Book 5: Chapter 36: Charge

Book 5: Chapter 36: Charge

Pazra-dak grasped the Energy crystal at the edge of the spell pattern surrounding his brother, ready to feed him more of their blood-attuned Energy. He wasn’t sure he’d have to, but Senena seemed to think it was likely. “How would she know,” he growled, frowning at the woman who sat, exhausted on the far side of the tent, watching him, watching his brother, through the dark hollows of her eyes.

“I begin,” Rosh wheezed, his throat, like the rest of him, raw from the torments the ancestors-damned, monstrous giant-devil had visited upon him.

“You will teach that fool what happens to those who threaten the Ridonne!” Pazra’s words oozed with pride, and as his brother began to mutter his incantation, he looked over his shoulder and called sharply, “Venis!”

The tent flap fluttered as his new Legate hurried to his side. “Yes, Lord?”

“It is time. Are the soldiers prepared?”

“Aye, lord. We’ve held a thousand of our best to guard your tent. The others are set, ready to charge. Of course, we’ll begin with siege weapons to soften them.”

“Any more of their absurd festivities? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the fools drank themselves into a stupor? Did we figure out what they were shouting about? Do they think they’ve won something, killing the most fearful of our soldiers?”

“No, Lord, we speculate they were simply trying to bolster their troops; it can’t be good for their morale to see our great force surrounding them. There have been no more celebrations this evening. The camp grew quiet, and they’ve encircled themselves with fog, likely to obscure their traps. We’ll easily shred their preparations. Shall I move to the field command?”

“Yes. Begin. You know the order of attack. See that you overwhelm that camp, and we’ll deal with their little champion. Hurry now, before the Energies in this circle drag your soul from your bones!” Pazra gestured to the platform where Senena had drawn the ritual circle, and Venis blanched when his eyes followed the gesture and took in the sight of Rosh, covered in bloody tattoos, seeping a dense, red fog of bloody Energy as he feverishly muttered the words of the rite. Venis turned on his heel and rushed from the command tent, and Pazra chuckled, pleased to see an appropriate response to the workings of the Ridonne.

“Ready yourself.” Senena’s voice startled him; somehow, the witch had crept up, walking around the circle. “Already his Core runs low—I feared as much considering the mental battle we fought just hours ago.”

“Truly? So soon?” Pazra frowned, narrowing his eyes, wondering how the witch could see into Rosh’s Core.

“Yes. Grasp the crystal, ready yourself, fill your pathways with Energy, and when the time comes, when I tell you, push your blood-attuned Energy into it, and only that Energy! The circle will carry it to your brother.”

“Must I bleed myself dry?”

Senena, with a mocking, utterly disrespectful note in her voice, replied, “Do you want to summon a weakling from the Vizashath or a great terror of a Ridonne?”

“Witch, watch that insolence. You know what I want.”

“Indeed, Lord. Here.” She produced a dark red vial and handed it to him. “This will restore you should the spell threaten to drain you. I’d give it to Lord Rosh-dak, but he’ll be in the throes of the rite and won’t be able to think of quaffing it.”

Pazra gripped the warm potion, nodding. He should have had some of those, himself, but he’d never imagined being tested in this manner. He’d thought to handily crush the upstart’s rebellious forces with his brother’s aid. Rosh’s muttered incantation took on a frenzied note, and his voice rose, cracking with the effort. Pazra gripped the crystal, his palm beginning to sweat, and reached into his Core, pulling forth a thick tendril of the hot red Energy that pulsed within him. He primed it into his pathway, filling it to bursting, ready to send it into the crystal when the moment was right.

Victor threw a giant Globe of Insight into the air, leaving behind a brilliant floodlight, exposing the pitfalls for his soldiers as they followed in his wake. Soon, he saw them, a row of soldiers, and his mind, quickened by his many enhancements, calculated their numbers. He could see their front line was maybe a hundred strong, but they were only three rows deep; there were fewer than he’d expected, even if you considered there were probably more around the perimeter of the Ridonne’s camp. Victor laughed, and as he sped toward them, he reached out and summoned a monstrous rage-fueled bear totem, setting it loose in the ranks of soldiers ahead of him.

