Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Gladwin started feverishly shaking his head. “You can’t lead the attack, General. You are in command here, you can’t risk yourself. As the commanding officer, you must stay behind and direct the battle from your headquarters. That is common practice for officers of the papal army. Only in dire situations do generals take the field. You should know that, sir.”

  Kago gritted his teeth until he thought they might shatter. “I can’t command anything sitting on my ass in a tent, you little coward. If you wish to stay behind, by all means do so. I doubt you would be much good on the field anyway.”

  The captain’s face turned bright red at the insult. “It is selfish of you to do this, General Kattan. I will report it to the vicar general and King Farran when we return. I suspect charges may be issued, you could even be demoted…sir. ”

  “Report it to God if you like, you dandy-faced bastard. What do I care? I have warned you about this before, Captain. Do not try my patience.”

  “Sir, I believe you are unfit for command. I must--” Kago’s sword sprung from its scabbard, crunching down through the captain’s collarbone and slicing him in half. Gladwin’s body slowly slid from his saddle, his mouth still moving when it hit the ground. Kago looked down at the captain remorselessly. Glancing up, he saw several of the soldiers staring. Clearly they were greatly disturbed by their general’s violent act.

  Kago gave them all a predatory look. “He had been warned.”

  ***

  K’xarr’s blue roan danced back and forth. The horse was uneasy, it instincts anticipating the battle to come. The mercenary captain jerked the horse’s bridle firmly, pulling its head around, and briskly patted the animal’s neck in an attempt to calm the antsy warhorse.

  Achillus and his officers were on the way over to where the cavalry were deployed. The general and his men would fight on foot today. K’xarr didn’t envy the Masarian infantry, they would have the grim task of meeting the charge of ten thousand knights head on. He had seen what that kind of onslaught could do. K’xarr still could remember how the Abberdonians lines exploded when the Ascona lancers crashed headlong into them; it had been brutal and devastating.

  Achillus decided he and the king’s Wardogs would bear the brunt of the knights’ attack. The Dragitan general was in command until Malric decided to take the field himself. They had received word that the king had important matters keeping him in Gallio for the time being. The dispatch didn’t mention what the matters were, but it was clear the monarch’s absence hadn’t sat well with Achillus. The Dragitan had wadded up the message and threw it at the king’s herald, and put his boot to the man’s ass.

  The king’s message also said that on his order, K’xarr was to be given command of the Masarian cavalry in addition to his mercenaries. It wasn’t hard to see that Achillus was skeptical of the decision, but the general wasn’t one to question his king. The order meant he would be leading five thousand Masarian horsemen along with the Sons. That would give him command of over six thousand horse soldiers. It felt good to be on a real battlefield again, he had missed the thrill of combat and the chance for fame and glory. It wasn’t the same as when he had led the Phoenix Queen’s entire army, but directing the Masarian’s cavalry would do.

  He watched as Achillus and his officers marched across the field to his position. Malric’s general was a hard man, seasoned and self-assured. K’xarr didn’t believe the papal army could do anything that would unnerve him. The former Dragitan officer was difficult to read, though. He spoke little and seldom let any emotion cross his face. Though the general’s personal thoughts were a mystery most of the time, it was clear he was at home on a battlefield.

  Achillus looked up at him and began to stroke the blue roan’s neck. “This Kattan has his knights in a wedge out in front of his infantry. Their horsemen will lead the assault.”

  “Aye, it looks that way. Are you sure you don’t want us to try and break them up before they get to the infantry?” K’xarr asked.

  Achillus shook his head. “No, our cavalry aren’t as heavily armored and we don’t use the lance. We would just be throwing our men away. I think we should stick to the plan. Let our longbow men have at their horses and our spearmen will take on the charge.” Achillus looked solemnly at his men as the infantry began to form up. “I wish we had a few pikemen from Falmarc right about now.”

  K’xarr nodded, knowing the reputation of the famed pikemen from the east. It was said that the Falmarcan pikemen could withstand a charge from any heavy horse without ever taking a step back.

