by Matthew Cook
Once more we kissed, mouths opening, tongues sliding and tangling. Soon I felt him stiffening once more between my thighs. This time, the lovemaking was slow and purposeful, as we each strove to fulfill the other and ourselves.
He stayed until dawn was a dim, blue promise in the east, then slipped away after many farewell kisses and caresses. I put out the fire and gathered my things, placing the wilted diadem carefully into my pack. I spent the day trying to do my job. To not think of his face, of the sight of his body moving above me.
We took every opportunity in the four days that followed to be together, spending the long spring evenings at each other's side, sharing food and drink before slaking our other, more base, appetites. Every night, Jazen brought me more of the delicate blue flowers, and every night I wove them into a garland for my pale hair.
"The men must know about us,” he said one night as he lay beside me, still breathing hard from our last passionate tussle. “They're covering for me; the small japes and jests they've let slip are obvious enough. They're good men, gods love them. Better than a commander like Hollern—Captain Hollern, I mean—deserves. Still, he is our superior and so is deserving of our obedience."
I frowned at Jazen's tone of respect, then mentally shrugged. Loyalty such as Jazen's was the granite foundation upon which the Empire had been built. It was a good trait in a soldier, I supposed, no matter how undeserving one's commanding officer was of it.
"You do not agree,” he said.
"I ... I think that you do yourself proud by your loyalty,” I replied. “The men are lucky to have you watching over them."
"And what about you? Do you feel yourself lucky?"
Our mingled sweat stood out on his deep chest, sparkling in a thick mat of hair. In answer, I leaned forward and licked a salty drop, then moved my attention to his tiny nipple.
His breathing roughened as the flesh stiffened under my tongue.
"I don't want to talk about the men, or about Hollern, or anything else right now,” I whispered. “Right now, I have other plans for that oh so loyal tongue of yours."
Jazen laughed, twining his fingers in my hair and rolling over. He laid me on my back on the blankets, moving over me, then sliding slowly down the length of my body. When I felt his hot breath against my thighs, I moaned, softly, in anticipation of what was to come.
Soon, I surrendered to the feelings growing in my sex, allowing myself to submerge in the sensation like a blood-warm tide. Inside, my sister purred in shared ecstasy, murmuring wordless approval at my choice.
As always, he stayed afterwards, lying beside me until the small hours just before dawn. I watched him as he slept, his rugged face just visible in the starlight.
I did not join him in slumber; I needed little sleep. As the stars slowly spun overhead, my eyes searched the darkness for any threat.
I shook him when dawn was imminent. “You mustn't be late,” I said when he protested, pulling the blanket over his face. “Hollern must not discover where you have been spending your nights."
He frowned as I said this, as if he meant to protest, but I shook my head. I knew that Jazen saw nothing wrong in what we did. I, being a scout, and so outside the chain of command, was not bound by the army's rules concerning such things.
Still, I had my reasons, even if I did not feel like explaining them; let my mere desire be good enough for him. He shrugged and rose, wriggling into his leathers, before departing with a last, lingering kiss.
That morning, before the early morning fog had fully lifted from the valley, we reached Gamth's Pass and saw the Mor for the first time.
I cursed and kIcked my horse's rIbs, urging the animal into a quick trot. The ground was treacherous with stones and unexpected holes, concealed by the waist-high grass. I felt nervous and exposed out in the open, and wanted nothing better than to complete my mission and return to our lines.
The Mor were not difficult to find. The creatures filled the northern end of the valley, a carpet of slate gray flesh and waving claws. They were huge, much taller than a man and almost twice as broad.
In appearance, they resembled a knight in armor, heavy shoulders protected by curving plates of burnished gray armor. They framed a blunt, wedge-like skull, featureless save for a narrow eye slit. Their legs were short and stout, thick pillars of armored muscle, supporting barrel-like chests.
The Mor had two sets of arms. The inner pair were small and delicate, tipped with graceful, four-fingered hands.
