“Drive them into the river,” King Leszek shouted with a wave of his sword.
His army surrounded the enemy horde on three sides. Hathor had killed one of the last two shadeleeches and had the other completely on the defensive. The outriders advanced, and the makrasha fell back. Another hundred yards and they could throw the monsters into the churning Ujutus.
Victory is ours.
Already the king began considering the best way to turn the unexpected attack into an opportunity to launch the next phase of his plan.
The coarse blatting of brass horns, unlike any used by his armies, turned him in his saddle. An army of men came running out of the woods below the town, charging toward his rearguard.
Frowning, King Leszek squinted at the new force. They came on foot, dressed in leather armor, like a muddy wave.
Mercenaries.
More poured out of the forest until they filled the lower valley, at least five hundred men.
Running at the head of the approaching army in long, loping strides charged a dark-skinned man. His scale armor shone in the morning light, shifting through various hues.
A Blade Stalwart, one already in full battle rhapsody.
Leszek wheeled around and shouted an order. A column of outriders turned back toward the bridge, while the others continued hacking at the remaining makrasha. The king led his men over the bridge to the lower town to meet the onrushing force.
“Your orders?” his captain asked.
“Stand ready. I’ll know their intent in a moment.”
The mercenaries continued their advance, and soon the king recognized Dhanjal in the lead, his bald pate glowing with dozens of tattoos. The man ran confidently, head held high and shoulders back.
King Leszek relaxed. He had been wishing Dhanjal would show up. The stalwart had dropped from all contact after leaving on his mission to assist Piran. If the king had thought even for a moment the chore would have taken so long, he never would have authorized it, no matter how much he owed Piran.
For one who worshipped war, the stalwart was running late. He had better have a good reason for bringing such a force into the kingdom without prior authorization.
Another Blade Stalwart joined Dhanjal at the head of the mercenary company. A huge brute, also dark-skinned, he stood half a head taller than Dhanjal, his massive shoulders making the other stalwart look skinny by comparison. He ran with twin maces in hand, and his scale armor also shifted through muted hues of light.
Dhanjal slowed to a stop a dozen paces away from the king’s lines. The mercenary company halted behind him. He folded his arms across his chest and, all along the length of the king’s army, men obeyed the powerful impulse to sheath their weapons.
King Leszek ignored the impulse. “You’re late. Where have you been?”
Dhanjal swept his gaze along the ranks of outriders marshaled around the king. Raising a hand, he spoke, and his surprisingly gentle voice carried easily to everyone.
“I salute you all, chosen to fall on the field of battle. May Savas guide your souls to your gods and deliver you with honor.”
# # #
Kevlin shifted his feet as he tried to find solid purchase on a narrow protrusion. He crouched ten feet below the summit, directly below Antigonus.
Six makrasha stood near the sentinel, but they hadn’t noticed Kevlin. Instead they watched the battle rage along the walls of the keep, or stared toward Harafin’s force climbing the road.
Antigonus looked to be sleeping, and that could be disastrous. Kevlin could get the stone to him, but wouldn’t have time to rouse the old man. He’d be too busy fighting off makrasha.
A man tumbled into view high overhead, his crimson robes snapping in the wind as he fell toward the ground.
Tanathos.
A cloud of darkness appeared around one of the makrasha. The beast howled as it shriveled and died, its life sacrificed to Tanathos. The shadeleech slowed his descent.
He’d land close to the makrasha.
Kevlin finalized his plan. Get the rock to Antigonus. Kill Tanathos.
He crouched to spring, but the blaring of distant brass horns caught his attention. He turned to see a large force of men moving up through the lower valley.
Kevlin focused the tiny amount of magic the amulet had captured earlier, and willed his eyes to see. Despite the distance, the mass of leather-armored men came into sharp focus. At the head of the new force strode a distinctive figure whose armor shone with shifting hues of light.
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Dhanjal.
Drums beat in Kevlin’s soul, trumpets blared loud in his mind, and a crescendo of strings stirred his heart. The song of Savas blasted all thought from his mind and set his muscles quivering with the need to obey.
My chosen, the soft voice whispered with such power that he felt his skull would crack. Fight for me.
No. . .I’m so close, Kevlin tried to shout, but the thought was barely a whisper in his mind.
Instead his body obeyed the pounding cadence. In a tiny corner of his consciousness, Kevlin struggled to defy the command, but the song usurped control.
Releasing his hold on the slope, Kevlin spun and sprinted headlong down the hill. His legs pumped in time with the beating drums, driving him in a terrifying rush.
Reaching the narrow path, he sped back to the main road. There he yanked a wounded soldier from his mount. Vaulting into the saddle, Kevlin spurred the animal toward the bridge. Horns blared in time with the thundering hooves, and he laughed with bloodlust.
# # #
“That’s Kevlin,” Drystan called, pointing to a figure hurtling down the steep slope in a reckless dash.
“What’s he doing?” Jerrik asked. “And how’d he get way up there?”
Harafin followed their gaze, and gasped. “Savas! I’d hoped He wouldn’t interfere.” He glanced up the slope, and then again at Kevlin. “This couldn’t be worse timing.”
“We have to stop him,” Leander declared.
“No,” Harafin said. “You and I must get to the keep before Tanathos wins through.”
“If Kevlin gives in to Savas, he could destroy everything,” Leander protested.
“I know.” Harafin frowned. “Time to spin the Wheel.”
