‘Since we’re here anyway, we might as well swing over and
burn their supply dump. My knights are getting restless, and a
little exercise might do them some good.’
‘it is rather chilly,’ she observed with just the hint of a smile.
‘A fire would be nice.’
‘Shall we, then?’
‘Why don’t we?’
The Cynesgan supply dump covered about five acres. It lay
in a rocky, treeless basin, and it was defended by about a regiment
of Cynesgan troops in flowing robes. As the column of
armored knights approached, the defenders galloped forth to
meet them. That particular maneuver might best be described
as a tactical blunder. The gravel-covered floor of the Desert of
Cynesga was flat and clear of obstructions, so the charge of the
Church Knights was unimpeded. There was an enormous crash
as the two forces collided, and the knights, after only a nomentary
hesitation, rode on, trampling the bodies of the wounded
and slain under the steel-shod hooves of their mounts while the
squealing horses of the Cynesgans fled in terror.
‘impressive,’ Betuana conceded as she ran along beside
Vanion’s mount. ‘But isn’t it tedious to endure the weight – and
the smell – of the armor for months on end for the sake of two
minutes of entertainment?’
‘There are drawbacks to any style of warfare, your Majesty,’
Vanion said, raising his visor. ‘A part of the idea behind armored
charges is to persuade others to avoid confrontations. It holds
down the casualties in the long run.’
‘A reputation for extreme severity is a good weapon, VanionPreceptor,’
she agreed.
‘We like it,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s go build that bonfire so that your
Majesty can warm her toes.’
‘That would be nice,’ she smiled.
There was a dust-covered hill directly ahead, rising like a
slightly rounded pyramid to block the way to the supply dump.
With simple arm-gestures, Vanion directed his knights to
diverge and sweep around both sides of the hill to swarm over
the accumulated supplies of Cyrgon’s army. They galloped forward
with that vast, steely, clinking thunder that proclaims
implacable invincibility.
And then the hill moved. The dust which had covered it shuddered
away in a great billowing cloud, and the two enormous
wings unfurled their glossy blackness to reveal the wedge-shaped
face of Klael. The beast of ultimate darkness roared, and
the fangs of lightning, jagged and flickering, emerged from
behind snarling lips.
And out from beneath the shelter of those two great wings
came an army like no army Vanion had ever seen.
They were as tall as the Atans and more bulky. Their bare
arms were huge, and their steel breastplates fit them like a
second skin, revealing every knotted muscle. Their helmets bore
exotic-looking embellishments – horns or antlers or stiff steel
wings – and, like their breastplates, their visors fit tightly over
their faces, exactly duplicating the features of each individual
warrior. There was no humanity in those polished faces. The
brows were impossibly wide, and, like the face of klael himself,
they narrowed down to almost delicately pointed chins. The
eye-slits blazed, and there were twin holes in place of noses.
The mouths of those masks were open, and they were filled
with cruelly pointed teeth.
They swarmed out from beneath klael’s wings with his lightning
playing around them. They brandished weapons that
appeared to be part mace and part axe – steel atrocities dredged
from nightmare.
They were too close to permit any kind of orderly withdrawal,
and the knights, still moving at a thunderous gallop, were committed
before they could fully comprehend the nature of the
enemy. The impact as the two armies came together shook the earth,
and that solid, steely crash shattered into a chaos of sound blows,
shrieks, the agonized squeals of horses, the tearing of
metal. ‘Sound a withdrawal!’ Vanion bellowed to the leader of the
Genidians. ‘Blow your heart into that Ogre-horn, man. Get our
people clear!’ The carnage was ghastly. Horses and men were being ripped
to pieces by klael’s inhuman army. Vanion drove his spurs
home, and his horse leapt forward. The Pandion Preceptor drove
his lance through the steel breastplate of one of the aliens and
saw blood – at least he thought it might be blood, thick yellow
blood – gushing from the steel-lipped mask. The creature fell
back, but still swung its cruel weapon. Vanion pulled his hand
clear of the butt of the lance, leaving the beast transfixed, skewered,
as it were, and drew his sword.
