“Just as we planned,” he said. “Diriel’s waiting. I sent him a messenger two hours ago like you asked. He’s expecting you.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to fight,” said Anton. “He could have attacked by now but hasn’t.”
“Don’t hope that, Fallon,” warned Kiryk. “Don’t even think it. Diriel lives to destroy. He’s just savoring Isowon like a good meal.”
“Everything he wants is here,” I agreed. “Except for one thing.”
“Crezil,” said Marilius. “That’s why he’s waiting for Lukien. And since I don’t see Crezil anywhere. .”
“Just buying time,” I said. “That’s all it ever was. Just a ploy. What about that horse?”
Marilius called to one of the remaining mercenaries. “Bring him another.” He turned back to me peevishly. “We can’t really spare horses this way, Lukien. Most of the men are already on foot. Venger’s perfectly suited for fighting. What’s the problem?”
Kiryk cleared his throat. “I should go. My men are waiting.”
Chuluun turned to his brother, Nalinbaatar, who was holding his horse. “We will see you on the field, Lukien.”
I turned to Sariyah. “What about you?”
“I will not leave your side,” said Sariyah. “To protect you.”
“Protect me? You might have that backwards, my friend.”
Sariyah replied, “You are our only hope, Lukien. If you fall we all will surely lose. Consider me like your shadow-inseparable.” He went to his horse, a burly beast with two battleaxes tied to its haunches, one on each side. On any other day one would be enough, but Sariyah meant to take many heads. He mounted up and followed Kiryk and the Bogati to the courtyard gate, where he waited for me while the others trotted off. The man Marilius had dispatched returned with another horse for me, not nearly as splendid or well-armed as Venger. He handed the reins to me almost apologetically.
“The best I could find,” he said.
“Good enough. Now, protect your master Fallon. Don’t be tempted to ride out to join us. Whatever happens, you make sure your master lives.”
The mercenary nodded, mostly because he remembered my threat to kill any of them who abandoned Isowon. “Good luck to you, Sir Lukien.”
“Anton.” I turned to the man who’d brought me here to slay his unbeatable monster. He looked pale, and I could see a trace of some unknown spice staining the flesh beneath his nose. “No more of that false courage,” I said. “You’re stronger than you think. You stayed alive this long, after all.”
His eyes flicked toward Marilius. “Bring him home safe,” he whispered to me.
Marilius shifted. “Anton. .”
“Don’t be embarrassed by your love,” I said. “Remember what I told you, Marilius? There’s no shame in loving each other.” I turned to Sariyah and said, “Ride ahead for me.”
“I will not leave you, Lukien.”
“Just to the edge of the city. I need to speak with Marilius.”
He agreed grudgingly, and when he was far enough ahead I called to Marilius, “Come along. It’s time.”
He hurried to his horse and sped the beast to where I was waiting. Anton gathered his bodyguards and disappeared into the palace. Suddenly the yard was deserted. The street ahead was nearly empty as well. I could see Sariyah trotting through Isowon, looking forlorn among the fountains and hanging gardens, and ahead of him rode Kiryk and Chuluun. It was a fair distance to Sklar Valley, but the time it took to get there would be the last peace we’d know for days. My plain brown horse clip-clopped down the street. Marilius checked his gear as we rode.
“You look anxious,” I said. “Are you?”
“Anxious. Terrified.” Marilius put his hand on his sword. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You checked your sword already. Leave it. Remember what I told you when we faced Crezil-when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
“This isn’t like that, though.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s much worse than that.”
Marilius laughed nervously. “How come you’re not afraid, then?”
I thought for a moment. I searched myself for fear. Maybe it was because I had no soul. Or maybe I wanted to die. “You’re right. I’m not afraid,” I said. “But I wish I could be. The only fearless people I’ve ever known have all been madmen. Maybe I’m one of them now.”
“Maybe it’ll come back when this is over,” said Marilius.