The upper were very different, huge and powerful. They terminated in four thick claws, each almost a foot long.
No sooner had I stopped to begin my count, than they began surging forward. I finished my task, striving to remain calm as they began their advance up the valley's slope. As soon as I was done, I turned my mount and started back. Behind me, the Mor's strange war cry filled the long, narrow valley. The sound, like pipes, or like the whistle of wind past a rooftop eave, sent a chill through my blood.
Some of the men, those who had families that worked in the deep places in the earth, had been telling stories of the Mor for days. Of how their claws could rend armor like cloth. Or of how their shamans could harness the heat of the earth, breathing it into their stone weapons.
Most laughed at what sounded like such obvious exaggerations. Never Jazen. He watched, and listened, drinking in every detail as if his life, and those of his men, depended on it.
I supposed that they did. After all, Hollern certainly could not be bothered to learn about the enemy; he was far too busy receiving the Lightbringer's blessings and the priests'assurances of victory to bother with the mundane details of war. In his mind, the battle was already won.
Behind me, the Mor that I had outdistanced turned back and rejoined their fellows. I rode back, up the long slope leading to our position at the southern end of the Pass. I felt their eyes on my back, a dull, malignant pressure.
"Scout returning!” our sentries called out as I approached. I guided my mount towards the red and blue striped tent of Lord Mermond, commander of the Imperial Expedition and warlord of the assembled companies.
"What news?” Hollern said, grabbing my horse's bridle. I swung down and gave him a withering look.
"I suggest you come inside and hear my report if you want to learn more. Sir."
Hollern's ruddy face paled as I said this. Behind him, I saw Jazen standing with the men. He shook his head minutely, his eyes warning me. I ignored it.
"Why you...” Hollern began. “You're under my command and I will hear your report. Now."
I leaned forward, pitching my voice so that only he could hear.
"You pompous fool,” I hissed. “Find some other way to curry the favor of the Lord Commander. This news is not for the men's ears. The army has seen fit to make you the leader of these men. Act like it."
Hollern pursed his lips, and I saw the muscles in his jaw jump as he ground his teeth together. I turned away and headed towards the tent door.
It was crowded with officers; captains all, with their aides in tow. My arrival triggered a chorus of demands for information. Hollern trailed in my wake, his impatience pressing against my back like a shove.
I ignored all of them and walked straight to Lord Mermond. He sat behind a camp table upon which a map of Gamth's Pass was spread.
Two priests, one of the Lightbringer and a second of Ur, attended him, standing a respectful distance behind the Commander. I frowned to see them; they had no place here.
As I walked forward, the priest of the Lightbringer sketched a warding gesture in my direction, his gaze fixed on my eyes. I favored him with a long, unbroken look until he turned aside with a curse. Inside, my sister growled a wordless warning.
I stood until Mermond looked up. He frowned.
"What news?” His voice, like the rest of him, was hard and rough, the result of decades in the field.
"They are assembled in the north end of the valley, just as we hoped,” I said. “I saw nothing resembling mounts; I'
m not sure how that rumor began. All of them are on foot.
"Our cavalry will be hard-pressed to set a proper charge, however,” I continued. “The ground is very broken, with many stones and hollows."
"That will hinder the enemy as well,” Mermond said, then addressed the captains. “We shall hold this position atop the rise and receive their charge, not rush down to meet them."
He turned back to me. “How many did you see?"
"I counted them as you told me, and figure they have no more than five hundred, all told,” I replied. Judging their numbers had been surprisingly easy, thanks to Mermond's advice: look at the enemy and divide them in two, then divide again, and again once more, only then counting individuals. Of course, only someone with schooling could multiply the final number by eight, but thanks to my mother's insistence on education, I was such a woman.
Mermond looked at me levelly; perhaps my answer had been too quick. Then he shrugged. No doubt the other scouts would verify my figure.
"Good work,” he said, turning back to his map.
I saluted, as I had seen the men do, even though I technically did not need to.
