The Crown of the Usurper (53 page)

  Now it was the job of the Askhans to exploit that divide, the legions on the right following up in the wake of the Nemurians to widen the split, while Ullsaard in the centre and the legionnaires spread far to his left pushed the remaining Eulanui into the Mekhani on the left flank.

  The behemodons had reached the battle, wading into the nightmare army with crushing tread and snapping jaws. Thick leathers straps studded with vicious blades and ropes pierced with barbed hooks swung from the flanks of the enormous beasts as they trampled and gored their way forwards. These snares caught in the flesh of the Eulanui, dragging and ripping through the press of creatures. From their howdahs the red-skinned warriors jabbed long spears into their foes and hurled down rocks and javelins.

  With all things considered, the king was pleased with what was happening, so it came as a surprise when the enemy did something he was not expecting: they started to retreat.

  The legions were still a hundred paces away when the Eulanui withdrawal began. The black spread appeared to constrict upon itself, drawing in its outermost reaches like an octopus pulling in its tentacles, funnelling into an ever narrower mass as it retreated at speed from them advancing spears of the legions. Those creatures surrounded by the Nemurians and Mekhani clambered over each other and their enemies as they attempted to get away, but made themselves easy prey in their bids to escape.

  Overhead the cloud was drawing back also. It roiled and swirled as it followed the Eulanui back down into the valley from which they had emerged, growing smaller and darker as it did so.

  The Mekhani on the left whopped victory cries and sprinted after the fleeing enemy, but Ullsaard was too experienced to believe the battle had already been won. The Askhan advance continued at a steady pace as the gap between the armies widened.

  Heading down from the hilltops, Ullsaard could see that the ground into which the enemy retreated had been turned to parched earth by their devouring presence. Not a shred of vegetation could be seen in a swathe a mile wide stretching into the distance. Seeing this devastation, he was forced to wonder what was left of the empire to coldwards; would there be anything or anyone left to save?

  The uneven ground grew steeper as the legions continued the pursuit, leaving Erlaan and the Nemurians to finish off the Eulanui that had been caught. For more than a mile they followed the retreating enemy, encountering more rugged ground, split by wide cracks and broken by jagged rocks. His caution growing, Ullsaard called the army to a halt while he examined his options, leaving the Mekhani to continue racing after the enemy alone.

  He could see the half-finished palisades and white tents of Urikh's legions another couple of miles or so ahead, and it was to this place that the Eulanui seemed to be heading. Not understanding what purpose there was for the invading nightmares to defend the encampment of the deserted legionnaires, Ullsaard was caught in two minds. If the legions pressed on swiftly, they might catch the Eulanui before they reached the dubious sanctuary of the poorly-built walls. To do so would be to plunge into something that Ullsaard was not certain about. He had thought he had come for a final battle to decide the fate of the empire, but it seemed his otherworldly enemies might not cooperate for such a dramatic conclusion.

  Messengers on kolubrids gathered to hear his commands and he despatched them with orders for three of the legions to remain as a rear guard in case the Nemurians and Mekhani behind could not contain their surrounded foes. The rest of the army advanced again, the line narrowing to only a few companies wide to negotiate the rough terrain. It was not quite a column of march, but it was more vulnerable than a full battle-line, and Ullsaard kept a wary eye on the Eulanui as the army moved forwards. He had been ready to write history in an orgy of blood and fire, but the strange actions of his opponents unsettled him far more than their outlandish appearance and otherworldy powers.

  The Mekhani caught up with the rearmost foes when they were less than half a mile from the unfinished way forts; another half a mile ahead of the legions. Some of the monsters turned, throwing out whip-like tendrils to slash away heads and limbs, feed-tentacles whirling, every touch vaporising a red-skinned attacker. The rest of the horde slithered and scrambled through the gaps in the log walls while the cloud over the camp writhed and contorted. It was spread out for half a mile, a bruise on the clear blue sky.

  Ullsaard had a sickening feeling of apprehension as the storm span faster and faster, tightening and darkening further as it funnelled down towards the tents and pavilions. The Eulanui were skittering and lurching around the point of the tornado's mouth, thousands of them writhing and flailing. Canvas ripped and ropes snapped, the whirlwind snatching up debris and dust. The king heard gasps of shock from the men following him as the distinctive shapes of abadas were drawn up into the storm like leaves. The lightning returned, crackling across the cloud rather than forking down, the multicoloured flashes growing in intensity and frequency as Ullsaard continued to lead the legions on.