  “Just make sure, Captain, that you hit their flanks hard after we suck them in. I don’t want to deal with a second attack from those armored bastards,” Achillus said with authority.

  “I will try and time it right. You’ll have to hold till their infantry engages or we’ll be trapped in that mess with no way to maneuver.”

  Achillus reached up and took K’xarr’s arm in a warrior's grip. “The Wardogs will hold, Strom, have no doubt of that. You just come in and bite their ass before the knights have a chance to break free.”

  “I won’t let you down, General.”

  “Keep the Reaper at your back, Strom.”

  K’xarr straightened in his saddle. “Hell, General, that’s where the bastard lives.”

  ***

  The Sons of the Reaper sat with the rest of the Masarian cavalry, man and beast were both edgy. The attack could come at any moment and they would have to watch helplessly as the Church knights roared into Achillus and the infantry. The commander of the pope’s forces was discounting the Masarian horsemen completely. K’xarr thought this Kattan must believe that the heavily-armored knights could rout Achillus and his infantry with ease, leaving the Church’s foot soldiers to finish them off while the knights broke clear to deal with him and the cavalry. The Camiran thought it was a bold plan, he just wasn’t going let it happen.

  The large expanse of open ground was bone dry. Northern Masaria was no friend to those who tilled the soil. There were few large patches of grass, most of the landscape was broken and rocky. Only a few shepherds used the land, grazing their herds on the sparse grass that had managed to tear free of the stony ground.

  Two armies glared at one another across the killing ground. The soldiers’ armor was stifling in the sweltering heat. Standing in fixed ranks, encased in leather and steel, the men of both armies stood firm. Rivulets of sweat ran down their somber faces, and strong hands gripped weapons whose shafts and hilts were already slick with perspiration. Some prayed, some thought of the families they might never see again. Still others focused on the blood they would spill this day, but none could ignore the scorching sun as they waited for the battle to begin. The heat would claim its own victims this day.

  K’xarr wiped the sweat from his brow while glancing at the big man beside him. The Toran and his large warhorse both stared straight ahead, seemingly deep in thought. Cromwell’s wild black locks rested on his massive mail-covered shoulders. There was an ominous scowl on his face as his dark eyes studied the enemy soldiers across the field. K’xarr saw his friend’s thick finger incessantly tapping the handle of the ugly warhammer that lay across his lap. He knew Cromwell well enough to see the Toran was annoyed.

  “You look like a surly bastard today, Bull. What’s on your mind? Spit it out before the day gets too eventful to talk,” K’xarr said sharply.

  “I have nothing on my mind but killing. The day is perfect and we are about to ride into battle. Except for this damn heat, I am content.”

  “I know you better than that, something is rattling around in that tiny brain of yours.”

  Cromwell looked at K’xarr from under his heavy brow; his face was grave and sullen. “I wish Kian and Endra were here, we are better when we’re all together.”

  K’xarr reached down, checking his stirrups. They felt a bit loose. “I’m going to have Rufio take a look at these, I don’t think they’re on right.”

  “Did you hear what I said?” Cromwell aske
d, aggravation ringing in his voice.

  “Yes, damn you, I heard. You're right we fight well together and it’s unfortunate they are not here with us. There’s just nothing that can be done about it. They will return when they return. We have a battle to win, keep your mind on that.”

  Cromwell reached over and grabbed K’xarr by the arm. “They are more important than someone else’s war. If you were missing, he would drop whatever he was doing and come find you. You know that.”

  “I do know that, but I’m not Kian, and I don’t want to hear any more about it,” K’xarr said, jerking his arm away from the Toran. “The half-breed can take care of himself and so can Endra, for that manner. They don’t need a nursemaid.”

  “It’s not just them that I worry about, it’s you and that sword and the armor. You still have not told me where they came from, K’xarr.”

  The Camiran gritted his teeth and gave his friend a look as cold as a dead man’s heart. “You’re always going on about the gods, Bull, let their will be done.”

  Cromwell’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. The barbarian started to reply but he was cut off by the rumble of ten thousand warhorses' hooves as the Church knights thundered across the field.

