A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [50]
Aglirta had won a victory this day, and there were still a grim handful of armaragors of Aglirta alive to know it. Halvan's Sirl Swords had taken the brunt of the losses, as desperate Jarradar pirates and a few tall knights of Pelaerth had tried to hew their way free of the slaughter. Of the proud and haughty Flame Riders, not a man still lived; Blackgult and the Dwaer had seen to that.
The Dwaer had won the battle for him. Without them, the fray would have ended with the Sirl Swords dying one by one, hacking defiantly at wave after wave of gutter scrapings from across Darsar, five or six for each man of the Royal Host of Aglirta. Instead, this unforeseen viper had been crushed into the grass.
Aye, the Serpent-worshippers were Aglirta's real foes. Their honeyed tongues and merciless murders and ready coins had wrought all of this. He hoped none of them had escaped. Halvan and his men had ruthlessly ridden down all seen trying to flee the field, but the right magic can snatch a man far in an instant, and in all the shouting and swordwork…
Blackgult allowed himself neither a sigh nor a grimace. Six Snake-robes had been captured, and only one was left, now. Not as fearless as the rest, this last priest screamed and struggled as they dragged him forward, and Blackgult fought to keep a sudden, fierce satisfaction off his face as he strode to meet the man.
The Dwaer above him were already aflame, he knew, and the priest stared at his doom in horror, sobbing out curses that one of the soldiers ended with a backhanded slap of his gauntlet. As swift as a real snake, the priest sank his teeth into-unyielding metal plates. More of the same knuckle-plates smashed his face red and left his ears ringing as the other guard dealt him a brutal blow that left the priest reeling on his heels.
By then Blackgult had hold of his shoulders and was staring into the depths of that fear-filled gaze, deeper… and deeper…
The life flooded out of the man in a rush, making the regent shudder, and he turned away abruptly as the now-familiar warm surge spread through him, making him feel strong, alert-and hungry for more. Damn Ambelter for inadvertently showing him how to use the Dwaer thus… and yet thanks to him, too, by the Three, or there'd be no grim victory for Aglirta this day. Blackgult shook his head. All this, and Bloodblade still to come.
"Post sentinels on this hilltop, and yonder one, too," he ordered. "Hal-van, set some of your men to fetching every last snake-arrow, and snake, too-scales, pieces, fangs, and all. We'll make a fire here and burn it, all of it! The rest of you, back to the trees whence we came; this open land is deadly."
He lifted his head to gaze across the Sardi Fields once more; was that a plume of dust, away west? Was the usurper's army that close?
A faint, familiar thunder arose from the earth beneath him, and Hal-van cursed. They all knew what it was: the sound of hooves, many hooves. An army, riding against them.
A Sirl man cried out, pointing south. Aye, riders, and in plenty. Blackgult strode a few paces in that direction, to get a better look. Halvan cursed and wheeled around. "They're coming from the west, too," he snapped. "More than a thousand, for sure."
"And the north!" another man cried, pointing.
Men peered. "Many," one of them said grimly. "I can't tell their number, but… many."
Blackgult shook his head and smiled. Well, now, this was more what he was used to. Perhaps the Three were truly sick of Aglirta, and wanted to see it all swept away…
"No sentinels nor snake-hunts, then," he shouted, "but everyone to the trees! East, back towards the docks-and once in among them, there we turn, stand, and fight! Let the forest be our shield. Take up all bows and shafts you find, but tarry not in searching!"
"No fear of my doing that," a hiresword growled, as everyone started to hasten. "Look yon!"
Few warriors bothered to turn and peer west, where the man was pointing,