A dog came at me from the chaos, jumping for my throat. But I was like a stone wall, and the impact of the beast barely moved me. My arm locked around it, my elbow flexed, and I broke its skull so easily it frightened me. It dropped to the field with blood gushing from its ears.
I was invincible. I was now everything Malator had promised. I refused to fight the conscripts, letting them hack at me instead, their blows so weak they felt like nothing.
“What have you done to me Malator?” I whispered.
I wheeled my horse around to face Diriel’s forces. There were still more dogs to kill, more slaves to endure. I braced myself, wishing Diriel would send me his vaunted legion.
* * *
We took as many conscripts into our lines as would join us, and the men from Isowon took them to the rear of our army to care for them. They were all brainsick from their time with Diriel, shocked by the things they had seen and mistrusting of anyone with a weapon, but they did not rise against us once they surrendered. I galloped back and forth between the battle and our “prisoners,” hoping to convince them to take up arms and help us. The men of Isowon did the same, and in fact a handful of them did join us, though the rest were too afraid. Some even escaped into the valley, where I was sure they wouldn’t last the night.
The other conscripts sent against us fought like madmen. They were not quite the rabble of the first wave, and I had no doubt that the “Emperor” had threatened them with the worst possible torture should they lay down their arms. None of them seemed to care about the battle, but none of them thought Diriel would lose, either, and so they threw themselves against our swords and axes, mindlessly sacrificing themselves. Sariyah searched for Asadel, of course, but his son never appeared. He might have been among the dead for all I knew, for the dead were piling high now on the field, and the sand was thick with blood.
Of all our forces, only the men from Isowon and the Drinmen held back. We would need the Silver Dragons against the legionnaires, and I saw no need yet to call upon civilians. I would spare them what I could, I decided, and took upon myself the role of slaughterer, slashing down the conscripts who wouldn’t join us and tossing them aside, piling them like cord wood as they came at me upon my horse. The butchery was easy for me, vile even, and not once did a sword or spear harm me. Malator’s magic had turned me to metal, it seemed, making me impervious. But the real test was yet to come, and as I glanced out to where Diriel stood upon his chariot I realized his legions were at last preparing to ride.
“Marilius, Sariyah, Chuluun-to me!” I cried and galloped through the combat to gather them around me. One by one they fought their way toward me, knocking aside the slaves and hacking at those that wouldn’t yield.
“Look,” I said, pointing toward the Akyrens. “The legionnaires.”
Chuluun let out a giant gasp. His brother Nalinbaatar thundered up behind him. “Good!” he cried. “We Zurans await them.”
“Marilius, tell Kiryk it’s time,” I told him. He was covered from head to toe with blood and sweat, but had managed to keep himself alive so far. “And bring up the men from Isowon now. Remember, all of you, keep a look out for Asadel.”
“What about the legion?” asked Marilius, wiping his brow with his palm.
“No mercy,” I said. It was the moment I’d been craving. “Kill them all.”
35
The legion of Akyre didn’t bolt out into the battlefield but moved like a deliberate hand, slowly spreading out its gray fingers. First came the infantry, hundreds strong, marching out onto the battlefield and trampling the dead beneath their boots. Behind them rode the cavalry, trotting in a freakish parade, their lances and pikes poised for a charge that never came. Like a machine they came, their feet and hooves beating out a dreadful music. In the distance of the Sklar Valley, Diriel still stood upon his chariot, anticipating his victory. He was firing his best bolt at us now, the biggest weapon in his quiver, and I saw my men wilt a little at the sight of it.
How long had we fought? I’d lost all sense of time. The mercenaries were bloodied and exhausted, and the Zurans had already taken surprising losses, their numbers too small to overcome Diriel’s throngs of slaves. They had started with ninety horsemen, and from what I could tell they’d lost a third of them so far. Even as the legion approached, one more of Chuluun’s men passed me on the field, being dragged by a boot caught in his stirrup. I thought almost nothing of the sight until I realized the dead man was Nalinbaatar.
But Chuluun spared no time to mourn his brother. He was steely eyed upon his steed, the very picture of Bogati pride. With his bloody scimitar he pointed at the legion, rallying his men and being the first to charge. As though shamed by Chuluun’s bravado, Kiryk cried out to his Drinmen.
“For Drin!”
A soldier blew a trumpet, and suddenly Kiryk and his Dragons were racing into the legion’s lances. Lenhart and Sulimer followed, their swords cocked back to strike. Jaracz stayed just behind them, leading their footmen who sang out as they charged, beating their chests like wild men and cutting through the swamp of conscripts. The defenders from Isowon poured out after them, and suddenly both sides had emptied their armies onto the field. I glanced at the berm where Cern waited with Venger. I watched as the prisoners we’d taken struggled with their choices. I heard a voice in my head urging me to kill everything that moved. I even said a prayer to Cricket. Then I snapped down my bronze visor and stormed into the fray.
I found my first legionnaire, the closest one to me, surrounded by his dead-eyed brothers and armed with a spear. He raised his weapon, threw it, struck me. . and I kept on riding, right into him, pushing the Sword of Angels straight through his head. His skull exploded at the impact, and when I turned three more heads were bobbing around me. I struck them all-one, two, three-and could not believe the ease with which they shattered. A glamour was upon me, not from heaven but from hell. I plowed my willing war horse through them, cutting of their heads like fruits.
“Blood for Malator!” I bellowed. “And bloody vengeance for his host!”
I could have flayed them, I realized. I didn’t even need my sword. My strength was everything Malator had promised me, and I released myself to it, to all the rage that had built within me, and I made that sword sing! I forgot the world around me, forgot my men and duties. I even forgot good Sariyah fighting right beside me. To me the world was a smear of crimson. I feasted on the legion, hacking them down, spilling their entrails and squashing their brains so that the dark magic animating them was snuffed. My horse slowed beneath me, and I realized his hooves were buried in body parts and smothered with gore.
“Around!” I shouted, spurring the beast free. The tide of legionnaires kept coming, relentless, but their endless numbers only fed my fury. Their weapons smashed and dented me, their lifeless fingers clawed my armor, and I cut them all away from me, sending their heads spiraling from their shoulders.
“Wrestler!” I cried. “I’m coming for you!”
There was no way he could hear me. I could barely hear myself over the clash. Soldiers speak of ground-shaking battles, and the ground shook today. The air shook too, not just with screams but with death rattles. I had lost everyone in the chaos; I was completely surrounded in a noose of soulless fighters. If Sariyah was still with me, he was somewhere in the melee dueling for his life. Someone called out that the horsemen were upon us.
Finally, I felt something. Not quite pain, but something nonetheless. A single pale-faced legionnaire had homed on me, knocking against my horse with his own armored beast and smashing his pike into my ribs. I should have fallen, but I didn’t. My armor split and blood sprayed from my side, but the blow that should have been mortal merely panged me. I grabbed the pike, yanked it from its wielder, and spun the blunt end through his eye, sawing it back and forth to wrench the brains from the hole I’d made. Yet the man-thing didn’t die. It grabbed up its sword, swiping at me even as I held it at bay with its own impaled weapon.