The riders had reached the top of the hill once more, dismounting behind the waiting lines of spearmen, taking on water and fresh supplies of arrows to recoup the ones they had used up.
Below them, to the west, the last of the retreating army had reached the line that Langan had designated and joined those already there, turning to face the enemy, anchored on either end by hills. The line of spearmen was no more than two or three men deep, far too thin, but it as all that could be spared for it. Skirmishers waited just ahead of the line, and a small body of reserves waited behind, to plug any gaps that might be riven in it.
Langan’s band of cavalry waited down behind the lone hill Ivkarha and Aedmorn waited upon, heavily armoured troops carrying pennons of deep blue upon their long spears.
The army of Aisant Avar marched on, relentlessly, until it came close by to the waiting defenders, and there it halted with a pounding of spears upon the ground, and the deep crash of drums.
A welcome silence descended as the two armies faced off against each other, nether moving, simply watching and waiting.
Ivkarha’s eyes narrowed as she studied the enemy, drumming fingers on her leg. “What are they waiting for?” she asked.
“My guess is that,” Aedmorn stated, pointing towards the middle of the enemy army, where the ranks were stepping aside, to allow for a party to pass through, of a palanquin being brought forward by eight men, a richly decorated with gold and with purple curtains shielding it. They came to a stop in front of the army and a roar went up from the gathered host. The curtains were stepped aside and a man emerged, in robes of deep purple, a circlet of gold resting upon his head. Spears beat against shields and a cry reverberated across the plains; “Aisant Avar! Aisant Avar!”
“If he came but a little closer,” Ivkarha said, “We could end all this with a swift volley of arrows.”
“Aye, that would be for the best, but an unrealistic chance. He has other plans, I fear.”
More men came up to join him, each carrying a large stone and these they laid down on the ground, building up what appeared to be a cairn of some type, the speed with which it was built an indication that it had not been the first time that they had done so.
A bundle of wood was placed upon it and the whole of it doused with oil before a torch was apple to it. Flames burst forth and soon a fire blazed.
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“An altar,” Ivkarha said.
“They mean to make an offering to the gods for victory,” Aedmorn said.
Sharp laugh came from Ivkarha in response. “They think the gods of the cities have power out here, where the gods of the deserts and hill reign supreme?”
“It depends on the sacrifice,” Aedmorn responded in a low voice. “Look, they leave nothing to chance.”
A man, slave or prisoner it could not be told, was dragged forth by four guards, and forced to kneel before Aisant Avar. Struggle as he might, he could not break the grip the guards held upon him. One tore open his tunic, leaving his chest bare. Aisant Avar stepped forth, raising a black bladed knife high. At a roar from his host, the knife stabbed down, cutting open the victims chest. A hand reached in and his heart was torn free. Raising the heart high once more, Aisant Avar then offered the heart to the flames.
“Thus is the fate of any who stands against Aisant Avar,” Aedmorn said. “It is a warning as much as a sacrifice.”
Determination, grim and unyielding set upon Ivkarha’s face. “It shall not be, by Az-Ashar!” she said. “I shall die before succumbing to such a fate.”
Aedmorn tapped a finger upon his lip, in consideration. “So would any who be subject to it. But many more shall suffer it should we not be victorious here this day.”
“Then victorious we shall be,” she swore. She turned towards the men that waited upon the hilltop. “Men of Luadha, Men of Shanani! Before our very eyes we see what fate awaits those that succumb to this foul beast and his hordes. These men of the cities would have us all share that fate, to unleash it upon our people, our way of lives. I say no! Here we shall stand and here we shall bring an end to their tyranny. By Az-Ashar I swear it.”
A roar went up from the hill top, a roar that saw those assembled on the plains below look their way. Spears butts beat against the ground and voice raised an ancient song, of defiance ever in the face of the foe, no matter the odds, no matter the cost.
Down from the slopes the song spread, rippling like fire through out the ranks of Langan’s army until it was caught up and proclaimed from one end to the other, the plains reverberating with it and the sound of spears and shields clashing. And as the song came to its conclusion, one last, loudest burst came from the men, a soul rending cry enough to stir even the dead; WE STAND AS ONE!
Then silence settled again. Aisant Avar’s army made no sound during the battle song, nor afterwards. There was movement among them, of men shuffling backwards, on edge, and officers pushing men, even hitting them, to get them back into position, to get them ready again.
“They fear us,” Ivkarha announced, her smile merciless. “If we but hold our ground then the battle is won.”
A single drum started among the enemy army, and one by one others joined in until it encompassed the entirety of the army. A horn lasted a deep note and from among the enemy ranks skirmishers rushed forward, while cavalry and chariots moved off from behind the assembled armies, sweeping to the east, to swing around the lone hill and come at Langan’s army from behind.
Ivkharha swung back up onto her mount and held her sword aloft. “Make ready!” she shouted, “For they come. Let us make them pay for their folly his day!”