Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (32 page)

54

The sun climbed the sky ponderously, casting burning rays on countless steel helmets and making sword hilts hot to touch. The hills around the Galean city of Xanthos reverberated with the sound of thousands of boots marching on the rocky ground. Six phalanxes of hoplites – each five hundred strong – kept rigid formation as they advanced, despite the dips and rises. These crimson-cloaked soldiers were grim-faced and silent, standing shoulder to shoulder, carrying spear and shield. Progressing closer and closer to the city they sought to liberate, there wasn’t a man who didn’t mutter a prayer for swift victory to Balal, the god of war. Other prayers were spoken soundlessly, private pleas for family to be safe and well.

Behind the army’s center, adding supporting strength and a wide arc of firing range came the ranks of lightly armored archers, with javelin and sling throwers at either end of the line.

The army of Xanthos had lost its kingdom without a fight. Not a man bore the scar of a battle wound. Their few comrades who had stayed behind were undoubtedly dead. The bodies of their king, queen, and their commander’s wife, were still on display.

A mile from the city the ground leveled off, providing ample space for the men to tighten ranks as they marched. Three hundred paces from the high city wall, their commander, a broad-shouldered warrior with a red-crested plume of horsehair on his helmet, called a halt.

The throbbing rhythm of boots on the dusty plain fell to silence.

Nikolas knew his city, and he knew the strength of the gates. He had two battering rams with him, formed from the mightiest trees and hardened by fire. The enemy commander had seen the rams, and rather than wait for an inevitable struggle in the city streets had elected to arrange his forces in front of the walls.

The two armies now faced each other.

Nikolas estimated their numbers: There were at least five thousand swarthy soldiers with triangular shields and yellow cloaks.

But not only was he outnumbered; he would face a foe that would strike terror into the bravest of his men.

For at the front of the enemy line were scores of ogres and giants. The shortest was seven feet tall while the largest stood taller than three of his men one on top of the other. They carried thick clubs and immense wooden spears. Some of his men had fought wildren, but these were eldren. They would bring intelligence to the fight, not just animal savagery. Legs as thick as a man’s waist stood wide apart as they waited. Muscled chests and shoulders rose to thick necks and bony heads, covered in silver hair. Huge hands gripped weapons, patting them in meaty palms.

Nikolas forced himself to look up at the palace.

The sight of his wife’s body just a few hundred paces away filled him with more rage and agony than he’d thought it was possible for a man to feel. He let the fury feed him, bringing fire to his heart, making him thirst for vengeance.

As he gazed at the terrace, a tall man walked out from the palace’s interior to watch the proceedings below.

He wore a robe of yellow silk and a spiked golden crown on his head. His hair was shoulder-length and dark and his pointed beard was curled in front of his chin.

Their eyes met and Nikolas knew he was looking at his enemy, the man who had ordered the execution of his family.

Nikolas drew in a slow breath. His son’s fate was still unknown. He would retake Xanthos or die trying.

He had no words of encouragement for his men, nor did he need them. Tearing his eyes away from the three corpses and the passionless gaze of the sun king, he turned to his men and raised his iron spear in the air.

The army of Xanthos roared.

Nikolas thrust his arm forward, and the men began to march once more. The march became a shuffling jog, and then the jog became a run.

Across the field, the sun king’s army commenced its own charge. Giants and ogres led the way, followed by rank after rank of Ilean soldiers.

Nikolas was swept up in the charge of his men; they surrounded him on all sides. The distance between the enemy armies narrowed to two hundred paces, then one hundred. At fifty paces swarthy archers poked their heads above the city wall and loosed a hail of arrows that arced through the sky.

The hoplites knew their business and shields went up overhead, even as they ran. Cries and grunts filled the air as shafts found their mark, but the running never ceased. Now only twenty paces separated the two forces.

‘Javelins!’ Nikolas roared over his shoulder.

He saw the long spears fly overhead. They plunged into the bellies of the rushing giants and sprouted from the chests of the yellow-cloaked shoulders. Nikolas set his sights on a twelve-foot tall giant directly in front of him as a soldier on the creature’s right suddenly fell with a javelin in his throat, blood gushing from his mouth.

