The enemy was at the base of the slope.
Aram started, as did all those to his front, as a deep bass note, as from an enormous horn, sounded from the direction of the tower. The dark line of the grim lord’s host halted and stood still, unmoving, at the base of the slope. The deep note echoed away along the ridge and faded into the hills.
Silence fell.
19.
Manon stood in the opening high in his tower and gazed at the forces of the man, Aram, that had deployed along the top of the southern rim of the valley of Morkendril. Aram had positioned his army to either side of the road that came out of the south, crossed the ridge, descended the slope, and ran across the valley toward the tower.
At last, the god thought, the end – and the beginning – of all things has come.
For the weapon was there, too, with the man.
He could feel it.
Into that object, that small, strange piece of unearthly metal, his enemies among the Brethren had poured their strength. Then, as the fools they were, they had given that immense, combined power into the hands of a man, hoping that he would do what they feared to do; confront the Lord of the World – soon to be Lord of All – and pierce him with that strange blade, bringing about his destruction.
Manon smiled to himself.
Fools.
They were all of them fools, worthy kindred of Kelven, that pathetic ghost that haunted his great mountain in the east.
The Brethren had concentrated their power in an attempt to destroy him that was strongest among them, believing that they acted in the interests of all the lesser species and with the blessing of their “Maker”. Instead, they had let come within his grasp all that he needed to ascend to supremacy.
There was now only to manipulate the man and bring him into the tower.
But that must be done carefully.
The man had shown himself resistant to manipulation. He must be made to think that he was working his own will when at last he came into the presence of his god.
For a brief moment, Manon’s smile took on a grim, regretful aspect. Would that he could open his door now and the man would come in. However, were he to do so too soon the god was convinced, based upon his observation of the man, that Aram would sense deception.
And so there must be a battle.
There must be blood.
Much blood.
It was not the thought of carnage that troubled the grim lord. No; the lives of small creatures were of no import.
The god was more than willing to see the life of those lesser than him spilled in abundance – the future that he foresaw for the universe did not include their kind in any event.
So let them die here.
But he had grown impatient to possess the weapon.
He wanted that small bit of metal, lusted for it, the repository of his foolish enemies’ strength; strength that he would soon absorb, and by doing so, become invincible.
This thought generated impatience.
And it was this impatience that he must resist. He must be circumspect and deliberate.
Still, he was pleased, very pleased.
For after today, the man, as foolish as those whose bidding he did, would come to him and bring the weapon within reach.
And then everything would change.
To this end, Manon reached out with his obsidian gaze and studied the disposition of the man’s army more closely.
Aram had deployed his army advantageously upon the high ground. And Seneca, those vile archers from the edge of the world that had caused Manon much trouble in past ages, were there with him. The Lord of the World’s minions would be forced to make their assault up the slope, beneath the withering missiles of Seneca. In such conditions, even the god’s first children would find themselves hindered greatly, injured, and slain; Manon knew this from prior experience with the vile spawn of Felspar.
But many would reach the lines nonetheless and there would be great slaughter on both sides.
It was imperative that there be slaughter.
Or Aram might become suspicious. And he must not be made to suspect manipulation.
He must retain the will and the desire to enter the tower.
One thing – the man must enter the tower alone, without his ethereal companions, or difficulties arose. The Astra that travelled with him must not enter this place. Manon had often puzzled over those creatures and their strange powers. Even odder was their alliance with him who named himself “Maker”.
Did they not know that their “master” was a fraud? Had they arisen after him and been fooled like all the others?
In the end, perhaps, it did not matter. Reports confirmed that those creatures had avoided contact with the weapon during the battle where Vulgur had died.
So – they feared it as well.
Its power must be enormous.
All Manon had to do was wrest the weapon from Aram – which he was certain of doing – and the Astra would be made to submit to him as well.
Or die.
20.
Once Seneca was in position and Nikolus and Jared with the cavalry had come back through the lines to deploy behind Aram’s right and his left, a strange silence descended over the slope of the caldera. Almost two hundred thousand belligerents gazed at each other across something less than a thousand yards of rocky, sloping ground.
The sun was approaching zenith in a hazy sky, filled as it was with the smoky ejections of at least three volcanos. A cool breeze stirred out of the north, whipping up puffs of dust as it rushed across the valley floor and rose up the slope.
The silence was heavy but not complete. Up and down the line men and horses shifted nervously. Some soldiers drummed their fingers against the shafts of their spikes and lances or the hilts of their swords. Uneasy laughter arose from various places along the front. All these small noises blended together to create a quiet that was not truly silent but rustled low, tense and expectant.
Down upon the plain, standing at the edge of the slope, the enemy still did not move.
Aram watched them for a moment longer and then, “Go out in front of the men,” he told Thaniel. “Then move to the left. I want to ride the length of our lines and speak to the men.”
