Of Sand and Snow, page 53
part #5 of Wings of War Series
But what sort of matchup would it be against the intended strengths of a god?
Lazura landed with a spray of grit, body tense and ready for the coming blow. Her every sense was on absolute edge, anticipating the sound of the striking flames she knew would be descending with unforgiving persistence.
Nothing.
The absence of the attack was so jarring, Lazura actually froze, not grasping how her opponent could fail to press her when she was so clearly at a disadvantage. She looked up, seeing first Raz i’Syul Arro towering behind the Priestess, the straight edge of his famous gladius gleaming in the Sun.
Then she met Syrah Brahnt’s eye, and understanding clicked.
The Priestess was gaping at her, mouth hanging open in surprise, her expression having transitioned from righteous fury to disbelief in the span of a heartbeat. The lash had settled, snapping and sparking in the sand about her feet, dangling with no more use than a limp length of rope from her right hand. For a long moment Brahnt was silent, apparently struck speechless.
When she finally spoke, the question was so quiet it was very nearly lost to the cacophony of the war still raging all around them.
“…Lazura…?” the Priestess asked, her voice tinged with the keening of pained denial.
In answer, Lazura smiled. It was a true, clear smile, open and plain now that her face had been freed of the obscuring veil.
“Hello, Syrah,” she said amiably, speaking with the familiar ease of family and old friends.
Then she launched herself forward, bringing both blades up to thrust them together at Syrah Brahnt’s heart.
That was when the drums began to beat.
XXXIX
“One need not dig far into the cultures of the wild tribes of the Northern ranges to understand how they have so successfully sown fear among the softer societies of the valley towns…”
— Studying the Lifegiver, by Carro al’Dor
Something’s wrong…
Adrion knew nothing more than that, could speak to no greater awareness than this simple understanding. He’d ridden hard after Vyres Eh’ben and the rest of Lazura’s pawns, coming to join them at the churning edge of the battle’s rear line. They’d called for reinforcements from the army, delegating several contingent commanders to redirect their units to surround them in anticipation of Raz’s clever attack riding up on their flank. It had been a long five minutes of apprehension, of officers shouting for their spearmen to take to the lead and prepare for an incoming cavalry charge.
Instead, it was their original guard of a thousand who caught up to them first, marching into the ranks at triple-pace, every one of the soldiers sweating and breathing bellows when they reached the main army at last.
That was the moment the nagging doubt became certainty.
“Something’s wrong,” Adrion repeated, out loud this time. Although he hadn’t directed the comment to anyone in particular, Eh’ben was ahorse only a few feet away, and the Karthian’s sour silence told Adrion he wasn’t the only one who was worried. After a second the šef leaned over and spoke quietly to Casius Jules, who was knee-to-knee with him. At once Jules dismounted, slipping into the lines of the ranks, forcing them to split for him as he moved. Adrion watched him go until he disappeared into the shifting bodies of the soldiers, suspecting Eh’ben’s intent.
He was rewarded with confirmation not a few minutes later when Jules finally returned leading the company sergeant of the guard, the very man who’d followed the orders not to engage the coming cavalry.
“Report,” Eh’ben told the soldier brusquely. “I find it hard to believe Arro’s horseman didn’t catch up to ya’, sergeant.”
The officer—his dust-caked face cut with sweat lines from the rapid withdrawal—fought through his obvious fatigue to bring himself to quick attention.
“Sir,” he said breathlessly. “I’m as at a loss as anyone. We made triple time because we feared the horsemen would have already reached you, and were planning to take them from the rear if at all possible.” He frowned. “Obviously I was mistaken to command such a pace.”
No, Adrion thought to himself, lifting his gaze to the hilltops above them, over which the screen of kicked up dust that had to be the wake of Raz’s riders could be made out. You weren’t.
Unsurprisingly, Eh’ben appeared to be of a similar mind.
“Ya’ did well enough,” the šef answered dismissively, and Adrion looked around in time to see the man’s own eyes on the ridges. “Return to yer command, sergeant. See them rested while ya’ can.”
The officer saluted a second time, then turned and moved past Casius Jules to make for his soldiers again.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Jules asked from his place on the ground, watching the sergeant pass him before looking again up to Eh’ben. “It’s odd, ain’t it? Them riders not reachin’ us yet?”
Eh’ben treated the man with the sort of distasteful look a prince might grace the raised hands of a pock-marked beggar. Instead of answering, he turned to the line of other šef still waiting at his back.
“Loreyn. Bayne. Take a dozen scouts with the best eyes ya’ can find. Figure out wha’s going on.”
Ketres Bayne of Acrosia looked less than pleased to be taking orders from the greasy man, but swallowed his pride to click his horse into motion.
San Loreyn, on the other hand, was much more vocal about his discontentment.
“Eh’ben, you can’t be serious?” he whined, pale eyes lifting to the dust-choked sky. “There’s got to be five hundred fucking horsemen out there! What in the Sun’s name are we supposed to do with a handful of scouts?!”