  With a pulse of power that blinded Ullsaard for a moment, the cloud imploded into the camp, sending the logs of the palisade spearing out like splinters, slashing through Eulanui and Mekhani together. A shroud of blackness seeped over the hill on which the camp had been erected, reminding Ullsaard of the oily shadow that had spread across the Grand Precincts. He was not the only one to make the connection and disturbed whispers and fearful muttering from the ranks behind greeted the terrifying spectacle.

  The Mekhani, much reduced in numbers, did not realise their peril. They stood and watched in horrified fascination as the darkness bubbled and writhed, waves and ripples sloshing across its surface contorting the ground into which it was sinking. More shadows lifted up from the glossy blackness, a pitch black mist that hid the camp from view.

  All fell silent except for the sound of the legions marching. Sensing they were in danger, the Mekhani started to fall back from the pulsating blackness; their instincts were right but their reactions too slow.

  The cloud pulsed and roiled, and from its depths the Eulanui emerged again. The multi-coloured flashes of energy returned to scythe through the fleeing red-skinned warriors. More and more night-creatures boiled from the dark cloud in a frenzy of snapping, whirling tendrils and spines. The tide kept growing, engulfing the Mekhani, more Eulanui than had retreated from the battle. And still they kept coming, hundreds more, thousands…

  Ullsaard did not need to issue a command to halt the advance. As one the legionnaires of his army stopped in their tracks as a fresh mass of lethal shadow-beasts surged towards them over the blasted wasteland.

 

Fingernails drawing blood from her palms, Luia's fists were clenched tightly by her sides as she watched Lakhyri bringing forth the Eulanui.

  The high priest was standing behind some nightmarish altar of black stone and bizarrely-shaped bones, his hands upon its top, head thrown back. Lightning coruscated across the dome of the storm that surrounded them. The whorls and lines and shapes carved into his skin had become a web of pure blackness, seeming to suck in the light around him. He chanted a meaningless stream of sounds, darkness issuing from his open mouth like vapour that coiled with a life of its own. The altar block shimmered and writhed in and out of reality, spewing forth a fountain of shadow that created bottomless pools on the bare earth. These pools extruded grasping claws and tentacles, becoming more of the Eulanui, dozens of them every heartbeat.

  Luia knew she had to do something, but she did not know what. She took a step forward and was checked by Urikh's grip on her wrist. She tried to pull her arm free as she turned to look at him, but his grasp would not break.

  "Look how my army receives timely reinforcements," said her son, but there was a madness in his eyes and voice that she did not know. The lightning gleamed from his pupils, as though a storm raged inside them. Moving her gaze upwards, her eyes settled upon the Crown on the king's head, its gilding reflecting the colours of the flashing energy.

  "We must stop them," she said, but Urikh simply shook his head.

  Realising that her son was lost to her, she pulled up her arm and sank her teeth into the back of his hand. With a yelp, Urikh snatched his hand away, eyes turning to the queen in accusation. She kicked him between the legs, her sandaled foot connecting hard and Urikh went down like a boar felled by a spear.

  Luia caught the Crown as it toppled from its perch, feeling its weight in her hand. With a snarl, she broke into a run towards Lakhyri, the iron Crown held up as a weapon. A newly formed Eulanui saw her and flung out a barbed tentacle that slashed across her face, but drew only blood. Ducking beneath a feeder tendril arrowing towards her, Luia rolled through the dust and came to her feet at full sprint.

  Lakhyri was possessed by the energy flowing through him, utterly unaware of anything else happening. Something hit Luia in the back when she was only a few paces from the priest, sending her tumbling. She managed to avoid another lashing limb and pushed herself to her feet, swinging the Crown at Lakhyri's head with all of her strength.

  A point of the Crown punched into the side of the priest's neck, blood erupting from the wound to splash across Luia's face, drenching her dress with crimson. She watched Lakhyri fall backwards, black blood spewing from the wound. Any normal man would have been slain instantly, but Lakhyri was far from a normal man. Writhing, the high priest flopped onto his front, arms trembling as he tried to push himself up, hatefilled eyes glaring at the queen. Bubbling black fluid issued from his mouth, staining his naked flesh, running in rivulets along the carved symbols on his skin. He reached out a grasping hand but Luuia stepped back, teeth bared in her scorn.