As Thaniel went toward the western end of Aram’s army, pushed up against the steep, jagged flanks of the smoking mountain, he met as many of his soldiers gazes as he could. All along the line, the flags of the various companies of Duridia, Lamont, and Elam snapped in the chill breeze. Suspended on the lanyard above each was the horsehead standard of Aram’s ancestors.
Coming near the end of the line, Aram told Thaniel to stop and face the line. He raised his voice.
“We hold the high ground,” he told the soldiers. “The enemy is at a dis-advantage. Take courage from this and be strong.” He lifted his hand and pointed behind them. “Your archers will damage the foe ere they reach this line. And Seneca is here as well – they will slay many of the grim lord’s beasts. And the lesser soldiers of the enemy – the gray men – are no match for those that I see here before me.”
He folded his hands across the pommel of the saddle. “Obey your commanders, let those of you with spikes deploy them when directed, and use the enemy’s weight against him when he comes near enough to put your pikes and lances to proper use. You have the advantage of the high ground,” he repeated, “and that fact will stand this army in very good stead.”
He went silent for a moment, meeting many of the pairs of eyes that stared back at him.
“We fight today for the freedom of the world – for our wives, our sons and daughters, our families, and those that will come after us.” He made a fist and held it out in front of him. “Together, we are stronger than any enemy. Be brave, be strong, hold the line, and we will prevail.”
As Thaniel moved along the line, he repeated words similar to these to every segment of the army until he came out at last to the top of the small hill where Wallensia and Mallet held the army’s most vulnerable flank. Jonwood
stood near the big man, holding his sword in his left hand, gazing with fierce eyes down the slope at the enemy as he listened to his lord.
“We have known each other a long time,” Aram told the men of Derosa. “We have met the enemy together; you and I, and we have always won the day.” He leaned forward and spoke low, earnestly. “We have become brothers in arms, and brothers in blood. Be strong this day, my brothers, and once again we will win the day.”
He looked long into Mallet’s gaze and met Jonwood’s eyes for a long moment when the small compact man looked up at him. Then he saluted them all and he and Thaniel went back toward the middle.
Before he reached the road, the deep bass note sounded once more from the direction of Morkendril.
Aram turned his head to look down the hill.
The long dark line of the enemy began to move.
Thaniel reached the roadway where he halted and turned to look down the slope as well. The great horse ejected breath from his nostrils in a low, shuddering sound, almost a growl.
Aram did not respond to this but lifted his eyes and gazed narrowly at the gleaming black tower.
We will slay every one of these your servants, vile enemy, he stated under his breath, and then I will come for you.
As the sun slid into zenith, the breeze from the north faltered and died.
A deep low rumble began to make itself known to every listening ear – the sound of thousands of boots impacting the rocky floor of the valley.
There was no sound from the enemy other than this muted, rhythmic, earth-bound thunder. The enemy host reached the slope and began to climb the angle of the incline, and then there were shouts and roars from lashers as they attempted to keep their lines in order.
Along the ranks of soldiers from all parts of the free world, men looked at their nearest companions, nodded, swallowed, and gave and received encouragement.
“Here we go,” some said.
Others opted for the simple phrase, “I am with you,” which was answered every time with, “and I am with you.”
Standing in the middle of the road, Thaniel turned his head and cocked one eye upward.
“You will get little fire from this sun, Aram,” he said.
Aram glanced up at the dim sun, glowing feebly through the smoky overcast. “It will matter little,” he replied. “There will likely be no time to gather flame even if it were possible. Today, my friend, we must be everywhere, in the thick of it – wherever the enemy threatens a breakthrough.”
“And when it is over,” the horse said, “we go to bring justice upon the grim lord.” It was a statement.
Aram nodded but did not reply.
The rumble of pounding boots and thick, clawed feet grew in strength and volume.
Up the slope came the full force of Manon’s might.
The battle for the future of the world was at hand.
21.
All that knew him described Kavnaugh Berezan as quiet and steady. Deliberate and intense, but calm.
Now, facing battle for the first time, watching the grim ranks of the enemy approach his lines in force, Berezan clasped his hands together behind his back and drew in a deep breath.
He did not feel calm at all.
It was not so much that he had never seen action upon a field of battle; it was that none of those young men standing in a long line to either side of him had done so, either. Together, he and they were about to gain experience in that deadliest and bloodiest of arenas. He glanced each way along the line, trying to gauge the general mood.
Would they hold?
What would they do when those gigantic monsters that he could see there at the rear of the enemy host approached the line?
Would they fight or would they run?
They were all of them well-trained, and each of them had willingly marched hundreds of miles across the surface of the world to stand here, upon this desolate, rocky ridge where, very soon, they would be joined by death’s specter. No man among them, Kavnaugh thought, would have done so just to then flee when the conflict they had all been preparing to enjoin came upon them.
He believed that in fact they would fight, but would the next hour justify that belief?
