Chapter Two ~ Costs
Riri guided her chariot atop a rise in the plateau. She wanted to see the spectacle reported by scouts with her own eyes. The Captain relinquished reigns to an unwashed archer and stepped around the vehicle. Stunned, Riri beheld the marching legions of the Libaias Empire, and marveled at the puny size of it.
She turned to a scout. The moonlight highlighted wrinkles and pocks littering his weatherworn face. "How many legions?" The scout shrugged. A second scout held up an open palm. Five. Shaking her head, Riri could surmise one obvious path. "A trap. A bad one." Five thousand men against one thousand chariots and two thousand ogres. Too even to call.
The enemy forces halted well short of bowshot. Fifty rows of men, five ranks deep, resembled fire ants against the landscape. Tower shields formed a wall as the Libaians prepared for an attack. A banner depicting a crimson eagle in flight rippled as a breeze passed.
Riri glanced over her shoulder. Bellemarr approached, fully armored, and marching on foot with his hordes. The Black Knight joined her, face an expressionless mask while surveying the pathetic resistance brought against them. "Don't let the numbers lull you into arrogance, Captain." He pointed to the center legion. "Those purple shields represent Legatus Marrinae Albus' forces. If she leads this band then it will be a long night."
"You know her?"
The mask fell, exposing a hint of anger, a hint of fear. "Oh, yes. I know her well. She was there when my wife died."
Bellemarr's silent bodyguard smiled, a sickening curl of bloated lips accentuating a scar outlining a socket where an eye once rested. "Gamageggz"
Bellemarr smiled as Riri leaped at the beast's first words. "Yes, Rmuk. Glory." His gaze, hazelnut orbs filled with unknown powers, stared into hers. "Have your chariots form two circles at each flank. Pound them with arrows." That searing stare looked up at the behemoth by his side. "You will lead the charge, old friend." Riri turned away from the sickening pull of his scar as Rmuk's smile widened.
Preparations took little time, as Bellemarr's stratagem resembled old tactics employed by her people during the war for freedom from the empire. She thought it a good plan, as tactics did not become old unless they proved successful. Riri snatched the reigns from the archer of her own team, prepared to lead the circle along the southern flank.
The Black Knight shook his head. "Your place is here, Captain"
Riri suppressed a grimace. He thinks me a cripple, useless. "My lord, I-"
"A general who fights beside his men may as well turn the command to someone else. You cannot lead from the fray, Captain" He focused on the row of ogres before him. "If you are too afraid to order your forces to die, then perhaps my trust in you is ill placed."
The surety of his tone, the calmness within his honey-dipped words nettled Gast so, even as his precious eyes melted the sharp sting of their meaning. She could not doubt his wisdom. A spearman snatched the reigns from her, nodding an agreement while ushering her from the chariot with a gentle shove.
Joining her liege, she stared at the backs of hulking brutes donned in ill-fitting armor sewn from pieces of mismatched leather. Rmuk alone wore anything resembling a uniform, thick charcoal bands of studded leather covered torso and thighs, a sickening imitation of his master.
The lack of focus and discipline startled Riri. A dozen to the left thumped chests in rhythm with gauntleted fists, shouting incomprehensible war chants. A second group shouted slanders across the green, as if the distant ranks of soldiers could hear. Chaos reigned through what Riri surmised to be an insult to all the militaries invented by men. Rmuk alone stood silent, massive hands rested atop a wicked greatsword with jagged teeth along one side, a warped parody of Bellemarr's calm demeanor.
The chariots flanked the opposition and formed two roving circles with one leader in the center. Each archer fired one shot, reloaded, and waited for the circle to come round once more before firing once more. Arrows fell like rain.
Riri gasped as the empire's flanking units changed formations. Shields formed a canopy above them, protecting them from the storm. Some arrows hit the mark, but many clanked off the umbrella.
Bellemarr grunted. "This is new." Riri panicked, looking over her shoulder to the one-hundred chariots held in reserve. Bellemarr shook his head, calm, implacable. "Do not commit the reserves. Rmuk!" The beast turned in time to see Bellemarr give an almost imperceptible nod.