The two armies collided, and everything fell into chaos.

Nikolas ducked a swipe of the giant’s club and charged inside its reach. He jabbed his spear up and into the creature’s throat, grateful for the weapon’s length. Crimson liquid erupted in a torrent, covering him from head to toe. The monster fell and Nikolas turned to face the new threat of an Ilean soldier. The man’s spear came forward but Nikolas took it with the shield on his left arm, then quickly thrust in and out of his opponent’s upper chest
.

Arrow shafts flew in both directions as Nikolas’s archers sought to clear the walls. Reacting with hardened instinct, Nikolas dipped his head and raised his arm as a shaft clattered against his shield.

He heard a throaty growl as a female ogre with a spear that dwarfed his own thrust her weapon at his head. Nikolas weaved and aimed his spear at her chest, but the creature was quick and moved to the side. Her strong hand pulled his spear away from him, throwing it to the ground.

The ogre’s spear thrust again and Nikolas narrowly deflected it with his shield, taking the shattering force of the blow on his left arm as he gritted his teeth. He drew his sword in one swift movement, leaping high and slashing down, striking the exposed place where the neck joined the shoulder. The sharp steel bit deep and the ogre fell.

The two forces shifted back and forth as each struggled not to give any ground. The arrows overhead had now lessened to staggered volleys as Nikolas’s men cleared the walls.

‘Link shields!’ he cried.

There was a hoplite on his left and another on his right. His army’s training came to the fore as the Xanthian soldiers formed a long line – shield to shield, shoulder to shoulder.

‘Forward!’

He felt the strength of a second rank of men at his back, holding him fast as the hoplites took a step forward in unison. The enemy charged, but came up against the hard wall of the shields and every man’s right arm thrust, whether he held a spear or a sword.

Ilean soldiers fell screaming, only to be trampled over and replaced by the next rank of yellow-cloaked fighters behind. Bodies now littered the landscape. Nikolas’s men dispatched the twitching wounded.

‘Overhead!’ someone behind him cried.

A dragon surrounded by a clutch of furies swooped down from above, but Nikolas’s archers were prepared and shafts peppered the monsters’ bodies, halting the attack before it began. The winged creatures fell to the ground in the midst of the Xanthian soldiers. The eldren would not try an aerial attack again.

Nikolas saw expressions of fear on the Ilean soldiers opposite, as each time they came forward they met the solid wall of shield and spear. He began to think that he could win the battle. Leaving the line and allowing a man from behind to come to take his place, he looked for somewhere he could gain a vantage and spied a small hill.

‘We have them!’ he shouted to his men, who roared back their support.

Soon Nikolas had a view of the battle. He saw that his line was thinner, but that was as it should be; his officers knew their business and needed to keep the line extended to prevent their forces being outflanked.

The organized chaos of the battle showed two masses of infantry facing each other, milling as they cut each other down, but the army of Ilea was giving ground.

Then, hearing a cry and seeing one of his men pointing, eyes wide with fear, Nikolas looked up.

A dozen winged creatures, three dragons encircled by a clutch of smaller furies, flew high in the sky, well out of bowshot. They didn’t lose height until they were far from Nikolas’s archers, well behind the fighting, then they swiftly landed.

A shimmer of smoke went around them as they shifted.

The gray clouds cleared and now he was looking at a dozen giants and ogres. They charged down from the hills, heading directly for the archers behind the center of the line.

Nikolas saw the immediate danger.

But for once, he didn’t know what to do. Such a thing would not be possible with an army of men.

With relentless momentum, the snarling monsters struck the back of his army. The occasional arrow shaft plunged into leathery hide, but the lightly armored archers were completely outclassed. Gnarled fists hammered into skulls, splintering them into bloody pulp in a heartbeat. Meaty hands tore apart one man after another.

The archers broke, leaving the backs of the hoplites exposed. As the dozen creatures reached the infantry the soldiers turned to face this new threat, reducing the massed force that supported those in front. The line wavered.

Nikolas knew that in moments the ranks would shatter. The soldiers of the sun king would advance and the center of his line would break, splitting his army neatly in two as the giants and ogres reached the soldiers in yellow.

