus came down onto the plain, Nachtus, fists on his hips, grinned down at him in satisfaction that the diminutive king had answered his summons. Hurrus saw that the man was nine feet tall, the feathery crest on his helmet adding at least another foot to his height. At his belt on his left, Nachtus' great sword was near as tall as Hurrus himself. On his right, two severed heads dangled from a leather thong looped over his belt, evidence of the previous day's fighting.
"This Epirian eagle is little more than a sparrow to my eye," Nachtus said laughing. "Why should so many men have to die for such a small king?"
"Lay down your sword, giant, and no one need die," Hurrus replied. Though he spoke from Nachtus' shadow, he showed no sign of fear. "I might even allow you to live," he added.
Nachtus threw his head back and boomed a laugh, exposing great square teeth surrounded by a tangle of black beard. The heads at his belt bounced and bumped one another, sharing the joke. "I woul
d make you the same offer."
"And I would offer your men compassion - if I thought they understood it."
Again, Nachtus laughed. "My men, as you call them, understand compassion no more than they understand mercy and fear. Your people dig a trench to protect your cowardly soldiers. My Bearded Men will fill it with their own bodies and march across as if it was not there. They do not tire, they do not lose heart, they do not know fear. They only kill."
Hurrus lost his good humor in an instant. "And these men hanging from your belt…They are to inspire fear in us, to make us tire and lose heart?"
"Ah, my new friends." Nachtus looked down at the dead faces admiringly. "Officers of the rebellion. Handsome fellows. Did you know them?"
By the time Nachtus looked back up, Hurrus had already drawn his sword. The self-satisfied smile had not yet left the giant's face when Hurrus whirled and dug his blade into the creature's hip, severing the leather thong. The heads spilled from the belt and rolled across the ground at Nachtus' feet. Hurrus himself looked surprised when his blade rang and rattled on some unexpected armor that covered the giant's hip.
In a blur, Nachtus unsheathed his greatsword and brought it crashing down with the strength that would have obliterated a normal man in a fine mist of blood. The blade flashed in the sun, but instead of cleaving into flesh and through bone rang like a bell, steel on steel. Sparks flew and Nachtus' eyes went wide when he saw his sword rattle off another at least as large and thick as his own. He staggered back and with a look of terror found himself looking up at a man who stood a head taller than he did, a man with silver eagle wings sprouting from his helm.
A cry went up from the Epirians, a cry of astonishment and fear. Some of the men dropped their weapons and made to run only to be restrained by their companions. No one had seen such a thing, a shining giant looming where just a moment before a mere man had stood. Surely, it was a witch's conjuration meant to destroy them all. Even the drums of the enemy had fallen silent.
Hurrus took a step forward. The ground seemed to tremble under his footfall. "You are no man," Hurrus said. "You are no more man than the others. Yet it is fear I see in your eyes."
Hurrus slashed at Nachtus' face. He jerked his head back and Hurrus' blade rent the air just inches from his nose.
"I do not know fear and you cannot kill me."
"Are you sure about that?" Hurrus delivered an overhand blow that rang against Nachtus' sword, ripping it from his hands. He immediately jabbed and caught him under the arm, but Hurrus' blade glanced off metal where there should have been only smashed ribs and severed cartilage. Hurrus shook his head. "What a pity to be not a man."
"I am unarmed," Nachtus pleaded. Everyone who watched saw the giant look up to see into Hurrus' eyes.
He continued to look up…and up as Hurrus lifted his sword with both hands directly over the top of his head. Nachtus made no move to stop what was about to happen. Hurrus brought the blade down with all of his strength, just missing the giant's head but striking his shoulder with a great crashing of tearing metal. Steam hissed out of his body as Hurrus' blade sliced him clean in half. Nachtus fell in two pieces, one to the right and one to the left, and lay smoking and sizzling in the damp grass.
Hurrus approached the piece to which the head was still attached and lopped it off. He grasped the thing by the hair and flung it into a knot of Bearded Men on the ridge. They danced out of the way of the plunging head, as big as any two of their own. As it bounced at their feet, they scattered as if they believed it might explode.
"Now they know fear!" Hurrus cried. The battlefield had fallen utterly silent so his voice carried to every ear. The Epirians erupted in wild cheers. Nachtus was destroyed and whatever dark art animated their leader, it was their magic now, and they saw without question that their king was, as they had suspected, more than a man. Delivered from certain death, their moment had arrived.
"Eagle King! Eagle King! Eagle King!" the masses shouted, pumping their new gleaming weapons in the air.
His normal size once again, Hurrus stood before them.
"If I am an eagle," he cried, "it is only because you are my wings!"
A moment later, before his own men, he was more concise.
"Silver Shields...We're going home!"