Vyres Eh’ben, in reply, bared ragroot-stained teeth at the younger man.
“I said ‘figure out wha’s going on’, not ‘take on the whole fuckin’ army’, ya’ primmed-up trim. Now go, and take the cripple with ya’.” He waved an indifferent hand in Adrion’s direction. “Might as well make ‘imself useful while he’s waitin’ to die.”
Loreyn stammered a few more sentences, clearly none-too-pleased with this response, but Adrion didn’t wait to see the pair exchange any further words. Happy enough for an excuse to satisfy his curiosity, he pressed his horse forward with a kick, following the gap in the soldiers that had only just started to close behind Ketres Bayne.
It took the three of them a few minutes to gather the scouts according to Eh’ben’s instruction, most of the outriders having been recalled to their individual units after the battle proper broke out. Once they had their assigned dozen men and women, along with a mount for each of them, Adrion followed only a little ways behind Bayne and Loreyn when they led the way north once more, back through the dunes. They did not immediately take the ridges, electing instead to pass through the valleys at a good pace, keeping a close eye on the sky. Only when they judged themselves to be about halfway between the two groups did Bayne shout for a majority of the scouts to press on while he motioned for Loreyn, Adrion, and the two remaining soldiers to climb with him. They took the next rise—a broad-based dune with a generous slope—and, after several seconds of struggling through lose sand, crested the peak. The wind returned, blasting about their faces and clothes, and it took a little bit for Adrion to blink away the tears and raise a hand to shield his eyes.
When his vision finally cleared, he stared out over the swaying of the land in speechless disbelief.
It was San Loreyn who summarized the confusion of the moment first.
“What in the Sun’s fucking name…?”
Adrion couldn’t blame the Southerner his bewilderment, just as he couldn’t blame Ketres Bayne the baffled expression that shown plain on the Acrosian’s aged face. He could only believe that he looked much the same, gaping out across the desert at the senseless farce taking place still some half-mile in the distance.
In the brightness of the morning, the only sign of a majority of Raz’s horsemen were outlined movements through choking cloud of sand and grit they were managing to kick up in their madness. They had to have gone mad, too, because even Adrion had trouble fathoming what purpose could be had in the chaotic dance occurring before them. While the riders they could make out from the hills were approaching, it was an almost imperceptible advance. They were creeping forward—at least compared to the pace a cavalry host could have set—but doing nothing to break the wild sprint of their horses. Instead, they weaved and circled through each other in an endless churn, dark shapes milling about in the rising dust like layers of ants crawling over and around each other. It lacked sense, lacked all manner of purpose given the battle at hand. Some five hundred horsemen could have offered significant support to Raz’s efforts, especially if they’d moved more quickly to take advantage of the rear approach they’d managed to steal for themselves.
Instead, they were wasting their time and horses on this…
“It’s a distraction.”
Adrion had been so involved in the struggle of his own confusion that Bayne’s words made him start and look around. The older man was frowning at the distant madness, studying the line of the riders they could make out as they slowly moved across the uneven terrain.
“They’re trying to take our attention away,” he continued after a moment’s consideration. “They want us to be watching them.”
“Take our attention away from… what?” Loreyn asked doubtfully, voicing the question Adrion had wanted to pose. “They’re not likely to distract any of our main host from their engagements. The battle is already too involved.”
“Then they’re trying to keep us busy, to keep our eyes on them rather than something else.” As Bayne said it, he began to scan the horizon to the northwest and east, going so far as to stand in his saddle and cover his eyes with both hands to squint against the mounting glare of the still-rising Sun. “They’ll have something coming, mark my words.”
“If they’d have something coming, it wouldn’t be from a direction we would be inclined to spot by keeping an eye on their distraction.” Loreyn said the last few words through gritted teeth, obviously feeling this conclusion should have been obvious. “We should be looking south, not north.”
“Through the Cienbal?” Bayne asked with an air of derisive amusement, sitting down again to smirk at Loreyn bleakly. “What sort of significant support could make it through the desert?”
It was a fair question, Adrion granted, but he was only half-paying attention to the pair’s bickering. He was himself peering at the horsemen, unable to escape the nagging feeling that something more was going on than a mere distraction. Raz was a beast in his own right, to be sure, but Adrion of all people wasn’t about to underestimate his cousin. The Monster of Karth was more than the incarnation of savagery and bloodshed his legend so often made him out to be. He was more than brute force and razored steel.
And the trick of common misdirection just seemed far too simple for the likes of a man who had earned himself the moniker of “Dragon”…
“Arro has had atherian among his ranks since before crossing into the South, and now he’s been bolstered by the tribes of the Crags.” Loreyn had continued their argument without missing a beat. “If there are more lizard-kind to be summoned, there’s no reason they wouldn’t be able to manage the desert better than any force we could send into the sands.”