The Imperials swarmed around each other, trying to bolster up those suddenly caught amid the rampages of a massive spirit bear. It swiped left and right, sending the soldiers flying, and, in that chaos, that disarray, Victor and Guapo crashed into them at great speed. The Mustang smashed and stomped through them. He was enormous, his hooves the size of five-gallon buckets made of black, diamond-hard keratin, and he spread shadows of fear all around him, clearing his flanks—none of the soldiers could stand before him or summon the will to try to strike at him as he rode past. In three heartbeats, Victor was through and charging for the tents ahead.

“Good,” Victor laughed, taking a moment to realize he’d managed to summon his bear while still riding his mount; had he done that before? He continued to laugh, admiring the beauty of his revised totem spell. Then he was trampling through tents, noting that the camp was empty; had the Ridonne sent the non-combat personnel away? Were they off supporting the attacking lines? It didn’t matter; Victor saw an enormous round tent atop a nearby rise near the center of the camp. More, it was glowing with orange-red light, a beacon to pull at Victor’s urge for combat.

He slowed, and as Guapo’s thunderous hooves settled and the wind ceased its whistling in his ears, Victor heard the crash as his soldiers slammed into the line of defenders. He listened to his bear roaring and the screams of soldiers dying. A grim smile spread his lips, baring white, clenched teeth. The poor bastards who’d thought they’d drawn an easy duty staying back, protecting their leaders, would have a rough night. Girded for battle, wearing his wyrm-scale vest, his Kethian Juggernaut helm, his dragonsteel belt, and wielding the greatest axe on the planet, Victor urged Guapo forward. “Time to come out of your tent, assholes.”

#

“You were right,” Rellia said, her eyes wide as she took in the size of the force coming at them from the northwest. The Imperials were like a tide, flowing over the grasslands, thousands of them mounted, riding behind the foot soldiers. Energy globes hung in the air—smoldering orange fire, cool, pale-blue ice, crackling balls of lightning and plasma, and hundreds of bright, yellow, pure Energy orbs. It was like dawn had come early as the Ridonne soldiers arrayed themselves outside the fortifications, inspecting them, perhaps, before they charged.

“Yes, though I was more right than I’d hoped. I’d hoped they’d spread out more, truly try to test all our fortifications. It seems they’re going to concentrate most of their efforts here. Honestly,” he said, voice low, “I’m not sure we’ll hold for long.”

“We have to.” Rellia leaned forward on the parapet. “Should we not order more soldiers to this wall?”

“Indeed. Lieutenant,” Borrius turned to Edeya, “alert the captains. We need another full cohort on this wall. Take two hundred soldiers from each of the others.”

“Yes, sir!” Edeya said, scribbling in her command book.

“This is going to be a true test. We may die here tonight, ladies. If we do, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Sir, if I may speak?” Edeya’s voice was shaky.

“Out with it; the time for chatter fades,” he replied curtly.

“Victor will win. He has to. When he does, he’ll come back, and the soldiers out there; they’re going to break. We just have to hold them for a while.”

“Well, that’s the trick, Lieutenant—holding them.” He’d just finished speaking when something shook the night, a sound that cut the air like a nail through a board, a scream that echoed over the grasslands from the southeast. It was a sound both foreign and familiar, bringing back memories of the long night when Victor had been out terrorizing the Imperials. “Ancestors! Was that him?”

Rellia shook her head, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and despair. “I don’t think so. It sounded different. Wasn’t it louder? Deeper?”

“Look!” Edeya said, standing at the platform’s edge, pointing toward the southeast where Victor had charged, toward the origin of the weird, terrible shriek. Rellia followed her finger, and there, in the distance—a mile or two—she saw an eerie red light, like a rip in the night. It blazed, putting spots in her vision when she blinked for a few seconds, and then it began to shrink and, in just a few moments, was gone.

“What in the shit . . .” Borrius started to say but collected himself in time to shake his head and change his words, “It’s not our problem. Not yet. We have more immediate things to worry about.” At his words, Rellia turned, and sure enough, more horns started to sound, and the Imperials began their charge.