The guardian of the Black Knight raised his weapon high. "Gamageggz!" The warrior charged, as did they all. They resembled a peasant riot as the ogres descended upon the Libaians, an unruly mob armed to the teeth and ready for murder.
Bellemarr touched her bare arm. A chill rippled down her spine. "They have a defense for every attack. We will use their tactics as a weapon. Send your reserves behind the Libaians and charge them."
Riri turned, clutching her maimed wrist, the signal to surround the enemy. A junior officer nodded, shouted the command, and led the unit to their position.
The clash of steel returned Riri's attention to the fighting as outnumbered ogres charged the ranks of men. A weak breeze carried screams across the landscape. Whistles blasted in a single note. The legions performed a disciplined shift, shuffling the second rank to the first. The fresh bodies proved no match against the brutes, as the press of bodies pushed the formation back.
Bellemarr paced, his steel skirt whisking against the leather padding beneath. He seemed a man ready to burst and unleash death upon all enemies. "Break, break damn you." The low chant barely carried amongst the violent sounds in the distance. "Break." His forehead creased in worry.
The Libaians did not break. The center legion, garbed in indigo armaments, began holding their ground. A second whistle of two short bursts prompted the rearguard of each legion to turn about, forming a wall of shield and sword as her charioteers crashed into them.
A hurricane of spokes and wood and men erupted as Riri's reserve pressed the Libaians back onto themselves. Her unit retreated for a second charge, only half their numbers survived the first wave.
A soft whisper of steel against leather turned her focus toward the Black Knight unsheathing his longsword. "They are too disciplined. Your chariots and my ogres do not fight well as one." A retort came to Gast's lips, but the words refused to come, as Bellemarr's mood shifted from apprehension to intense concentration.
He surveyed the cloudless sky, windows to the soul drawn to slits. "Thunder is nothing more than plates of ice rubbing against each other," he whispered as if in another world. "But no clouds." The strange man rested his sword's tip into the soft earth and squatted. With brow creased, drawing dark eyebrows close together, he removed a gauntlet and caressed the dirt as if massaging a lover. "The same here. It's deep. Two huge plates, shifting so slowly that you can barely sense it. But what is the cause? What manipulates the plates?"
He's gone mad. Yet the scene of wounds healing after a battle played inside her mind as the doubts swirled in contradiction.
The Black Knight sighed, frustration plain. "And what costs? There is always a cost."
Riri risked his ire by clasping his shoulder. "My lord, if you have something, best do it soon, we're losing- badly." He nodded with a look of defeat. She found it difficult to remove her hand.
Without warning, Bellemarr plunged the blade into the earth straight to the hilt. A shock coursed through Riri. She snatched her hand away and grimaced in pain. The Black Knight gazed upward, his irises without pupils. Strands of hair parted from his shoulders, floating amidst an unfelt wind. The diamond wristlet he wore began to shine, the glamour hypnotizing her, as the studs seemed to dance in a circle.
A distant rumbling from the west preempted soft tremors underfoot. The oddity did not alarm her, staring at his bracelet brought a sense of comfort, a feeling of apartness from the danger of more pronounced tremors.
Bellemarr unleashed a lusty eruption of emotion while unsheathing his weapon from the earth, stretching arms and sword overhead. Head still surveyin
g the heavens, the Black Knight paid no heed to the deep fissure spreading between his feet and traveling toward the battle, expanding as it traversed the plain.
Riri screamed in horror as a cavernous gash divided the battle in two. The land rose and fell as an earthquake stole balance from man and beast. Unperturbed, the crevice continued along its destructive swath. Bellemarr howled in ecstasy, perhaps oblivion, as his own hordes became victim to the destruction.
A great spire of molten rock erupted from the severed earth within the Libaian ranks. Men died screaming, Ogres, brutal killers all, fled from the liquid fire that consumed life without prejudice. The Asnium's fled in a rout with chariots aflame or melting. And the horses- by all the Secret Gods, her precious horses died in agonizing songs.
Bellemarr's screeching seemed endless as he tore the world in two. Riri punched him hard and screamed as a second shock sent her reeling. "Stop it!" The sounds of death, the insane wailings of the Black Knight, stole the strength from her plea. Frustrated and afraid, she beat him with fist and stub, crying through the electric currents. "You're killing us all!"
