"You are a very welcome addition to our forces. Take your orders from Lord Usk, please, and fall
in on our right flank."
The Brigardians trotted away with the Prime Minister's son in the lead.
Lagan paused to admire his army spread out across the field: so many young lives and brave
hearts about to plunge for the first time into the messy horror of battle. It was one small mercy
not to have to worry about Ramil being among them.
The Empire herald galloped across the battlefield with a white flag. He reached King Lagan and
bowed.
"The Inkar Junis wishes to parley," he said briskly. "She wants to offer terms."
"I'll hear her, but the only terms I'll accept are unconditional withdrawal,"
Lagan replied.
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The herald nodded and turned his horse to take the message back to his mistress.
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"Are you coming with me?" Lagan asked Taris.
"What? To see your old sweetheart?" The Prime Minister chuckled. "I wouldn't miss this."
The two men rode forward to meet the Inkar halfway across the meadows that separated the
two armies. She approached them alone, making a fearsome sight as she galloped towards
them, the feathers on her helmet fluttering in the breeze.
"Junis." Lagan bowed as soon as she reigned her horse to a standstill. "It is always a pleasure to see you. But why come in such warlike fashion?"
The Inkar frowned, disliking what sounded very much like mockery.
"Surely two old friends should not meet like this?" continued Lagan. "If all my men hadn't been so busy defending my nation, I could have thrown you a nice little ball. I seem to remember you
liked dancing."
Junis bared her yellowed teeth at him. "I danced with your son at Midwinter, did you know
that?"
Lagan smiled grimly. "No, I did not know he had that pleasure."
"And where is the stinking horse thief? I'll make him dance when I've killed you and all your little fighters and flushed him from his hiding place. You've not a hope against my army. You're
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outclassed and outnumbered."
"Outnumbered, perhaps," said Lagan, stroking his beard. "But not outclassed. I see that your diplomatic skills are still as strong as ever, Junis."
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She snapped her fingers at him. 'That to diplomacy. I do my business by the sword."
Lagan sighed and looked at the skies as a relief from her vindictive face. A strong wind blew in
from the sea, and the clouds were moving rapidly like hosts of white soldiers driven to assault
the land. Junis had betrayed the fact that Ramil had not been recaptured, another good thought
to cherish on this terrible day. This desperate battle did not seem so hopeless if Ramil survived
somewhere in the Empire.
"Your herald mentioned terms," he prompted her.
"Yes." She licked her lips. "If you surrender the city, I will spare the civilians, take your soldiers into slavery or recruit them to my forces, and see to it that you are given a dignified death. Your
daughter will live as a guest in my house; your son, unfortunately, will not."
"Very generous," Lagan said in a hollow tone. His eye was caught by a glimmer out to sea on the horizon. A tiny white sail appeared, followed by others, until the whole ocean seemed to be
covered by a flock of birds come down to rest on the waters. "I don't believe it!" he murmured.
"You had better believe it," said Junis, "because it is my final offer."
Cheers and bells could now be heard in the city. The Blue Crescent ships already in harbor fired a
salvo that echoed from the walls.
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With an upsurge of hope, Lagan turned in his saddle and snapped his fingers. "That to your offer, Junis. I
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reject your terms. Look to the ocean. You should be thinking what terms you might accept from
me." He spurred his horse to retreat.
With a scream of fury, Junis galloped back to her troops and ordered the attack. Her infantry
advanced, tight ranks of soldiers in red tunics crawling like ants over Gerfalian land. Lagan
signalled his own men forward.
"You fight for your homes and your freedom!" he shouted, riding along the lead edge
brandishing his sword. "Charge!"
The cavalry swept forward, driving into the pike-bearing infantry as battle was joined on the
flower-studded meadows. Soon the spring blooms were trampled under boots and hooves, the
ground wet with blood. Men cursed; horses screamed. Lagan's forces were hard pressed,
pushed back to the walls by wave upon wave of Empire soldiers. Lord Taris fell as he defended
the gates. Ramil's cousin, Hortlan, was trampled when knocked from his horse. The King fought
by his standard bearer, aware that his knights were dying around him. Lord Usk went down,
wounded by an arrow. Lord Egret killed Junis's second-in-command only to die on the Inkar's
sword. Lagan spurred his horse forward to meet her in battle. She yelled with delight as she saw
him charging towards her. Their swords met with a clang, sparks flying.
A shout went up from the harbor.
"For the Goddess!"
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Now under new orders, hundreds of Blue Crescent
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sailors from the ships that originally came with Tashi rushed to the relief of Gerfal. More
warships arrived, disgorging their cargo of fighters onto the harborside. Armed with swords and
long knives, the Westerners hacked and slashed their way through the Empire's infantry. An
elite force of riflemen took up position on high ground to fire upon the invaders. Cannon
boomed from the decks, shot sailing overhead to pound the Inkar's reserves.
"Witchcraft!" shrieked the Empire soldiers as comrades fell to invisible missiles, which left circular bloody wounds. Some turned to flee only to be shot in the back.
In the midst of battle, Lagan and Junis exchanged arm-jarring blows. She caught him with a
swipe, cutting his cheek to the bone. He replied with a slash that smashed into her left arm,
leaving it hanging useless, blood spurting from the wound. Junis stared down at her arm in mild
surprise.
"Lagan," she said faintly.
The King struck, killing her with a blow to the head.
"Sorry, Junis," he said as the Inkar fell from the saddle. "These are the only terms I offer."
Reports from all over Tigral reached the rebel headquarters in the palace throne room. East
Gate had fallen but the galley slaves were holding their own at the barricades in the Cloth
Market. West Gate still survived but the Brigardians were taking heavy casualties. No one had
tried South Gate again.
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Ramil paced the room restlessly. He knew their fortunes were balanced on a knife edge. The
only way they could win was if he could take out the Spearthrower himself. He was relying on
Fergox's pride to bring him to the palace. He just had to hope the warlord would take the bait.
Yelena dashed in, her face shining with excitement.
"The old goat's at the North Gate. What shall we do?"
"Let them through but keep out of sight. Are your soldiers posted all round the walls?"
She nodded.
"Remember, Yelena, we mustn't let them out of the palace but pen them in here until I've
finished with Fergox."
Yelena nodded, then darted forward and kissed him on the lips. "That's for Tashi."
Ramil smiled, touching his mouth. "You're a wicked woman, Yelena.
Melletin's going to have his hands full with you."