“If there were more lizard-kind, he would have brought them with him,” Bayne snapped in retort. “Why go through the effort of a diversion when he could have just arrived in greater strength.”
“The advantage of surprise, dolt. Turning an apparent disadvantage to your favor is a basic tool of warfare. How by Her Stars did you get to be a šef of the Mahsadën with a mind like yours? One would think some of Ahthys Borne’s knack for the subject would have at least rubbed off on you.”
“Say that again, you pompous bastard,” Ketres growled, and there was the clink of the man taking hold of the sword he’d used not an hour before to cut down the other leaders of his city’s society.
Seeing Loreyn open his mouth to jibe back, Adrion decided he had better things to do than witness whatever childish conclusion came of their squabbling.
“I’m getting a closer look,” he said without looking around at the two men, choosing instead to shift around in his saddle and point to one of the two scouts who’d accompanied them up the dune slope. “You. With me.”
Then, before anyone could voice a disagreement, he clicked his horse into a trot again, heading back down into the valleys.
He didn’t turn around to see whether or not the soldier he’d ordered to follow him had done so. It mattered little, given that a single blade wasn’t going to value for much if they got caught by the five hundred ahead of them. More importantly, too, Adrion was keen on clarifying something odd he’d noticed about the building screen of sand and grit being kicked up by the horses. He deliberately kept his eyes on the path before him, closing another eighth of a mile or so before taking to the upward slopes again. Only when he reached the crest did he look to Raz’s riders once more, studying the cloud they were very clearly and consciously whirling into being.
Instantly, he knew he was right, the momentary reprieve he’d given his eyes from the sight confirming his confusion.
The cloud was darkening.
“Magic?” he muttered to himself, not comprehending what was going on, watching the pattern of the horsemen from closer up now.
There was a snort and shuffling behind him, and Adrion turned in the saddle, surprised—and not a little bit amused, despite the peculiarity of their situation—to find not only the single scout, but all four of the men he’d left following his horse’s hoofprints to trail him up the dune. Apparently Bayne and Loreyn had decided their tiff wasn’t worth the risk of being called cowards later, because they were leading the two scouts up the climb quickly.
“Are you out of your mind, Blaeth?!” Bayne demanded furiously the moment he’d brought his charger up beside Adrion’s. “If they charge, then we’re done for!”
“A quarter-mile lead, with that again from here to the front lines,” Adrion answered with a shrug, looking away from the Acrosian to study the cavalry again. “We’re not in any danger. More importantly—” he lifted a hand to point, cutting Bayne off as the man began to formulate some undoubtedly seething reply “—do you see that?”
The question, fortunately, was enough to temper Bayne’s anger at least the few seconds the man needed to look back to the rising pillar of dust. He blinked once, then twice, then frowned and returned his attention to Adrion.
“See what, exactly?”
“The dust is darkening.”
It wasn’t Adrion who answered, thankfully. Instead, San Loreyn had spoken up, and with distinct concern. He even pressed his horse between and beyond Bayne and Adrion’s mounts, like the few feet of extra proximity might answer his silent questions.
“Darkening?” Bayne repeated angrily, obviously disliking the fact that he was the only one not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“There.” Adrion pointed again, more deliberately this time, drawing a line to indicate the lowest layer of the rising cloud. “Just above the heads of the cavalry. Do you see it?”
The Acrosian spent another several seconds peering in the direction indicated to him, but his scowl didn’t change.
“The sand is thicker lower down,” he growled eventually. “What of it? How does this help us? If they’re trying to distract us, then what are we doing just—”
“Riders!”
The shout came from one of the scouts at their backs, and Adrion suffered one horrible moment of terror that he’d been a fool to bring them so close to the enemy. They had a lead, yes, but a mad sprint back to the main army was not without its own dangers regardless. Cold swept through him, but he realized whirling around that the soldier in question was not pointing at Raz’s cavalry, but rather down the slope ahead of them and to the right, slightly eastward. There, among the dunes, a much smaller group were approaching at full gallop, hugging the corners of every turn in the valley floors like they couldn’t waste even a moment in their mad tilt.
“Our scouts,” Loreyn said unnecessarily, but Adrion did not miss the note of disquiet in the šef’s voice. He, too, appeared to have taken notice of the unit’s hurry. Given that the distant enemy had made no indication of a sudden rush, whatever news they were bringing back with them could bode nothing good to warrant such reckless speed.
Silently Adrion, Loreyn, Bayne, and their two escorts watched the closing of the ten men. One of the group took note of them, because a hand rose to point in their direction, and the horses were suddenly being trained toward their hill. The soldiers reached the base, and did not slow as they climbed, driving their mounts so mercilessly that Adrion could hear the dry rasp of the animals’ breathing before they were even halfway up the incline. The lead scout was near enough now to shout, opening his mouth as though to scream out some warning.
Whatever words he had for them, however, were lost as a deep, echoing thrum began to resonate suddenly across the otherwise still heat of the day.
