Hour upon bloody hour the battle continued, savagely fought by both sides, with no thought of quarter.
The silver-clad Ventrian infantry continued to press their attack, but by dusk their efforts lacked conviction and weight.
Furious, Gorben ordered their general forward into the pass.
‘Lead them hard, or you’ll beg to be allowed to die,’ he promised.
The general’s body fell within the hour, and the infantry slunk back across the stream in the gathering gloom of twilight.
*
Ignoring the dancing troupe performing before him, Gorben lay back on the silk-covered couch, conversing in low tones with Bodasen. The Emperor wore full battle-dress, and behind him stood the massively muscled Panthian bodyguard who for the last five years had been Gorben’s executioner. He killed with his hands, sometimes by strangling his victims slowly, at other times gouging his thumbs through the eye sockets of the hapless prisoners. All executions were performed before the Emperor, and scarcely a week passed without such a grisly scene.
The Panthian had once killed a man by crushing his skull between his hands, to the applause of Gorben and his courtiers.
Bodasen was sickened by it all, but he was caught within a web of his own making. Through the years, naked ambition had driven him to the heights of power. He now commanded the Immortals and was, under Gorben, the most powerful man in Ventria. But the position was perilous. Gorben’s paranoia was such that few of his generals survived for long, and Bodasen had begun to feel the Emperor’s eyes upon him.
Tonight he had invited Gorben to his tent, promising him an evening of entertainment, but the king was in a surly, argumentative mood, and Bodasen trod warily.
‘You thought the Panthians and the chariots would fail, did you not?’ asked Gorben. The question was loaded with menace. If the answer was yes, the Emperor would ask why Bodasen had not stated his view. Was he not the Emperor’s military advisor? What was the use of an advisor who gave no advice? If the answer was no, then his military judgement would prove to be lacking.
‘We have fought many wars over the years, my lord,’ he said. ‘In most,of them we have suffered reverses. You have always said “Unless we try we will never know how to succeed”.’
‘You think we should send in my Immortals?’ asked Gorben. Always before the Emperor had called them your Immortals. Bodasen licked his lips and smiled.
‘There is no doubt they could clear the pass swiftly. The Drenai are fighting well. They are disciplined. But they know they cannot withstand the Immortals. But that decision is yours alone, my lord. Only you have the divine mastery of tactics. Men like myself are mere reflections of your greatness.’
‘Then where are the men who can think for themselves?’ snapped the Emperor.
‘I must be honest with you, sire,’ said Bodasen quickly. ‘You will not find such a man.’
‘Why?’
‘You seek men who can think as rapidly as you yourself, with your own penetrating insight. Such men do not exist. You are supremely gifted, sire. The gods would visit such wisdom on only one man in ten generations.’
‘You speak truly,’ said Gorben. ‘But there is little joy in being a man apart, separated from his fellows by his god-given gifts. I am hated, you know,’ he whispered, eyes darting to the sentries beyond the tent entrance.
‘There will always be those that are jealous, sire,’ said Bodasen.
‘Are you jealous of me, Bodasen?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Gorben rolled to his side, eyes gleaming. ‘Speak on.’
‘In all the years I have served and loved you, lord, I have always wished I could be more like you. For then I could have served you better. A man would be a fool not to be jealous of you. But he is insane if he hates you because you are what he never can be.’
‘Well said. You are an honest man. One of the few I can trust. Not like Druss, who promised to serve me, and now thwarts my destiny. I want him dead, my general. I want his head brought to me.’
‘It shall be done, sire,’ said Bodasen.