by Tom Lloyd
Even up in the sky Styrax felt a wave of dizziness envelop him, but he still saw as Zhia collected a shining object.
She quickly wrapped it in a length of cloth, binding it tightly, before drawing her sword and stowing the wrapped object on her back instead. There was a strange ripping sound and she turned back as the ground split open like a gigantic chrysalis, ripping further and further along the spine of the mound as something pushed forward from underneath.
A massive soil-coated shape, still indistinct, lifted itself up, one foot, then two, three feet, before dropping again, and Styrax saw a gleam of emerald appear further along the mound as the earth fell away…
Then the mound burst open as the dragon inside drove up and twisted its body to free itself from the constricting earth. Its wings were tightly furled and coated in dirt still, but he could tell the beast was huge, even by the standards of dragons. Its movements were lazy, as to be expected after a magically induced sleep, but with every passing second Styrax felt its presence swell.
Unbidden, the wyvern climbed further up into the sky, desperate to be away from its vastly larger cousin. This time Styrax did not stop it. He was dazed by what he had just witnessed, but after a moment the instinct for self-preservation kicked in and he turned his creature west, towards his army. The puzzle of the heart had been clear: it kept a dragon sleeping, and that beast, if ever awakened, would turn on the one who solved it. There had been no mention of the Crystal Skull, but Styrax had guessed at the mechanism for keeping the dragon asleep and knew perfectly well a dragon’s preference for mages. That was why he kept Lord Larim back; experience with the Skulls had shown Styrax they were almost impossible to sense when not being used so it was likely the dragon would go after the nearest powerful mage.
Now, with the Farlan army so close at hand, he had a distraction to serve several purposes.
Yet she fooled me still, he thought with growing wonder and disbelief. He was scarcely able to believe what he had seen - and he was relieved he had not thought to stay and fight Zhia. He had made that decision thinking two immortal vampires bearing Crystal Skulls would probably have proved too much, even for him. But with one of them wielding Aenaris, the Key of Life itself? Not even the Gods could stop them!
The cavalry smashed into the Menin lines and men and horses screamed and roared and fell. Amber found himself beside Captain Hain, huddled behind their shields which were resting on the boundary wall. Behind him infantrymen filled the small patch of ground. The wall was little more than rubble for half of its length now, but that had been enough to blunt the worst of the Farlan charge and now the Menin crossbowmen were making their shots count.
Amber felt a spear bite into his shield and nearly rip it from his grasp. He lunged blindly forward and caught the horse in the throat. The beast reared and threw itself backwards, shrieking as it fell, trying to avoid its rider. The scimitar was torn from his grip, so Amber wrenched the spear out and brandished it at the next man who came for them. Behind him he heard the frantic shouts of the officer commanding the bowmen, and the heavy stamp of another infantry company moving up.
Half of the Farlan were now on foot, charging with remarkable fervour. Amber could see his men were easily getting the better of the ragged mercenaries, but among them were men of an entirely different calibre. A knot of knights smashed their way through the line where the wall had fallen, hacking their way through as their warhorses kicked and stamped a bloody path. Red and white ribbons fixed to their armour danced furiously in the breeze.
‘Take them down!’ Amber yelled to the arriving infantry. The men leveled spears and charged into the half-dozen knights. The nearest was impaled, but he protected the rest, who turned straight into the company, driving into the ranks to get past the reach of their spears before chopping down on every available target. Two crossbow bolts slammed into the rearmost knight, throwing him from his saddle, but the others ignored him, intent on causing as much damage as possible. At last, enough of the pressing infantry managed to bring the knights down one by one, though taking heavy casualties right to the last moment.
Amber and Haim led the charge to close the gap, running forward with a squad close behind. More troops were running for the breach, led by an unnaturally tall figure swathed in shadows and carrying a pair of long scimitars.
‘Piss and daemons, that looks like Haysh!’ Amber shouted in shock. The figure was thinner and paler than the icon above the training ground of his youth, but that was no surprise - Haysh the Steel Dancer was a Menin Aspect of Karkarn after all. The Farlan version would reflect its own worshippers.