The Black Knight seemed to hear, or perhaps he completed the song of death. No matter the reasons, he ceased, lowering sword tip to the ground. Bellemarr gasped, as if seeing the destruction for the first time. A pool of lava blackened, smoked, and cooled where the battle once took place. The plateau shifted where broken, north higher than south as far as the eye could see. The dead, far too numerous to count, littered the landscape where liquid fire did not reach. Nothing remained but charred carcasses and mutilated corpses where the invincible legions once fought. A ring of death, ogres and men, formed the petals of Bellemarr's flower.
He faced Riri with no sign of guilt etching his features, only a weary resignation, and a hardening around the eyes. "We march on the morrow." He collapsed into her arms.
Interlude ~ Glory
Rmuk scratched the scar where an eye once rested. The badge of honor always irritated as the night breeze invaded the crevice, but Rmuk never complained. Surviving battle with the God King heaped glory upon his name. The ogre studied torchlight dancing from the watchtowers of the man dwelling while standing guard outside the God King's tent. Soon the legends of the God King's path to glory would spread throughout the Lost Children of Ma-R. Soon the God King's prophesied rise to power would free his entire ilk from banishment. A shiver of delight spread through his being. So close, yet unattainable this night. Soon. Perhaps the next moon, or the one after, the God King would recover enough to call the attack. For now, he rested, as did they all.
His clan, with ivory skulls impaled by bloody nails painted upon their mismatched armor, feasted on charred man meat by the fire and beckoned him with silent gestures. A shake of his head replied, the honor of guarding his God King's convalescence superseding the desire for strong food.
Twenty ogre clans marched from the Aryn Desert beyond the mountains, a definitive response to their new deity's promise of war and glory. The half a dozen campfires flanking his own clan's flame seemed paltry in comparison, but his brethren died with glory, a true warrior could ask for no greater reward.
A woman's scream turned his attentions to his lord's tent. Grunts of appreciation rippled through the feast as ogres cheered their leader with fists filled with limbs and innards. The fools thought it a cry of pleasure. Rmuk surmised another theory and pulled the burlap flaps apart before ducking inside.
The God King sat atop a pallet, face buried in his hands, with a cotton blanket concealing his nakedness. The deformed woman ripped the blanket from his body and covered her own at Rmuk's entrance. The guardian growled at the insult and relished the sheer terror behind her dark eyes. An idle hand scratched his war wound. He smiled at the man mate's displeasure.
The God King pointed to the exit without lifting his eyes. "Get out." Although low, barely above a whisper, the tone implied punishment for disobedience. Rmuk inclined his head and turned. "Not you. Her."
The woman crawled across the carpeted floor, beseeching the God King with a whimper. "Bellemarr, please don't do this." Only now did Rmuk notice the purpling bruise on her cheek. "I love-"
The God King faced her as she spoke, stilling the words from her tongue. "Don't. Just leave- before I kill you. You've no idea what you've done to my plans. None."
She stood, clutching the blanket with the stump from her missing hand. Crestfallen, the woman walked with the gait of an elder, swaying side to side as tears streaked down her face.
Bellemarr eyes promised death as she passed. "There's a pouch on the chest. Take it." She flinched and looked ready to protest until the God King's eyes flared a promise of pain before death. "Take the money and leave!" She wailed in distress while snatching the leather bag. The tired walk disappeared as she fled from sight.
Rmuk awaited the God King's pleasure in silence, not deigning to speak unless beckoned.
His master arose from the pallet, naked save the jewels of power adorning neck, wrist, and finger. It pleased the guardian to see his master up and about. A folding table contained foreign fruit growing from pastures they passed and a chipped bottle filled with water. The God King took a long draft from the carafe, sighing in pleasure between gulps. "How long this time, old friend?" He spoke in the tongue of ogres with a familiarity that never ceased to amaze the warrior. Rmuk crouched and pulled a doeskin rug from the floor, drawing two circles and three crescents of various widths in the soil with a thick finger. "Five moons," the God King shook his head, "and I remember nothing." He drank once more, stopped, and peered at Rmuk. "You should never have let her in here."
The whisper cut like a sword, befuddling Rmuk. Did he not cry in pleasure during the night as they marched onward? Did he not scream the woman's name? Did he not ride astride her animal throughout the day? Silent as ever, Rmuk bore the rebuke and awaited judgment.
