The Black God's War (10 page)

They rounded the edge of a red cliff wall, and the great valley opened up before them. “Look, Prince Rao. The dogs are coming to meet us.”

Spanning across most of the horizon, the Rezzian army advanced from the east. Behind them, their dust cloud turned the blue sky ochre.

“We are going to fight them. If you're determined to be gutless, then don’t help us drive them back to the hells.” The general looked up at the suddenly brooding sky. “No wonder your father thinks so little of you. You are weak. Less than his shadow.”

“You’re right, General.” The voice of the sage Briraji came as a surprise.

“Welcome, Briraji,” Rao said, “we were just—”

“Engaging in an adolescent’s debate,” Briraji quipped. “General, I can relieve Rao from his duty and protect you now.”

“Then do so, master sage,” Indrajit said. “Prince Rao, I have no use for you on this day.” Indrajit’s eyes bored into Rao once more. “Officers!” The general strode ahead and began giving his men directions for the coming battle.

Rao slowed and stayed behind the commotion, but remained close enough to observe the general.

Briraji kept pace with Rao. “You will see us using some truly amazing powers today. I have a deadly surprise for their leadership. Watch for it. It will come from the heavens.” Briraji recoiled as crackling lightning illuminated swift, dark clouds over the valley.

The goddess Ysa,
Rao realized.
This storm means the royal daughter is here.

Rao maintained a respectful tone, as his training dictated with a high-ranking sage. “I will observe your powers, Briraji, and hope to learn of them from you, when you deem me worthy enough to teach.”

Brijaji only narrowed his eyes.

Indrajit yelled at Rao from a dozen paces away, “I go now to defend Pawelon.”

Rao yelled back, “I can’t sanction your aggression, but I will protect our men. This storm is from their goddess Ysa. The royal daughter must be here. She will have her own powers.”

“Then she will be my target,” Briraji said, beside him.

More lightning flashed between the darkening clouds.

“We will handle them with or without you.” A rare smile appeared on Indrajit’s face, and he yelled louder so that more men could hear him. “It’s a shame the rajah’s only living son is afraid to fight a girl. If your brothers had lived, perhaps your father could have been proud of one of them. Our enemies killed the wrong ones.”

Indrajit’s taunting felt like an icy blade cutting Rao’s heart. The general obviously knew more about Rao’s family history than he did.

Rao moved outside the formation and let the waves of soldiers march past him. He scanned the determined faces of the rows of men marching toward the battle.

If I can do anything about it, these men will not die today
.

He followed the troops into the valley, and climbed atop the highest rise overlooking what was to be the battlefield. Only parched shrubs, noisy insects, and black birds seemed to live at the valley floor. Hills and ditches made much of the canyon land uneven, but the armies were converging on a plain. Another great mass of Pawelon troops approached from the southern trail, but they wouldn’t be able to join the battle for some time. Because of this, the Pawelon troops near Rao were outnumbered by at least two to one.

The Pawelon and Rezzian armies marched closer together. Closer and closer until Pawelon’s forces were commanded to stop. Their infantry extended long spears and held great round shields along the front lines, weaving a tapestry of muscle and iron to punish any Rezzian charge. On a hill near to Rao, a score of sages stood with their arms held rigidly overhead like the branches of tall trees, humming a complex scale of mystical tones.

The enemy’s legions charged as expected, running ahead in great rectangular formations with their long, curling rectangular shields held in front of their bodies and over their heads. Pawelon’s archers pulled back on their bows, a sinewy and screeching racket, and unleashed their volley.

Pawelon’s missiles took flight in a black swarm. The sages’ toning deepened. As their humming grew louder and reached a stirring pitch, the arrow swarm expanded before raining down in a supernatural torrent, the density of arrows multiplied by the sages’ powers. Rezzian screams filled the air. Rao observed the horrible noise with detachment, not allowing himself to feel or contemplate its full meaning.

He breathed deliberately, pulling his consciousness inward, seeking his calm center.

A high-pitched whine blared from the darkening heavens. A blazing object burned through the sky, aiming at the rear of the Rezzian army. The celestial fireball arced down and exploded with an ear-splitting boom, creating an eruption of high-flying sparks near the center of the Rezzian forces. The valley floor shook, rumbled, and cracked.

As if responding, the clouds swirled faster, turned pitch-black, and hovered above Pawelon’s forces. A vicious, freezing wind blew down on them.

And terror filled their veins.

Chapter 11: To Dream of Battle

BY THE TIME LUCIA SET OFF on horseback to meet Strategos Duilio, the Rezzian army had already begun its trek through the valley. The formations inched forward like an army of ants in the basin of Gallea’s most impressive canyon, long-haired infantry clattering with tall shields on their left arms, held throwing spears poking up above right shoulders, fat double-edged stabbing swords still sheathed, wrought iron cuirasses over maroon tunics, and bronze helms with long cheek guards and colorful horsehair plumes.

Pawelon’s citadel peered mockingly over the edge of the high western rim. The Rezzians anticipated the usual skirmishes with their enemy on the trails leading up to the fortress. Early battles each day typically took place around the mouth of the northern or southern trail, sometimes at both locations. Pawelon would either fortify the wide trailheads with countless rows of long spears, and archers stationed on ledges in the cliffs, or they would spread out their forces with long spearmen placed, at least seven rows deep, at the most narrow points along the two routes to the citadel.