He threw the spear over-arm at the Aspect, but it slipped out of the way, turning the movement into an elegant double-slash that cut away first shield, then arm, of the nearest man on the other side of the breach. Amber drew his remaining scimitar and swung it in a high circle as he closed on the Aspect.
‘With me,’ he yelled to Hain, guessing the Aspect would recognise the style of fighting taught in its own temples and see him as the greatest threat. ‘Stay tight and go low!’
The men rushed forward together. A sharp cold wind swept around them as they came within feet of the Aspect, but Amber didn’t have time to worry about that. Keeping their momentum they charged the Aspect, which aimed a wide cut at Amber, momentarily stopping their run, and then gave ground. The squad rounded Hain, pikes leveled, and Amber lashed out twice, but was parried with ease each time. The squad charged, forcing the Aspect to turn and use both swords to drive them back. Amber struck out again, giving Hain the opening he needed to cut deep into the Aspect’s left arm.
Black blood spurted out over the ground and the minor God gave a hiss of pain. Its left arm dropped under the sword’s weight, but it didn’t slow for even a moment as it cut down on Hain’s raised shield. The captain fell, but Amber was already stepping into the fight, cutting into the Aspect’s neck, trying to bring it down. As the body hit the ground he heard a scream in the background and glimpsed a priest reeling, then the Aspect exploded into black flames.
Amber grabbed Hain and dragged the man back, letting the squad turn and lock shields as more Farlan soldiers attacked. Overhead the air was filled with a dozen golden arrows; one of Larim’s battle-mages stood with hands outstretched, surrounded by a corona of painfully bright golden light.
Amber knelt down and rolled the man onto his back. ‘Hain, still with me?’ he asked urgently.
‘Bastard,’ coughed Hain, his face contorted with pain, ‘didn’t have to drag my face over the ground!’
Amber grinned; swearing was a good sign for an injured man. He leaned over to get a better look at the wounded arm, but it looked as if the pauldron had taken the worse of the blow; the thick steel rim was cut all the way through, as was the shield that had been above it. Blood was running freely from Hain’s shoulder.
‘Gods, man, you bleed more easily than a virgin in a barracks,’ Amber joked. He got to his knees and started to haul the smaller man up. ‘You’ll live, get that bound up.’
‘Aye - Shitfuckingdamn!’ Hain gasped, his eyes widening.
Even before he turned, Amber could see the reflected yellow glow in Hain’s eyes. A party of horsemen drove into the Menin line, knights and priests alike led by the enormous yellow-robed figure of Lord Chalat himself. The white-eye was silent and focused, striking left and right with a huge copper broadsword, a gauntlet of flame encasing his left hand. As Amber watched, the huge white-eye punched one Menin soldier and the man was thrown back nearly twenty feet, flames spreading over his body before he even hit the ground.
‘Gods, where are the Reavers?’ Amber called.
As if on cue, a deranged shriek of fury and ecstasy cut the air. In the east he saw a large man crouched almost flat on an enormous blade-edged shield, two more following on in quick succession, but they disappeared behind the mass of cavalry swarming around the enemy lines.
‘Shit, they’re off target,’ Amber realised, looking around him to see what troops he h
ad left to repel the attackers. The newly arrived reserves lost no time in heading towards the beleaguered line, but he realised they wouldn’t be enough if there were any more Aspects or breaches. The battle-mage behind him had fallen silent, the golden corona replaced with a faint greenish glow, and his expression was one of total concentration as he focused entirely on the Chosen of Tsatach.
The major turned back to Chalat in time to see a crossbow bolt wing him in the fleshy part of his bicep. The wound wasn’t deep, looking at the way he tossed his sword to his left hand, but perhaps it would be enough.
‘You can defend against him?’ Amber yelled to the battle-mage.
The man looked bewildered for a moment, then nodded. ‘Directly; only for a few seconds.’
‘Then defend me,’ Amber yelled, and without giving the mage a chance to reply he turned and snatched up Hain’s long spike-tipped axe in his left hand. With his scimitar in his right Amber sprinted towards the huge white-eye, cutting a bloody path through the defenders. Chalat had kicked a hole in the wall and pushed a few yards past his allies, fighting with all the skill of the Chosen, despite using his left hand. Amber had always been quick, especially for a big man, and now he ignored the fighting to put every last ounce of strength he had into the sprint.