Without a word, the Shields leveled their spears with a deep "Hrrrummp!" and the Bearded Men across the field from them recoiled at the sound. They knew fear now and even as they stormed down onto the plain to meet the advance of the Shields and the charging Epirians, they cut a wide swath around the mangled ruin of their leader. In death, Nachtus seemed to produce in them a superstitious dread and a weakening of the spirit. Whatever magic imbued them seemed to have flowed from the giant. As his life hissed out of him, the Bearded Men grew confused and fearful. Their lines were ragged so when the Silver Shields crashed into them, it seemed as if they were being assailed from all sides.
The further away from Nachtus, the braver the Bearded Men remained. Xanthippus led his Prathians onto the plain, covering the flanks of Hurrus' troops. The Bearded Men attacked with a single-mindedness the Prathians found unnerving. Only their hatred of the creatures spurred them on. They had witnessed the bronze men's pitiless decimation of the Epirians on the previous day and now longed for revenge. Their lines crashed together. At first, the Prathians found their spear points glancing off both shield and the armor plate that covered the enemy head to toe. Xanthippus knew how hard the demon men were to kill individually; it was even worse en masse, for no sooner would one be dispatched than another would immediately take its place. They cared nothing for the deaths of their fellows, and those who fell under the weight of Prathian shields were trampled by the crush of those advancing behind them.
Flesh and blood Irrylians fought alongside the Bearded Men and the Prathians slammed into them with equal vigor. Where their enchanted brethren fought in grim silence, the Irrylians died with screams flying from their throats just as fountains of blood spewed from their breasts. Prathian spears plunged through the gaps in their armor and found soft flesh beneath. Unlike the Bearded Men, the humans died easily, and did not fight to the last of their blood, but only to the last of their wits. Leaving their dead behind, they turned and fled as the Prathians hewed into them. One group of hundreds of fleeing men ran into a reserve of bronze soldiers and Xanthippus watched in astonishment as they hacked the terrified humans apart.
Prathians filled the gaps left by the retreating humans and turned onto the flanks of the bronze men. Whereas a simple jab was enough to deliver a killing wound to the humans, it took all of their strength to pierce the bodies of the Bearded Men. They hissed and staggered and fell. At one point, Xanthippus saw a metal man tottering blindly in circles with a sword buried to the hilt in its eye hole. Die, he pleaded as it stumbled drunkenly. Die, you damned thing, die. He watched as long as he could, but never did see it fall.
The Bearded Men seemed to attack in endless waves, constantly seeking the Prathian flank. Xanthippus stripped men from his left to bolster his right. They rushed across the rear and slammed into the attacking brigades, Bearded Men and humans alike. Soon, the entire Prathian line was bent back in the shape of a fish hook as Irrylians continued to stream onto the flank. The front was stretched almost to the point of breaking. If the Prathians faltered, the enemy would sweep all before them under the sheer weight of their numbers.
It was then that Xanthippus saw what he had been dreading. Irrylian horsemen had trotted down onto the plain and were now forming up for the attack. He could see the points of their spears above the sky-blue tassels that spilled from the center of their bronze helms. They aligned themselves in a wedge formation and he could see exactly where they were pointing. One of his brigades was so intent on fending off an attack by Bearded Men on its front that no one had noticed its flank dangling uncovered.
No one but the Irrylian horsemen, that is.
And Xanthippus.
If the riders reached it before he did, there would b
e a bloodbath - and an open path into the rear of the entire Epirian army.
Xanthippus felt as if his legs were mired in sludge as he ran to the brigade to warn them of their impending doom. The horsemen began moving towards them at the same time. Though he shouted at the top of his lungs, he could not even hear his own voice over the din of battle. As he approached, he felt relieved when he saw the familiar snow-white crest on the black helmet, bobbing among the men. It was Myrtilus' brigade, the most disciplined unit in all the Guard. Xanthippus found him just as the Bearded Men slammed into their front causing the entire line to shudder under the impact.
"Myrtilus! The flank!" Xanthippus grabbed the nearest men and began flinging them from the rear ranks towards the flank. They saw immediately what was happening and rushed to their places.
Myrtilus looked up just in time to see the horses change from a trot to a gallop, aimed right at him. His eyes widened when he saw the riders level their spears. Xanthippus could feel the thunder of the hooves as they approached ever closer. Myrtilus cried out to his men. As one, and in an orderly procession, the rear ranks turned and sprinted to the flank. The weakened front gave a step or two under the pressure of the bronze men, but the Prathians leaned into their shields and held the onslaught at bay. The horsemen were nearly on them when the redeployed men, now angling back from the front, suddenly leveled their spears and braced their shields. Where the Irrylian cavalrymen had expected to find an unwary flank they now found themselves charging into a hedgehog bristling with spines.
Eyes rolling in terror, the chargers threw their riders as they skidded to a panicked halt before the unwavering wall of spears could find them. Others turned aside, many tumbling to the ground. Men screamed as the great beasts rolled over the top of them. Other riders fell at the feet of the Prathians who dispatched them quickly, happy to fight from behind a growing breastwork of the dead.
The Blood Gate Page 48