Desertions had occurred along the way on the march out of Elam. Early on, most of those had been for reasons of sheer laziness, an unwillingness to endure the hard tramp northward. Later, there had been those few that, having come to an understanding that at the end of this long trek their very lives would be placed in certain and serious jeopardy, found that they simply could not face that bleak possibility.
The code of conduct that governed the military of Elam stated that desertion was to be punished by death. It was an old law, written for those that had never known – or were ever likely to know – war. Still, it was the law of the land.
Lord Aram had countermanded it, though not for reasons of mercy but of pragmatism.
“I only want those who are willing to fight,” he told his various commanders. “Better that those who will run, run now. It is preferable that they leave us now than when we are standing face-to-face with the enemy – when they might inspire others to fail as well.”
And some, a few, had run.
Still, the vast majority of the uniformed men of his homeland had come all the way to this cold ridge top, either to avenge their women that had been sent to this awful place, or simply because it was their duty to come.
Now they were here.
And the enemy approached.
Moving to the right end of his lines where his troops joined with Duridia, Berezan found General Donnick, the placid Wallensian who, by all accounts, had acquitted himself so admirably in more than one battle.
Nodding a greeting, he said, “This is it, I suppose.”
“They are but minutes away, general,” Donnick replied.
Berezan glanced down the slope before looking back at Donnick. “Any last instructions?”
Donnick shook his head. “No; this is the time when training must take over. I’ve seen it before – the initial shock is accompanied by death and injury, which engenders fury, and it is that fury from which the men will draw strength.” Donnick looked at him closely. “Are you alright, general?”
“Nervous,” Berezan admitted. “I’m just hoping that my boys will stand and fight.”
Donnick looked along the line toward the west. “They will fight, general. They know why the army came here – and each of them knows why he is here.” He looked back and met Berezan’s eyes. “As Lord Aram so prudently foresaw, those that would run away have already done so. Duty and honor are powerful things, my friend, and they are to be found in the hearts of all these good men. Duty and honor brought them here and will keep them in the line when it matters.”
He looked down the slope. “And it will matter in less than an hour.”
Berezan looked toward the enemy as well and watched their progress for a moment. Then he inclined his head respectfully to Donnick. “Thank you, general. I will see you after.”
“See you afterward, sir,” Donnick agreed.
Berezan moved back along the long line until he was positioned at about the center of the Elamite portion of this half of the army, near where he had placed his reserves.
“Alright, boys,” he said, lifting his voice. “Let us show these bastards how Elam fights.”
His front ranks were three deep. Behind them, he had kept a few thousand in reserve, to plug holes or exploit opportunities. The archers were behind the main lines, too, and would act as reserves as well, when either their missiles were expended or when the enemy had closed upon the main line.
Every tenth or twelfth man in that forward line had been issued a “spike”, one of those oddly short and heavy lances that had been designed by Lord Aram’s engineers. After having examined one of those weapons and comprehending its purpose, Berezan couldn’t help but wish that every man of Elam had one in his possession as the enemy came up the hill toward them.
But the
re were only so many spikes available to be issued to his Elamites. General Berezan would have to depend upon his archers to reduce the enemy as much as possible before impact.
He turned his head and looked further up the ridge, at the Senecan archers positioned behind his right. There were more than a thousand of those solemn, capable men from the east and their missiles were tipped with strange blue-green stone that penetrated almost anything. Berezan had witnessed a demonstration and had been impressed and amazed.
Those men would certainly do damage to the foe when he came within range. And their range far exceeded that of Berezan’s Elamite archers. Every one of the Senecans had an arrow nocked in his long bow, and they were all of them staring intently down the slope toward the valley and the approaching enemy.
Berezan studied them with a measure of astonishment for a long moment. As far as he knew, those men of the east had not known battle either. How could they stand here, facing an enemy for the first time, and exhibit such stolid focus upon the task at hand? He looked back to the front and saw the reason for those eastern warriors’ intense interest in what was occurring upon that sloping ground.
The enemy was nearly within range of their missiles.
He drew his sword and moved up to stand with his men.
22.
After Kavnaugh Berezan went back toward the west, Donnick studied the men of both Elam and Duridia that stood near him and was satisfied by what he saw. It was as he’d told Berezan – these men, the Duridians who had seen action before, and the men of Elam, though green and untested, would fight.
There was fear, of course, raw and palpable; but underlying that emotion, as was evident on every face, there was determination to do what they had come here to do – to set the world free from evil. Donnick moved back and forth just behind the ranks, several yards to the left, behind Elam, and then back to his right, behind Duridia.
“Stay strong, men,” he stated repeatedly in his quiet voice. “I have met these people before, and they will run this time just as they did that time. Hold the line, stay focused, put your weight into your pikes when the enemy comes close. Right is with us, the king is with us, his sword of power is with us. Stay strong, men, and we will win the day.”
Kelven's Riddle Book Five Page 20