Twelve yards to the breach, eight, five - a warm glow enveloped him as the mage wrapped a protective cloak over him. He saw Chalat glance around at the movement and flick a wrist in his direction. A lance of flame spat out just before he reached his target and was deflected by the battle-mage’s protective wrap. Amber flinched, but kept running. One yard away and he launched himself towards Chalat with a scream of triumph, his scimitar whistling around towards Chalat’s neck.
The white-eye moved faster than Amber could see and his vision went white as fire wrapped his body. Again it was deflected away, just in time for him to see Chalat had turned right around, his broadsword raised to catch Amber’s sword. When the blades connected, with Amber’s full weight behind the blow, he felt his body savagely jerked back as Chalat’s arm didn’t give an inch. Pain flared in his wrist as it snapped, but momentum carried him around. Now with no thought to his own survival Amber thrust the axe forward, slamming it into the centre of Chalat’s body.
The spike drove in deep as Amber’s face collided with the white-eye’s. It felt like hitting an oak tree. He felt the axe head crunch against Chalat’s breastbone, then the weapon was knocked from his grip and stars burst in his eyes as gravity embraced him once more. He fell back and the sky turned purple as the weight of his scimitar twisted his broken wrist around, then his head and shoulders hit the ground and sudden, shocking darkness enveloped him.
Advancing at a canter, the Farlan cavalry forded one river, then the next. Ahead of them were screens of light cavalry divisions, who had raced ahead to allow the heavier troops the ease of an uncontested crossing. He could feel a presence behind him, watching his back as they headed towards the battle. Byora had been so quiet all day that it fueled his paranoia, but Isak knew he could spare no more than the legion of light cavalry he had stationed outside the quarter.
He fought the urge to squirm in his saddle, fearful both of what lay behind and what was ahead, and going against every instinct by marching between them. All around him fluttered the bright clashing colours of the Farlan nobility and their hurscals: six hundred heavy cavalrymen, the centre of the Farlan line. The men were hushed, apprehensive, the nerves wound taut. All around him men were gripping their weapons just a shade too tightly, even Count Vesna, and many were being a little too severe with their horses. The hero of the Farlan was silent, his attention fixed on some vague point in the distance, his visor down, so it fell to General Lahk to keep Isak informed. With every piece of news, and each word of advice, Isak’s world grew darker.
On the left flank, Suzerain Torl was fighting a slow and controlled retreat; drawing back from the Menin lines, but taking heavy losses whenever they engaged with the minotaurs. In the centre and on the right flank chaos reigned; the Farlan were being driven back in on themselves by the steady push of the Menin reserves. Though he was being outflanked, Chalat was neither retreating nor regrouping.
The Menin centre had repelled several attacks and were refusing to be drawn off their positions, content to wait for their cavalry as they worked their way around. According to his scryers, without the heroics from the light cavalry, the entire crusade would have been wrapped up and slaughtered by now - but even so, they weren’t going to last much longer.
‘My Lord, may I order support to Suzerain Torl?’ General Lahk asked.
Isak looked at the three divisions of Ghosts and one light cavalry legion. ‘You may - send the First Guardsmen and the Fordan-Tebran legion to Torl’s command.’
Lahk gave the order and soon troops were wheeling away, the light cavalry leaping ahead of the Ghosts to reinforce Torl’s beleaguered troops as soon as possible. Isak was left with a division of Ghosts on his left flank and three legions of light cavalry on his right, with one of each as rearguard.
‘Tirah legions advance to right flank attack?’ asked General Lahk, sticking rigidly to protocol.
Isak repeated the command back and the order was sounded. The right-hand legions began to move ahead of the centre, peeling off to attack the rear of the Menin reserves. Isak couldn’t see what was happening; he had to trust Lahk’s experience, all the while his nerves were jangling like wind-chimes in a gale.
Another hundred yards on, and the view opened out.