  ***

  Arrows from the Masarian longbows sped into the rolling wave of knights. Horses and riders fell gracelessly into twisted heaps as the longbow men found their range. A second and third flight of arrows ripped into the tight wedge of knights. Animals and men died together, cut down by the archer’s deadly volleys, but it wasn’t enough to break the knight’s swift advance.

  K’xarr and the cavalry watched as the horsemen of God lowered their lances a hundred yards from the Masarian line. A bristling wall of steel-tipped death raced toward the foot soldiers, promising nothing less than wreckage and ruin. With courage pulled from deep within their warrior souls, the Wardog spearmen held their ground, standing steady as the curtain of steel and horse flesh crashed into their center.

  Bodies flew into the air and men were broken apart as the screams of the dying soldiers mingled in the air with snorted cries and sorrowful neighs from the wild-eyed warhorses. The force of the charge pushed Achillus’s lines back. The power of the knights’ assault drove the wedge of horsemen deep into their enemy’s ranks. Like ironclad ogres, the holy warriors battered and slashed the Masarians with mace, warhammer, and sword, inflicting terrible losses, and still the line held.

  The bulk of the papal army’s heavy infantry swarmed in next. Whoever commanded the pope’s army was not timid. K’xarr could tell the enemy general planned to destroy the Masarian army in one great battle. He could see the knights trying to push their way out of the fray. Their commander wanted to assemble them for another charge, this time at Achillus’s flank. The Masarians would be engaged with the papal infantry and would not be able to shift their defenses, but they had waited too long and driven too deep into the chaotic ranks. Many of the knights were trapped between the two infantry forces and struggled to break free of the violent melee.

  “Rufio, Ivan, take your positions. On my signal, we attack. Bottle those knights up, don’t let them break clear of the battle.” The two men's fists hit their chests simultaneously in salute and they galloped away to their places in the line. “Are you ready, brother, or do you still have some nagging to do?”

  The Toran looked at K’xarr grimly. “The blood of our enemies is mother’s milk to my people, there is no need to ask if I’m ready. But I will have my answers from you, Captain. Plan to give them to me or I will beat them out of you.”

  K’xarr grinned wickedly as he drew Crimson Wave. Feeling the familiar warmth that emanated from the dark hilt, he felt confident of victory.

  Holding the red-bladed sword above his head, he rode down the line of anxious horsemen until he reached its center. “Let’s send these bastards to the god they love so much.” K’xarr lowered his sword and the mass of cavalry surged forward, kicking their horses to speed.

  ***

  Kago whirled his horse around. Whoever was commanding the Masarian cavalry had hit his knights at just the right time, catching them as they fought to get clear of the battle. The damned Wardogs had entwined his men up inside and then tightened their ranks and wouldn’t let them go. Now the Masarian horses hammered into their left. His heavy cavalry had been neutered and the battlefield was in chaos. Kago smiled grimly beneath his helmet. Perhaps these Masarians would be worthy foes after all. Striking down from the back of his horse, he cut his way through the fray. There were no more orders to give now. Thousands of men swirled across the sun-baked ground, twisted together in a turbulent struggle to survive.

  A man in dark armor with his sword arm encased in red steel caught his eye. He was the one that had led the charge. Slashing Masarians down to his right and left, Kago kicked his horse deeper into the enemy lines. He would kill this man in the strange armor. Perhaps his death would erode the morale of the fierce cavalrymen he led.

  It was difficult to move through the host of soldiers and horses. The rocky ground was becoming slick with bloody entrails, and the bodies of the dead caused his horse to stumble as he moved toward the cavalry officer.

  Arrows and javelins flew above the frenzied battle, raining death on the men of both sides. Axes and swords rose and fell over the sea of soldiers, striking men down with every thrust and slash. Horses fell or were pulled down among the combatants of the bloody melee. He had never seen so fierce a combat; the battle was like living thing, a monster, swirling back and forth, tearing men apart and leaving their shattered and bleeding bodies on a gory bed of bowels and blood. Kago’s heart pounded with excitement as he struggled into the maw of the churning beast. This was what he had been born to do.