  Lakhyri fell into the dirt, a black puddle soaking into the dry earth beneath him. His limbs twitched and his head jerked as the last of the vile fluid sustaining his existence poured from the wound. Clawed fingernails scratched at the ground, dragging furrows through the blood-soaked mud. Still Lakhyri would not give up his life, turning himself towards the altar with slow determination. One shaking hand outsretched, the high priest heaved himself towards the block of bone and pitch.

  His questing fingers flapped desperately just a hand's span from the side of the altar. With a final spasm, Lakhyri collapsed, a last wheezing expulsion of air whistling from his lungs. Luia sensed movement behind her but ignored it, stooping to ensure the high priest was truly dead. His body was unnaturally light as she rolled Lakhyri to his back, gold-flecked eyes staring vacantly, mouth slack.

  Satisfaction filled Luia for a moment, before she felt the delicate, invigorating touch of an Eulanui tongue upon her shoulder.

 

Ullsaard bellowed orders, trying to instil some hope into his legionnaires. With golden spear held aloft, he rode up the line, every word from his lips a defiant curse against the enemy. His impassioned speech seemed to have an effect. Shields were set and spears raised and the line that had been threatening to break solidified.

  The king dared not look at the enemy in case his own courage failed him. Instead he fixed his stare on the warriors in the front ranks as he rode past, as if daring them to defy him by running away. When he reached the companies of Donar's legion, he hear talk rippling through the army, surprised shouts sounding out from in front and behind him. Some of the legionnaires were pointing towards the foe, but with expressions of surprise rather than horror.

  Pulling on the reins, Ullsaard turned Blackfang so he could see what had caused such a reaction. The Eulanui were no more than a few hundred paces away, but the tide of black washing across the hills was slowing, coming to a stop. The whirling cloud that had birthed them had disappeared, leaving a hilltop that had been scoured down to bare rock. Yet it was not this that had drawn the attention of the legionnaires.

  On a ridge beyond where the camp had stood came a broad swathe of colour; blues and reds and greens pricked by the spark of sun on metal. It was a host of men, marching beneath fluttering banners, and beyond the crest of the ridge could be seen wind-filled sails as landships, a score and more of them, trundled into view.

  Ullsaard judged the Salphorian army to be at least fifty thousand strong and more were still crossing the crest of the ridge.

  Between the Salphors and the Askhans, the Eulanui baulked, unsure which foe to turn against. Ullsaard doubted such creatures knew the meaning of fear, but he hoped they did. He raised his spear again, drawing the eyes of his men to him.

  "This is it! The provinces of Askhor lie ravaged, our loved ones slaughtered, our homes destroyed because of these creatures. Now they lie at our mercy. Now we bring down the wrath of Askhor and make them know that these lands belong to men, not their kind. Attack, attack and let not one of the cunts escape!"

 

Ullsaard had known war for his whole life, but the carnage of that last battle was greater than anything he had ever witnessed. Cornered, the Eulanui fought to the last, and fully two-thirds of the Askhans who had marched with him lay dead or were disintegrated by the battle's end. The slain were as thick as the pebbles on a beach, the Salphors' suffering no less a toll from their army. The burning husks of landships struck by unnatural lightning spilled a blot of smoke across the reddening sky, and slicks of lava from destroyed Askhan machines flickered on the bare slopes. The ground was blackened by the filth of the dead Eulanui, their crumpled corpses mounds of darkness that slowly withered in the light of the setting sun.

  There were many amongst the dead whom Ullsaard had known, and several he had once called friends. Donar had been split from crotch to throat by a whipping, barb-tipped limb. The sharp-tongued Loordin had lost his head to a slashing tentacle. There was nothing left of Anasind to place on a pyre, the general having been obliterated by the touch of feeder tendrils. Others too, from the ranks and the officers of all the legions whose names would be added to the long roll in the Hall of Askhos. Never in Ullsaard's life had he counted the cost of victory so highly; so high that it felt like defeat. There were few untouched by injury. Muuril was amongst them, the companion caked head-to-toe in the drying ichor of the inhuman dead.