Parting before the steady advance, a straggly group of Farlan cavalry broke left as their assailants gave ground to the right. The battered regiments wore the dark robes of penitents, so Isak knew the ordered troops with white lances were Menin cavalry. They were retiring to ensure their infantry weren’t encircled, not realising it was Farlan heavy cavalry facing them. As they moved, the Menin infantry units were revealed like the sun through parting clouds. Isak felt his heart quicken.
‘Sound the advance!’ he roared, not needing Lahk’s prompting.
The pace of the heavy cavalry immediately quickened, every knight realising they could shatter the heart of the enemy’s reserves. Two hundred yards, the gap closing fast. Some instinct made Isak look up and his heart lurched as he saw the winged shape of a wyvern passing high overhead.
‘The sands are falling’, crooned the Headsman at the furthest recesses of Isak’s mind; ‘the hunter is calling.’
Isak shook his head and drove the voice from his mind, flooding his body with the eager fire of magic from his Crystal Skulls. He felt his hands tremble momentarily as the intoxicating energy surged through his veins and wrapped him in a warm cocoon of power.
The enemy ahead snapped into focus, and in the confines of his helm Isak heard his breathing turn to a growl as his muscles tightened with anticipation. His shoulders ached with power begging to be released, and now he was only too glad to oblige. Raising Eolis he roared the order to charge that was echoed by every man with him, and he unleashed the fury of the storm.
A blinding burst of lightning flew from the tip of Eolis, forking in the air and lashing the ground once, twice, before snapping across the front rank of infantry in an explosion of sparks. Isak barely heard it, for he was near-deafened by the hammer of hooves surrounding him, but it had the desired effect for he saw the bodies on the ground and the hole torn in the front rank for the Farlan to charge through.
Toramin barely slowed as they hit the enemy. Isak felt the impact as man after man was smashed to the ground by the huge charger’s armoured chest. He cut left and right, shield held low, barely seeing the men he killed. Beside him he heard Vesna bellowing even more wildly as blood flew, weapons glanced off him, men screamed and cried and died.
The Farlan cavalry battered a path into the heart of the enemy legion, leaving only crushed and broken bodies in their wake. As their momentum slowed, many knights dropped their lances and grabbed the weapons hanging from their saddles. Only Vesna and Isak had swords
in their hands; the rest hacked at the enemy with axes and maces - heavy, brutal blows that crushed skulls and removed heads. In the centre of it all, Isak roared, putting every ounce of unnatural strength into each cut and reveling in the jarring impacts. Eolis cut steel and bone with equal ease as Isak used his shield to batter weapons away and smash faces to pulp.
In moments or minutes, he could not tell which, the enemy fled under the onslaught. Many threw their weapons down and ran blindly, racing for the safety of the Menin line, which had now turned to face the Farlan. Isak screamed his frustration as he saw them run and drew on the Skull again.
He reached up and brandished Eolis above his head, and in the glittering blade’s wake, silvery threads appeared, and spun and spun at a blinding speed until Isak threw the swirl after the fleeing soldiers. Though it barely brushed the first, it ripped his arm and shoulder away, and streaked on past the shrieking man into the main bulk of soldiers. Everyone it touched was thrown to the ground, blood fountaining from a thousand cuts; those it engulfed simply disappeared in a crimson blur.
Isak released the stream of magic and panted for breath. The knights with him were cheering as they watched the enemy flee. He looked lower and saw the brutalised remains of the Menin infantry, a carpet of corpses spread out behind him.
‘That’s what it’s about, my Lord!’ yelled a man beside him, his voice ragged from heaving breaths and elation. Isak didn’t recognise the crest for a moment before his memory kicked in: rose petals and a dagger; that’s Suzerain Lehm.
‘Showed the bastards what a heavy cavalry charge can do, eh?’ Lehm gestured at the slaughter all around him and Isak realised he was right. Half of the dead would have been killed by the steel-shod, armoured horses.
‘We’ve no time yet for celebration,’ General Lahk roared, his voice carrying over the clamour, ‘form up!’ Men jumped to obey as the familiar repeating warble of the horns rang out. Light cavalrymen rode forward in pursuit of the routed troops, looking to cut them down before they reached safety.