  There was one more Masarian spearman between him and his intended victim. He pulled back on his warhorse’s reins, causing the animal to rear up and kick out with its iron-shod hooves. The man’s skull cracked and came apart, showering his nearby companions with blood and brains. Kago’s dogged determination and battle prowess had brought him within sword's reach of the man he had fixated on. He raised his sword to strike.

  ***

  K’xarr turned in time to block a savage attack aimed at his head. The warrior who delivered it didn’t give him time to answer. The man rained down blow after blow, each driven by strength and experience. He wore the livery of the Church, but fought like a savage and seemed determined to end K’xarr’s life.

  He ducked a slash to his head and finally returned one of his own, knocking the man’s helmet off. Sweaty, dark hair clung to the warrior’s scarred face. K’xarr could see his dark eyes, carrying a grim ruthlessness and fixated on a single, relentless purpose. Kill the enemy.

  Their horses spun in circles, knocking men off their feet as the two warriors clashed. Their swords rang out a deadly tune as they struck back and forth with lethal expertise. K’xarr twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a murderous thrust. Changing tactics, the Camiran switched the angle of his sword’s descent. The legs of the dark-haired warrior’s horse buckled as Crimson Wave severed the neck of the pitiful animal. K’xarr smiled grimly as man and rider went down, but he had underestimated the man’s reflexes. With the horse collapsing under him, the warrior made a desperate attack. The slash was clumsy, the sword striking K’xarr’s head with the flat of the blade, but it had enough force to knock K’xarr from the saddle and his helmet from his head.

  Both gracelessly regained their feet after tripping over a nearby horse in its death throes. Without pause, they resumed their deadly struggle. Men banged into and shoved at them from all sides as the two dogged warriors fought on. Their swords met time and time again. Without helmets, stinging sweat poured freely down each man’s face as the blistering sun rose higher in the sky.

  Temper flaring and head pounding, K’xarr gripped Crimson Wave with both hands and with strength born of rage, he chopped at his opponent’s head. His adversary raised his sword in defense just as the red sword crashed down. The
man’s blade snapped, leaving him with only a sword hilt in his hand. K’xarr quickly stepped forward to deliver a killing blow, but the canny warrior turned sideways and the red blade cleaved only air. K’xarr stumbled forward, off balance. The warrior drove the pommel of the broken sword into K’xarr face, shattering the mercenary captain’s nose. With his vision a blur, K’xarr swung wildly trying to keep the wily fighter off him.

  The man caught the wrist of his sword arm with one hand and K’xarr felt his other hand grasp his throat. The warrior’s hand was like iron. His eyes bulged from his head as the man tightened his grip. Lashing out with his foot, he caught the warrior in the stomach and broke the deadly hold on his throat.

  The scar-faced warrior quickly ran back a few steps and snatched a fallen spear from the ground as K’xarr brought Crimson Wave to guard. The two started towards each other as the mass of Masarian cavalry pushed into their personal battleground, separating the two with thousands of pounds of horse flesh. K’xarr pushed and slapped at the tide of warhorses, but he quickly lost sight of his dangerous foe.

  Working his way out of the press, his nose still bleeding profusely, K’xarr scanned the field for his horse. Fate willing, he would cross paths with the scarred warrior again and when he did, he would end the man’s life, before the bastard could do the same to him.

  ***

  The battle raged on and off for three days before either side relented and pulled their men back. If not for sheer exhaustion and the terrible heat, the two armies would have fought until one side or the other had been completely annihilated. Each had taken heavy losses in the brutal conflict. Just over thirty-six thousand soldiers, along with eight thousand horses, lay dead in the large expanse of ground that would one day be known as Red Field.

  Kago Kattan sat shirtless on the tiny cot in his tent, washing the blood and grime from his sore muscles. His battle surgeons had stitched up the array of small wounds he had acquired during the three day battle, but only sleep would cure his weariness.