A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [34]
Fearless-they were all fearless. Drunk on some potion or perhaps a spell of their wizard god.
Blackgult leaned down from his saddle to slash one dagger-wielding priest across the face, met the glare of glittering, hate-filled eyes for a moment, then swept on. That man had not bled! His sword had laid open flesh to grate along bone beneath, right across jaw and nose and forehead-yet no blood!
"More magic!" he cursed, and felt for the Dwaer in their pouch slung under his left armpit. Well, if sorcery was the favored sword this day…
That thought took him as far as the first cart bridge in Sardi Fields, where the road crossed winding Crommor's Creek- and the realization, as armaragors cursed and wrestled with their reins ahead of him, that the bridge was missing. To avoid a breakneck plunge into the narrow, deep creek bed, riders were turning right and left along the banks-and there were shouts and the clang of weapons making war.
Blackgult turned one way, and Halvan the other-and both found themselves staring at an army now scrambling on foot up the slopes of the creek to attack them with an uneven line of dark, dung-smeared pikes and bills and man-forks.
Mercenaries! A ragtag, motley host of tattooed and strange-armored hireswords from seemingly every port and town in Darsar-thousands of them!
Blackgult gaped in utter disbelief. He could see red-sashed pirates out of Jarrada, running shoulder-to-shoulder with grim, spire-helmed knights of Pelaerth! Even as the Royal Host crashed to a halt in a welter of shouting, hacking men, there came a sudden thunder of hooves from beyond the barns of Sardi-and into view around an orchard came a long line of horsemen, riding hard. Pennants of bright silk-oranges, golds, and vivid lime greens, colors never seen in Aglirta-streamed from the tips of their long lances.
"Flame Riders!" Halvan shouted, sounding every bit as disbelieving as Blackgult. The fearsome warriors of the hot South, not seen on a Vale battlefield before… dusky-skinned and straw-haired men of far Sarinda beyond Carraglas, who fought in silks with streamers of silk whirling from bracers at their wrists, with no armor but glassy plates down their arms, and wielded swords of hardened glass!
The coffers of the Scaly Ones must be deep indeed to reach so far, and bring so many here unseen! There was no sign of Bloodblade-this must be the Snake-lovers' own doom for Aglirta!
A hurled spear clanged harmlessly off his shoulder-plates, and fell away. Blackgult snarled a curse and snatched at the horn that hung at his belt, to blow the call to form a lance ring. Barely onto the field, and the Royal Host would be making its last stand!
Halvan was watching for the horn already. Blackgult held it up so the Sirl warcaptain could see it clearly, but turned his head south again as he blew it, to look towards the river. Was the disaster complete, and Blood-blade sliding past this fray on barges?
No-the Three had granted him that small mercy, at least. Well, 'twas time to die gloriously, for Aglirta and the Rightful King!
He roared that battle cry as he wheeled his mount, heading for the highest nearby hill, and heard the men around him-his own loyal men of Blackgult-take it up, raggedly and then proudly, as the hooves of their war mounts trampled barley, and the hilltop seemed to leap towards them.
Behind them the galloping Flame Riders gathered speed, lances lowered, seeking to overrun the Royal Host before the lance ring could be formed.
Serpent-priests were running fearlessly alongside the Aglirtan armaragors, hurling daggers. Blackgult glared at more who rose out of the barley to meet them, with more serpent-arrows-no, they'd been whisked here by spells.
No matter. He looked into their eyes, and they looked back-looks that promised death.
The Serpent-priests, smiling coldly, had also come to play at Throne-snatching.
Chapter Six
A King Shall Arise
The road ahead wound through overgrown, abandoned