Whenever the Pawelons left thin resistance below, the Rezzians climbed in tight formations like tortoises, carrying their curved shields at their front, sides, rear, and over their heads to defend against any Pawelon archers able to find purchase among the tall cliffs.

Throughout the Rezzian army, it was widely believed that the apathy of Lord Galleazzo, King Vieri’s patron god, had blocked them from reaching the citadel over the previous year. The soldiers also noted that the new plague began soon after their martial luck turned sour. But by divine will—whether miraculous or ironic—the plague had spared the army itself; the sickness only afflicted the common people of Rezzia and their neighbors.

Lucia rode toward the troops on her white mare, flanked by her bald warpriest guards. She’d been told the canyon floor had been beautiful before so many soldiers trampled its vegetation over the course of the war. Still, the desert smelled clean and fresh, noisy insects and birds lived among the land, and the red dirt held a hint of magic, despite its bloody history.

To distract her thoughts from the impending carnage, she mused on Ilario’s arrival. There would be no other women around the camp besides the harlots, so he would have no more excuses. If he loved her, this would be his chance to say it. She’d waited long enough.

Up ahead, a standard-bearer held the round, tasseled, crimson and gold imperial flag, a proud rendering of the sun. Normally the standard would follow the king in battle, but for now it signaled the Strategos’s position at the rear of the army’s dust cloud. After a pull on Albina’s reins and a firm kick, Lucia soon approached the old man whom her father had entrusted with his legions.

The Strategos was nearly seventy now, with curly white hair hanging down to his shoulders. Duilio’s kind disposition shone from his rosy face, a countenance Lucia found amusingly ill-fitting on the commander of Rezzia’s feared army.

“Tell me, how does Your Grace fare on this glorious day?”

Lucia surprised herself with a smile brought on by Duilio’s charm. She wondered how he managed to remain so cheerful in this soul-crushing place.

“It’s the most recent worst day of my life,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”

“I hope you will continue to let me know every way I can make you feel more comfortable. Your father and brother come closer to us every day now—we expect them in merely two days.”

“I don’t suppose we could call all of this off then? Take a holiday to celebrate our new Dux Spiritus?”

“If you would prefer it, Your Grace.”

So very tempting
, she thought
.
“It hardly seems practical, Strategos.”

They rode on in silence. She knew Duilio was giving her the chance to agree to his offer, but her father’s instructions were clear: Engage the enemy at every opportunity, just as he would. Maintain pressure and do not let the Pawelons rest, so that victory will follow soon after Caio’s arrival.

“Your Grace, do you know much about Lord Cosimo?”

“Strategos, you asked me the same question when I was a girl.”

Duilio reached behind his breastplate and gathered his ragged necklace, pulling up the hanging symbol of his god, a curved letter in the ancient script indicating the vast totality of all possibilities. “Few understand The Lord of Miracles. Most take miracles to be gifts that come freely to the lucky. If you would like to join me in praying to him today, pray not for powerful wonders to rescue us, but for the dedication to noble values and endeavors which make us worthy of receiving such grace—”

“Duilio, why are our soldiers stopping?” Odd, because they were far from the trails that climbed to Pawelon’s citadel.

“A very good question, Your Grace.”

Soon every soldier stopped and looked around for an answer. A messenger on horseback brought shocking news. The Pawelons had marched, early in the morning, perhaps all of their forces into the valley, half of them down the northern passage, half down the southern one. Two rectangular formations would soon approach, one from the northwest and one from the southwest, so that in the worst event Rezzia’s army could be outflanked by a monstrous pincer.

From Danato’s nightmare hell to this one
, Lucia thought
.

She waited with Duilio for Rezzia’s commanders to join them to discuss their strategy. The rest of the army sat and chattered in hushed but excited voices.

Lucia watched the sky filling with dark clouds and felt humidity moistening her face.
What madness is this?

I’m dreaming.
She looked high and low for signs of Lord Danato.
No, I woke up this morning. But these black clouds! And this unbelievable challenge from Pawelon. This cannot be reality. They wouldn’t change their tactics and throw their entire army at us.

“What now, Danato?” she mumbled without intending to.
You want me to experience all
of our soldiers dying this time?
“Wake me up now, bastard.” She meant to speak the second time.

“What is that, Your Grace?”

“Duilio, they wouldn’t leave their citadel, would they?”

“I apologize. I did not foresee this possibility.”

“The bulk of their forces have remained close to their citadel the entire war.” Lucia pointed up to the west. “Isn’t this absurd?”

“It is indeed a drastic departure for General Indrajit.”

“And the clouds. How often do you see clouds like these in the valley?”

“Never before, Your Grace.” Duilio searched the sky, contemplating. “We must hope it is not an ill omen for us. Perhaps the omen is for Pawelon. They are acting out of character.”

Show your foul face to me, Black One.

Lord Danato did not appear. Instead, a veteran council of long-haired Rezzians quickly formed around Duilio and Lucia.

First came young Tirso, from the far eastern coastal villages, believed by his men to be the son of the god Sansone. Heavy Manto, from the sparse forests south of Remaes, rode to them on a fat, dull horse. Fair Raf, long-bearded and moustached, from the wide nomadic plains, carried the historic great sword of his tribe across his back. Noble Alimene, known throughout the army for his captivating tales of the sea, represented the great port city of Peraece.