It took a long time. The thing absorbed blows which would
have dismembered a human. Eventually, however, Vanion
chopped it down – almost like a peasant chopping out a tough,
stringy thorn-bush.
‘Engessa!’ Betuana’s shriek of rage and despair rang out above
the other sounds of the battle.
Vanion wheeled his horse and saw the Atan Queen rushing
to the aid of her stricken general. Even the monstrous creatures
klael had unleashed quailed in the face of her fury as she cut
her way to Engessa’s side.
Vanion smashed his way through to her, his sword flickering
in the chill light, spraying yellow blood in gushing fountains.
‘Can you carry him?’ he shouted to Betuana.
She bent and with no apparent effort lifted her fallen friend
in her arms.
‘Pull back!’ Vanion shouted. ‘i’ll cover you!’ And he hurled
his horse into the path of the monsters who were rushing to
attack her.
There was no hope in Betuana’s face as she ran toward the
rear, cradling Engessa’s limp body in her arms, and her eyes
were streaming tears.
Vanion ground his teeth together, raised his sword, and
charged.
Sephrenia was very tired when they reached Dirgis. ‘i’m not
really hungry,’ she told Xanetia and Aphrael after they had taken
a room in a respectable inn near the center of the city. ‘All I
want is a nice hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep.’
‘Art thou unwell, sister mine?’ Xanetia’s voice was concerned.
Sephrenia smiled wearily. ‘No, dear,’ she said, laying one
hand on the Anarae’s arm. ‘i’m a little tired, that’s ‘all. This
rushing around is starting to wear on me. You two go ahead
and have some supper. just ask someone to bring a small pot
of tea up to the room. That’ll be enough for right now. I’ll make
up for it at breakfast time. Only don’t make too much noise
when you come up to bed.’
She spent a pleasant half-hour immersed to her ears in steaming
water in the bath-house and returned to their room tightly
wrapped in her Styric robe and carrying a candle to light her
way.
Their room was not large, but it was warm and cozy, heated
by one of the porcelain stoves common here in Tamuli.
Sephrenia rather liked the concept of a stove, since it kept the
ashes and cinders off the floor. She drew a chair close to the fire
and began to brush her long, black hair.
‘Vanity, Sephrenia? After all these years?’
She started half to her feet at the sound of the familiar voice.
Zalasta scarcely looked the same. He no longer wore his Styric
robe, but rather a leather’ jerkin of an Arjuni cut, stout canvas
trousers, and thick-soled boots. He had even so far discarded
his heritage that he wore a short sword at his waist. His white
hair and beard were tangled, and his face was haggard. ‘Please
don’t make a scene, love,’ he told her. His voice was weary and
devoid of any emotion beyond a kind of profound regret. He
sighed. ‘Where did we go wrong, Sephrenia?’ he asked sadly.
‘What tore us apart and brought us to this sorry state?’
‘You don’t really want me to tell you, do you, Zalasta?’ she
replied. ‘Why couldn’t you just let it go? I did love you, you
know – not that way, of course, but it was love. Couldn’t you
accept that and forget about the other?’
‘Evidently not. It didn’t even occur to me.”
‘Sparhawk’s going to kill you, you know.
‘Perhaps. To be honest with you, though, I no longer really
care.’
‘What’s the point of this then? Why have you come here?’
‘I wanted to see you one last time – hear the sound of your
voice. ‘ He rose from the chair in the corner where he had been
sitting. ‘it all could have been so different – if it hadn’t been for
Aphrael. She was the one who took you into the lands of the
Elenes and corrupted you. You’re Styric, Sephrenia. We Styrics
have no business consorting with the Elene barbarians.’
‘You’re wrong, Zalasta. Anakha’s an Elene. That’s our business
with them. You’d better leave. Aphrael’s downstairs eating
supper right now. If she finds you here, she’ll have your heart
for dessert.’
‘In a moment. There’s something I have to do first. After that,
she can do anything to me she wants to do.’ His face suddenly
twisted into an expression of anguish. ‘Why, Sephrenia? Why?