Outside, I rejoined Jazen and the other men. His eyes were serious, so different than they had been last night. “How many?” he asked.
"About five hundred,” I told him, softly. “The way I figure it, we outnumber them ten to one. Perhaps Hollern is right this time and the gods are smiling down on us."
"Captain Hollern has prayed long and hard for our safety,” Jazen replied, a bit louder than was necessary. “If the priests say they are on our side in this, then you can believe it."
I frowned, but something in his eyes kept me from replying. I shrugged and moved away. When he was with the men, there were times that I did not understand him.
He does what he must so that they will keep following Hollern, my sister whispered in my head. You should not contradict him, or speak ill of him in front of them.
I shrugged but did not reply. I knew this, even as I knew that it sickened me to see a proud man such as Jazen Tor the follower of such as Hollern.
After a time, the captains emerged from the tent, then dispersed, headed for their companies. Hollern, red faced, strode towards us.
"Assemble your men, sergeant,” he said to Jazen with a swagger. “The Lord Commander has given us our place in the battle line. Together we shall show these beasts what it means to cross the Empire."
"Very good, sir,” Jazen said, then turned to shout orders at the men. At his command, squads and companies formed up, moved into their lines.
I had never before, nor would I ever again, see so many armed men, all moving with such grim purpose. Seeing the sheer number of them, arrayed under the fitful sun, the light gleaming from their mail and their sword pommels as if from a vast, metallic glacier, made me shiver.
Certainly, even beings as singularly puissant as the Mor were no match for such a force.
I moved back, further up-slope, to where the archers were assembling, and waited for the coming battle.
"hold The lIne! hold The lIne!” Jazen screamed, riding along the rear of the formation. His sword was brandished high above his head, shining in the sun like a flame-red banner. His cloak, the midnight blue and silver of the company's colors, streamed behind him.
I took careful aim at the enemy, then loosed a fresh shaft. It would not do to strike our own men in the back, and with the Mor lines merging with ours, the danger was great. I cursed as the shaft, like many before it, bounced harmlessly from the enemy's armor.
Below, the screams of dying men mingled with the Mor's keening wails. Burning blades and stout hammers rose and fell. Mighty claws ripped and tore, each blow reaping another life. Step by step, the Mor were doing the unthinkable.
They were pressing us back.
Even though we had the advantage of numbers, they overmatched us in sheer strength and ferocity. Even my untrained eye could see that the soldiers, so sure of victory a scant hour before, cocky to the point of arrogance, were faltering. I had to do something.
I broke from formation, leaving the other archers behind. Ahead, I spied Mermond's blue and red tent. There was only one way that I could help them, help Jazen, even though it meant exposing my forbidden knowledge.
Ahead, on a tall rise, Mermond and the rest of his officers stood, overseeing the battle. I tried to approach, but the guards blocked my way. “But I have a way that we can aid the men in their fight!” I protested. I pointed to the piles of dead already heaped outside the army's mercy tent. “Do not let their sacrifice go to waste!"
One of the guards looked at me, deciding if I were a madwoman, I suppose, then turned and hurried up the slope. He spoke to an aid, then pointed down at me. The man scowled, but walked down.
He looked annoyed at the interruption, and hesitated to listen, even when I promised him that I could help with the battle.
"You must come with me and see for yourself,” I said, as the blood magic twisted in my belly. His eyes went slack, just for a moment, and I knew he would follow. I strode to the mercy tent.
I picked a body, a man cut from groin to chest by a Mor blade, and opened my secret eye. All around, the specters of the dead wandered, their white eyes burning, lusting for revenge. They turned to me, a mute wall of supplication, translucent arms outstretched.
"Soon,” I whispered.
I gestured for the ghost of the slain man to step forward, then a moment later the body began to twitch and jerk as the spirit sank back into its former flesh. My sister crooned a welcome as my sweetling tore itself from its former shell, blinking in the dazzling sun.