"Is there a river-" the God King fumbled, searching for the correct word, "big water nearby?"
Rmuk nodded once, reliving the horror of seeing so much liquid in one spot for the first time. In the desert, clan wars lasted a lifetime or more for waterholes no larger than a skull. He pointed over the God King's shoulder. The young man gathered some soapbark and left the shelter without a stitch of clothing. The shock almost caused him to speak. The God King, unarmored and weaponless, the scandal would bring great dishonor to the clan. Rmuk gathered the cotton undergarments, chainmail armor, and longsword before rushing toward the big water.
Rmuk paused as he watched the human grimace in pain while washing his nether regions with a fierceness of one in battle. His master glanced to where he stood, a look of utter despair marring his features. "I can't get it off." He scrubbed harder.
Afraid, Rmuk could find nothing out of place along his ruler's chest and abdomen. He wondered at this- weakling before him and craved the conquering warrior that united the clans. Rmuk swallowed, forcing the words out as his throat constricted. "I see nothing, God King. What do you wash off?"
"Her."
Rmuk blinked with unfeigned confusion. "God King, I do not-"
"Of course you don't." The savagery behind the retort almost caused the guardian to smile. "None of you understand." A hand waved, taking in the ogres encircling his tent and the human vanguard. "All of this is game, a cruel, sick show. The gods control us like marionettes!" He stood, wet skin glistening against the light of a full moon. "My cause was just. A wife murdered simply for being what she was. She was no longer human, so Anurra dispatched his Avatar and her legions across the mountains. But did Ba'al'rishna guard his subject? No! He forsook her for the crime of-" the fierceness left his eyes as they lowered, "of loving me. Now her country lies in ruins, her people scattered." The God King's eyes met Rmuk's promising death. "But I learned, Rmuk. I learned the rules, rules not even the gods can circumvent. But now," the master paused, shaking his head. "My free hand is gone. I manipulated the Balance. I soiled myself with another woman." His shoulders rolled forward, hunched in defeat while c
rossing his arms. "Everything has a cost. The Balance will force a confrontation. The Avatar is free to intervene. I- I am not ready for that fight."
Rmuk filtered through sensory emotions that formed an ogre's history, the chill before a hunt, the sliminess of a foe's blood between his fingers, the bite of steel across flesh, the satiation after mating, the thrill of a battle that even the God King fears, a taste of ash on the tongue. Sensations clouded the memory he sought. A story told long ago, a tale of treachery, a battle, a wife slain while defending her husband.
Sensation overwhelmed him, anger flooded, obliterating rational thought. Rmuk stalked toward the God King, dropped his load, and cradled his master like a babe. His lord stared up with eyes fit to kill. "Your mate," he paused, allowing random thoughts to coalesce, "she died in battle?" The God King nodded while struggling from the ogres iron grip. "Much glory!"
The God King's eyes widened like a cub earning his first axe, or an adversary recognizing his own death. He nodded a slow nod of sudden comprehension. "It does make an odd sense. Perhaps I did not notice it in my grief. Perhaps- perhaps I chose not to notice."
Rmuk released him, sighing with relief that the warrior god would not make the rains flood the desert, strike him with lightning, or bring fire from the earth. The guardian stood, allowing the God King time to contemplate.
A grunt from behind caught his attention. Rmuk faced Tmis, a clan leader with a jagged sword, black with dried blood, tattooed upon his breast. The smaller ogre saluted as one would an elder, fist to chest with head slightly bowed. "The man things flee, Rmuk." He pointed to a commotion from afar.
The God King sucked his teeth as shadows raced toward inky blobs silhouetted against a starless horizon. "Everything has a price. Rmuk, form a barrier between them and the chariots, quickly. No matter their superior numbers, they stand no chance against us on foot." The warrior god began to clothe himself. If Tmis found that odd, his disfigured face betrayed nothing. "None must escape. They must pay for this betrayal. Kill them all." Tmis saluted once more and sped off. "No! Wait!" The God King curled his lips, a private smile. "There may be a way to salvage this mess." He nodded, affirming some private thought. "You will capture, not kill."