“What? My soul?” I shook my head. “That’s gone for good.”
“Your sanity, then. Maybe when you finally get home, it’ll be there waiting for you.”
I smiled beneath my bronze helmet. “I like that. I’ll remember it.”
“Why are you bringing two horses, Lukien?” asked Marilius. “I know you don’t have much luck keeping them alive, but still. .”
“I have a plan. Don’t ask me to tell you what it is, because I won’t.”
“You’re asking all of us to trust you, but you don’t trust us. I have to say, I’m not inspired.”
“Marilius, if this is going to work you need to stop thinking so much. Worry less about what I’m doing out there and more about what you’re doing. Use your wits to keep your men alive, not to untangle my motives.”
“All right,” he grunted. “But I’m going with you when you ride out to see Diriel.”
“I want you all there,” I said. “Kiryk, Chuluun, and Sariyah too. I want the Akyrens to see what they’re up against.”
“Why? Diriel won’t care. He already knows.”
“Fuck Diriel. I want his men to see us.”
* * *
A horde.
That’s what I saw when I reached the battlefield.
Horses and dogs. Archers and infantry. Dirty conscripts, dead-eyed Akyrens, pikes pointed skyward, flaccid banners of a ruined country. Eager, soaring buzzards. A vast, badly stitched quilt of legionnaires and starved slaves, of Drinmen and Kassens in chains, of swords and hammers, of wagons, of war sleds, of terror and disillusionment. Bringers of death. Bringers of worse than death. Made whole by the whips of madmen, and a king on a chariot adorned with peacock feathers.
From a berm in the sand I watched with the wind in my face. Diriel had rolled out from his horde when he saw me on the hill. He drove his chariot through his front line of dogs and conscripts. My own men-my four tiny armies-waited in perfect formation, facing the black wave from Akyre. In front were Marilius’s mercenaries, lined up in three tight rows of infantry and horsemen. Kiryk and his Silver Dragons held the north flank, bolstered by other Drinmen who’d heard the call. A contingent of Zurans and Bogati horsemen secured the south flank to my left, not really under the command of anyone. There was no way to hold them back, I knew, so I’d given them no orders at all. Once the fighting started, they’d fly into battle.
We were outnumbered in every way I’d feared, except for horses, where we had the advantage. We were also better rested and better fed. But we were half as many as our enemies. Even with all our horses and all our axes, I still didn’t know how we’d take so many heads. The conscripts posed no threat at all. But the legionnaires. .
I spied them from the berm, counting and sizing them up. There were at least as many as I’d seen at Diriel’s castle. They wore collars now to protect their necks, thick leather bands they’d started using after their brief war with Drin. I knew they wouldn’t stop the Sword of Angels, but I worried about the battle-axes. Sariyah, who sat next to me upon his horse, rested his big axe on his shoulder and scanned the field for Asadel. Chuluun galloped out from the Bogati, and Marilius called up from the bottom of the berm.
“That’s Diriel,” he said, pointing at the approaching chariot.
“I see him,” I replied, then guided my nameless horse slowly down the sandhill, leaving Venger in the care of a young servant boy. His name was Cern, and he promised to protect Venger with his life. It was the kind of loyalty I didn’t expect from one of Isowon’s puffy young men. I believed him enough to trust him, and he’d be far enough from the fighting to keep himself alive.
I reached the bottom of the berm-my sandy command post-and didn’t say a word as Chuluun and Marilius wheeled their horses to flank me. Sariyah came after me, equally silent, and as we trotted forward, Kiryk broke away from his men to join us. Our troops watched silently as we rode out together toward Diriel, whose own contingent gathered around his chariot. We had agreed to meet in the spot between our facing armies. Amazingly, Diriel had brought Grecht, the midget from his castle, the one who’d greeted me and Cricket at the bridge. He bounced out in front of Diriel’s chariot like a weird little herald, carrying an already tattered flag and, I think, whistling.