"Gods!” the aide exclaimed. “What foulness is this?” He drew his sword and my dark child hissed.
"Abomination!” someone called. I looked over, into the wildly rolling eyes of the priest of Loran Lightbringer. He held his staff before him, the lambent flame of his god's power crackling at the tip. The call was swiftly picked up by the men.
"No! You do not understand!” I screamed. “Herein lies our salvation! My sweetlings are relentless in battle. They feel no pain. They can help. Please, do not do this! The men are faltering!"
"Lightbringer, protect us!” the priest boomed, swinging his staff in a two-handed strike. The blow struck my sweetling in the head. Power surged, and a moment later my child crumbled to dust.
"Restrain her!” the aide called out. Rough hands gripped me. I wailed, protesting the death of my sweetling, but a madness had overcome the men. I saw fear written in each face, shining from every eye.
"Do that again, witch, and I shall order them to kill you where you stand,” the priest said. “Take her away."
"Should we restrain her?” the aide said, his sword still in his fist.
The priest eyed me, then shook his head. The screams of the battle below floated up to us. “No. We have larger problems, and cannot spare the men. But mark me, and mark me well, witch; when this is all over, if I ever see your face again, then there shall indeed be a reckoning."
I nodded, understanding his words. The men hustled me away from the camp, then released me. I strode off, headed back down-slope, back for Jazen and the others. As I turned, I saw Hollern, watching from his position at the rear of the company. He had seen the entire exchange. A satisfied smile turned up the corners of his mouth. His eyes shone with a fanatic's hungry light.
I was almost back to the lines when the trumpets sounded. My blood ran cold. The horns signaled a full retreat. Ahead,
I saw the colorful mass of the soldiers’ cloaks splinter, like a shattered rainbow, breaking apart as spikes of seething gray rent the tenuous lines.
"Retreat! Retreat!” I heard, over and over. Below, the cavalry rode into the Mor flank, heedless of the treacherous ground. The action slowed the Mor, somewhat, allowing the bulk of the men to disengage.
"Jazen! Jazen Tor!” I screamed, trying to make myself heard over the din. I looked and there, near the left flank, I saw a knot of silver and blue.
I breasted the line of fleeing men, the sound of battle growing louder with every passing moment. Soon I saw them ahead: the tattered remnants of the company. Jazen stood with them, his sword rising and falling. All around, the bodies of fallen men littered the grass.
"Jazen! We must withdraw!” I screamed, coming up behind him. The Mor were there, right there, grappling with the men. Up close they were even more terrifying than I had realized, towering mountains of stone-hard muscle. Their knives glowed with heat that I could feel even from afar.
He looked back at me, then nodded. “Retreat! Fall back” he shouted. Just as they had been trained to do, the men compacted, overlapping their shields. Maintaining formation, they walked backwards, up the treacherous slope. Hollern came up behind me, in time to observe the last orderly retreat. All around, broken men ran and screamed, all semblance to an organized army gone.
Below, the Mor surged forward, irresistible as the coming of the tide.
The battle of Gamth's Pass was over; now all that was left was the slaughter.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lia helps me down the steps to the manor courtyard as the battle outside the gates rages. The terrible pressure in my belly slackens abruptly, and I feel a fresh surge of hot, sticky wetness flowing down my thighs. The pain is immense and indescribable, robbing my legs of strength, nearly pitching me to the flagstones.
All around me, women and men are shouting, animals are screaming, the cacophony threaded through with the ululating piping of the Mor. The gates shiver as mighty limbs slam against them.
Refugees surge forward, armed with rakes and staffs and other improvised weapons. They beat at the taloned paws clawing at the splintering wood. A red-hot blade flickers through the gap, and a goodwife reels back, screaming, her shift and hair afire.
A second, then a third refugee falls, the victim of claws or burning blades. Terrified people scream as the Mor crowd the widening gap. Soon the wood will fail. Soon the defenders will break. Then the Mor will be inside, and it will all be over.