It wasn’t hard to recognize the slobberings: horribly deformed, fat creatures, flaunting their azziles.79 Each had an enormous head that wiggled over three stained goiters, and the large mouth was packed full of conical, brown teeth; in addition, the toxic slobber gave it a poisonous bite. Each wore a tiny, useless steel helmet that had four black horns. The helmet seemed so ridiculous, so without any trace of utility, that it became obvious that the architects didn’t lack a sense of humor—although Gill felt no urge to be amused at this point. The bloodthirsty monsters were waiting for the orzacs like an immovable wall of metal. Needless to say, the slobberings never existed in reality, being conceived by the fecund imagination of the ancient aromaries.
The situation had changed radically. He bridled the moulan, deciding to cancel the hopeless assault. Unfortunately, it was too late for that. In a few moments, a loose line of about a hundred riders charged past him, the earth trembling under the weight of their moulans. Another line closely followed. He had nothing to do but to join them. After all, he was the fool to order the assault…
Less than fifty yards from the stockades, he saw a bunch of silvery flashes climbing up in the sky. It took him little time to realize that a rain of rikanes80—the sinister spears of the kerats81—were coming after them.
Cruel and inexorable, the metal rain fell with deadly precision over the lines in full charge. The armor of the orzacs, despite its formidable strength, had no chance of resisting. Immediately, a group of soldiers made a wall around him. The noise of their canter was covered by the sound of the rikanes ripping through armor and sinking in flesh, followed by the wails and roars of the orzacs and moulans falling in front of the palisades at grotesque angles.
The first salvo cleared the space around Gill, who escaped unharmed thanks to the sacrifice of his soldiers. The second wave coming from behind had no better fate. Few escaped the rain of rikanes to reach the scraps of the first line who had engaged the palisades. The orzacs jumped on the slobberings, but their ranks were compact, and the skillfully handled azziles thundered over their helmets, thwarting any attempt to breach through. He heard the sinister rustle once again. Already aware of what was about to happen, he looked upward, ready to greet them. The ice creatures on the hillside started to jump over the stockades and wreaked havoc among the soldiers. Another pack of orzacs caught up with him. At least, what was left of them…
No more than a hundred riders gathered around him, and their ranks were shrinking fast. The soldiers had already been fighting for several minutes, their attack turning into a desperate fight for survival. Seeing that the assault had all but wound down, the slobberings jumped over the stakes, blaring and twirling the azziles over the heads like deadly pinwheels. The sarpans of the orzacs were shorter and couldn’t stop the monsters from knocking them off and crushing them to death.
Gill had trouble steering his moulan away from the heavy fighting. Suddenly, a crazy slobbering managed to break a path through the wall of orzacs, jumping in front of him with an azzile raised overhead. Deciding not to allow him the pleasure, Gill jerked the attack reins. There was a loud whiplike snap: the four metal-covered spikes hit the slobbering in the chest, knocking him down. Despite the devastating blow, the monster didn’t die—he scrambled on his shaking legs, growling angrily. Not for long, though, because Gill thrust his thirsty sarpan into the monster’s huge goiters, stopping his stinky breathing.
The surviving soldiers used the same desperate method to keep the slobberings at bay. The ranks of the enemies became thicker—if they couldn’t disengage quickly, they wouldn’t be able to do it at all. The stupid, senseless attack risked sealing the fate of the battle, as more and more orzacs finished dressing and joined the slaughter in small, ineffective clumps.
It was said that even the best strategies break at the first contact with the enemy, and Gill didn’t have the slightest plan against the greatest strategist of Ropolis. Moreover, Ugo wasn’t fighting fair; the ice monsters hidden in the hillside were surely placed for a nasty backstab in the middle of the fight, and only the unexpected appearance of the grah female forced Ugo to use them before the intended time. That incident showed Gill what kind of surprises he could expect from the jure…
I’ve done enough stupid things for today, he reproached himself. He breathed deeply, feeling the knot of time expanding like a tekal seed thrown in a hot oven. The scent of the pathkeeper was still his kyi; he decided to abandon himself to it, to find again the un-Antyran force that gave him the strength to fight on the streets of Alixxor, to face a million tarjis when he had no hope of survival. This time he couldn’t use the bracelet to help him, but he had something much more valuable: his knowledge of ancient history that Ugo was not aware of.
Above their heads, other shiny volleys crossed the sky, hunting those who tried to come to their rescue.
“Fall back!” he thundered to his soldiers.
“Your Greatness, look!” exclaimed Kizac, pointing at the gravel road in the valley.
A cloud of white dust was rising in the distance, pierced by countless rows of shiny poles. He wasn’t mistaken: llandro.82 A huge army of snaky beasts was marching quickly toward them!
Despite their natural armor, they came equipped with short tunics and silly little helmets—no more useful than the ones worn by the slobberings.
“Llandro!” the terrified soldiers shouted and broke their ranks in disorder.
The slobberings didn’t chase them; they raised the azziles over the heads, howling in victory.
Another large army appeared from the edge of the forest on Gill’s right, searching for a fjord to cross the meandering river, whose water was deeper in that area. He didn’t recognize them at all. There were hundreds of gray-white spots—most likely some large animals running on four legs—followed by thousands of tall, green silhouettes.
The catapults stopped firing, and he reached the orzacs’ camp without further mishap. He had only minutes to spare before the real battle would commence. A massive grah approached and handed him the Brocat of Loyalty. He took it and hung it on his belt, next to the other two.
“Stop the llandro,” he ordered, pointing at the steep ravine that bordered the road below the grahs’ position. “Your armor resists their thorns. By all means, don’t let them reach the valley!”
“It will be done, Your Greatness,” he shouted. The grah turned around and ran to his troops to deliver Gill’s order.
He realized that his army’s morale was already shaken, for he saw their eyes gazing at the bodies strewn in the valley, no doubt expecting to join them soon. However, he had made the decision to fight to the bitter end, and he wouldn’t change his mind. The fate of the battle wasn’t sealed yet!
“Kizac, are the orzacs ready to fight?”
“Yes, Your Greatness! They’re waiting for your speech.”
“My speech?”
Of course! Any baitar was supposed to rally his troops before the battle. Often, a good speech could win the war… Since he knew all too well the legend of the Acanthia-under-Star, he had no problem addressing them just the way Huxile might have done it.
He bridled the moulan to bring him in front of his orzacs, slowly, ritually, prancing with all the pride of a baitar prepared to lead them on the path of eternal glory destined for the legendary heroes. Gill turned to face them, searching for their eyes, trying to instill the power of the Sigians in the depths of their kyis, to heal their fears like he healed himself in the fight with the prophet’s tarjis.