“Don’t bring that fool-headed Akillik into this.”
“Just an expression.” Harafin turned to Drystan and Jerrik. “You two go after Kevlin. If I’m right, you are the one chance he has of breaking free.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Drystan asked.
“Then you have to kill him.”
At their shocked looks, Harafin added, “Know this. If Kevlin surrenders to Savas, all is lost. Either help him escape Savas’ control, or kill him.”
“How do we do it?” Drystan asked with a frown.
“Just be yourselves.”
“How will that help?” Jerrik asked.
“Trust me.”
The two spurred their horses. Drystan’s voice carried back to Harafin. “I hate it when he says that.”
# # #
“I get the other Blade Stalwart,” Jerrik called to Drystan as they galloped down the road after Kevlin.
“We’re tied.” Drystan pointed toward the mercenaries. “Besides, looks like they’re already in battle rhapsody.”
"Bout time," Jerrik laughed. “A real challenge. I get him first.”
Bent low over the horses, and still arguing, they raced for the upper town.
# # #
“What is the meaning of this?” King Leszek demanded, hoping he had misunderstood Dhanjal’s intent. “You are under contract with me.”
Dhanjal took one step closer. “The contract is canceled. I will bury you with yew and stone, as a favored son of the Lady Jagen.”
The king gasped, and a ripple of anger ran through the outrider ranks.
Dhanjal reached over his shoulder and drew a pala from its sheath on his back. Raising it high, he proclaimed in a ringing voice, “Behold the will of Savas!”
He threw the sword.
The slender blade glinted in the morning sun before slamming into the center of King Leszek’s chest. It punched through his armor. The tip of the blade drove out his back and clanked against his armor, setting the entire weapon quivering.
A wave of pain so intense he could not comprehend it flooded the king’s mind.
Then it disappeared. . .and he felt nothing.
He stared at the hilt standing out from his chest. Thought fled as he opened his mouth, but only blood spilled out, running down his chin. Darkness descended over his mind and drove him into oblivion.
The king of Hallvarr toppled slowly from his saddle.
# # #
Elite warriors though they were, the outriders watched in horror as their leader fell to the ground with a clatter of steel. Nor did they react until the mercenary army shouted in unison, drew swords, and charged.
Outriders fumbled for swords sheathed under Dhanjal’s influence and struggled to focus their minds. Shock turned to rage, and they screamed for blood.
Weapons flashed in the morning sun as men struck at each other. Blood spurted in sheets from hundreds of wounds, and screams drowned out the din of battle.
The mounted outriders fought for vengeance, rage driving them at the mercenary infantry. Word of the king’s death spread quickly, and soon outriders veered off from the other battle and raced for the bridge, howling for the blood of the murderers. Within minutes, the mercenaries were outnumbered two to one.
The outriders never stood a chance.
Dhanjal and the other Blade Stalwart decimated their ranks. Outriders crowded around the pair, hungry for a chance to avenge their king.
They all died.
Corpses piled up around the stalwarts as the big men cut through the ranks, their multi-hued armor glowing brighter with every kill. Dhanjal’s heavy scimitars sheared through armor and bone as easily as flesh, while the other stalwart’s maces caved in chests and crushed skulls.
Men fought to get away from the onslaught, and the center of the king’s army collapsed as outriders ran for their lives.
# # #
Howling like a berserker, Kevlin charged through the thinning ranks of the outriders. Dhanjal and the other stalwart were fighting some distance apart as they chased the king’s men.
“Dhanjal!” Kevlin bellowed so loud his vocal chords burned.
The Blade Stalwart turned to face him, and a wide smile cut through the blackness of his face. He beckoned, his arm dripping with other men’s blood. “Come, trueson of Savas. Let us finish the Dance.”
The song of Savas swelled in response, and the cadence overwhelmed the feeble thoughts of protest Kevlin tried to form. He leaped from the horse, raised his sword high and launched himself at Dhanjal.
The clear ringing of their swords vibrated through Kevlin’s soul as the song swelled louder. Stringed instruments that sent shivers down his spine joined the next beat, and his soul exulted in the pure joy of battle.
The two fought each other alone, surrounded by the corpses of the dead, while on all sides men from both armies disengaged to stare at the spectacle. Dhanjal, his armor glowing so bright that men couldn’t look directly at it, rained heavy blows on his smaller opponent.
Undaunted and unafraid, Kevlin whirled around the bigger man like a sparrow attacking a crow. Again and again their swords clashed, and the valley rang with the echoes.
The other Blade Stalwart paused to watch the fight. Then, after Kevlin scraped his sword across Dhanjal’s armor, the man hefted his twin maces and began to advance on the combatants.
# # #
“Hey, pick your own fight!” Jerrik shouted as he leaped from his mount.
The big stalwart turned as Drystan joined his swordbrother. The unknown Blade Stalwart smiled. “To you who dare compete for Savas’ favor, I salute you.”
“Are they always like this?” Drystan asked as he moved to flank the big man.
The Blade Stalwart beckoned. “Come, let us dance the song of Savas.”
Jerrik hefted his axe. “I hear Savas sings like a girl.” To Drystan he added, “I get him first.”
The two giant warriors came together, axe crashing against crossed maces. Their heavy weapons whirled, clashing in counterpoint to the staccato ringing of Kevlin and Dhanjal’s swords.
The four battled amid the dead while the living looked on in wonder.