When that happened, it would all be over.

He signaled an officer on the flank, where the fighting was less relentless. He pointed at the army’s rear with his sword, desperation in his movements. The officer called out and a score of soldiers broke away, pushing through to join him, but in the confusion of battle they would arrive too late.

Knowing he had to do something, Nikolas left the hill and ran toward the creatures smashing through the back of his army. ‘Hold the line!’ he cried to his men in front.

Those in the back were struggling against the long arms that could smash through two men at a time, knocking aside spears and shields and crushing bodies in a single blow. A Xanthian spear in a giant’s hand thrust into a red-cloaked soldier’s abdomen and then tossed his body into the air behind him before penetrating another warrior’s chest; the man gasped in agony, writhing as the wooden spike tore at his innards.

Nothing could prepare Nikolas for the carnage as he reached the scene. Setting his jaw he leaped over a body and raised his shield to block the overhead swing of a pair of fists. The blow, from arms as large as a big man’s leg, shattered his shield into pieces, nearly breaking his arm in the process.

Stars sparkled in his vision as he barely managed to evade the next blow by lunging to the side. He struck the ground and rolled onto his back. The giant snarled as he loomed over him. Nikolas knew he was a dead man.

But something huge swooped down from overhead. Wings the size of a boat’s sails framed a lithe body that was all bone, muscle, sinew, and scale. A pair of reptilian jaws clasped over the giant’s head, biting down hard, crushing the creature’s skull. The wings flapped and the dragon tore the giant’s head from its body, once more rising into the air. Nikolas saw it had a scar on the side of its face in the shape of a crescent.

The giant fell to the ground, toppling like a tree. Nikolas climbed back to his feet as he saw another dragon plunge down on the enemy with claws outstretched to grab an ogre, claws rending its shoulders and jaw turning sideways to tear open its victim’s throat. Two furies picked up another giant by the armpits, flying high into the sky. Nikolas followed them with his eyes until they were distant figures, the ogre struggling in their grip. They finally let go and the ogre came crashing to the ground with earth-shattering force.

Flying creatures were suddenly everywhere, ripping into the once-indomitable force at the rear of Nikolas’s army. He watched in wonder, uncomprehending how or why they were here. Then he shook himself and turned back to the line.

‘Reform!’ he cried. ‘Shield to shield!’

With the threat from behind gone, the discipline of the Xanthian hoplites’ training came to the fore. Nikolas ran to join them, pushing through the ranks and roaring for them to hold.

The line came together. But the sun king’s men sensed victory and pushed on relentlessly. Nikolas had lost his spear and shield and now had only his sword. The enemy pushed forward. The Xanthians gave ground. The tide would turn one way or another at any instant.

A screaming warrior came at him, thrusting a spear at Nikolas’s head. Ducking under it, Nikolas lunged forward and slashed at his opponent’s unprotected knees. The warrior’s screaming changed pitch as he fell. In a momentary lull, Nikolas saw that there were no longer any giants or ogres fighting with the sun king’s men. He looked up. Winged creatures were fighting each other in the skies, writhing and rolling as dragon fought dragon and fury fought fury.

Bodies were everywhere. The ground was stained red with blood. Nikolas suddenly found himself fighting two men at once, and when he looked for help he saw that every man around him was occupied as each force tried to make one final surge and achieve victory.

He pushed a spear away with his sword and lunged, feeling the blade bite deeply as he struck a stocky Ilean’s throat. But then his second opponent, a man as muscled as Nikolas himself, slashed down with a curved sword. Nikolas managed to avoid the blow, but he felt sudden fire as sharp steel sliced the back of his sword hand.

His sword dropped from his fingers. Seeing his enemy without shield or weapon, the big warrior’s eyes lit up with triumph as he prepared to make a final killing strike. Nikolas waited for the end.

Then, swift as a bird, an arrow flew past Nikolas’s ear. The Ilean cried out and put his hands to his face, trying in vain to clutch at the shaft that sprouted from his eye. As he fell and another enemy took his place, a second arrow tore into the next Ilean’s face.