“Return to your camps,” Arthur said. “If you would allow, wait for me at the Bloodbrick, and pray to your god that all goes well. If it does…”
“Go with Ashhur’s grace,” Azariah said, clenching his fist to his chest and bowing.
Arthur gave him a look, then chuckled.“Just make sure he doesn’t get forced into my house when this is done, either,” he said before returning to the camp.
When they were gone, the others lingered for a moment, as if hardly believing their fortune.
“Well,” said Sergan. “I think that went well. Great, even. Now let’s get back to camp so I can get some damn sleep.”
“W hy aren’t we moving after them?” Harruq asked the next morning. “Figured we’d want to keep on their heels so they don’t start thinking of another attack.”
“Too close to their heels and they’ll see we’re just a little yapping cub instead of a bear,” Tarlak said, sitting down next to him and handing the half-orc a chunk of bread smothered with butter. “And I couldn’t get much out of Antonil. He’s spending more and more time with that Bram guy. Can’t decide how happy I am about that.”
“Oh no, he’s spending time with a king instead of you. How will you endure?”
Tarlak laughed, loud and open-mouthed despite the chunk of bread he’d just bitten into.
“I’ll mope and cry into Aurelia’s bosom. I think that’ll cheer me up just fine.”
Aurelia smiled at him but held back any normal retort. She’d been subdued since her display at the bridge, but Harruq hoped that she’d be back to her normal self in time. He frowned. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been her normal self for a while. Something was off, but what?
“Just wish we could get back on the move,” Harruq said.
“You’re never happy, you know that Harruq?” said Tarlak. “If we’re chasing armies, you grumble about the travel and your back hurting and how the angels like smacking you into trees, yet if we decide to take a single day’s rest, you’re at it again.”
“Don’t make me stab you,” the half-orc muttered.
Tarlak feigned fear, then took another giant bite.
“You know,” he said, staring north. “Maybe it’s me, but that looks like a big army coming our way.”
Harruq stood and squinted. “Huh. I think you’re right.”
Aurelia lifted an eyebrow. “Should we be worried?”
“Something’s up,” Tarlak said, staring off toward the front of the camp. “I see Antonil and his little buddies gathering up, but they sure don’t look ready to fight.”
“Then what’s going on?” asked Harruq.
Tarlak shot him a grin. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”
A few words of magic and a portal opened before them. Tarlak beckoned them in, then followed after. When they stepped out, they stood beside Antonil and a rather surprised looking Bram.
“I don’t recall inviting you three to join us,” Bram said.
“That’s how they are,” Antonil said, adjusting the crown on his head. “They’re more useful disobedient, anyway. I’d probably be dead twice over if they bothered to listen to orders.”
Bram snorted, his mouth locked in a frown. Harruq grinned at him and offered a salute.
“Just here to protect his royal ass,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”
“So what’s going on?” Tarlak asked, sliding between Antonil and Bram while the half-orc kept his attention the other way. “Did we miss out on some fun?”
“You might say that,” Antonil said. “You can listen, but remain quiet and behave.”
Harruq surveyed the approaching army. They marched with their heads low, their backs slumped as if their shields and weapons weighed more than them. A few banners flew from spears and poles, but not many. His quick estimate, though, was massive. Thousands of men, come not to fight, but to…what?
“This is the reward for your bravery,” Bram said. “This is your rightful respect as king. Do not just expect obedience. Demand it. When they bow before you, do not heap praises upon them. They have done their duty. Their reward is their renewed honor in the eyes of their lord.”
“Surely the right path to be a beloved king,” Tarlak muttered.
“Says the honorless mercenary,” said Bram. “Do not pretend that you know how to rule. You control a pitiful few with coin. Nothing compares to being law and judgment for thousands.”
“Enough,” said Antonil. “They approach, and I don’t want them to see my friends squabbling amongst themselves.”
“Let them come to you,” said Bram. “Make them remember their place.”
Four men rode at the front of the great river of troops, dressed in exquisite armor no doubt handed down their family line for generations. Beside each of them rode a younger man wielding a banner. The colors and symbols meant nothing to Harruq, but he knew a lord when he saw one. They rode up to Antonil and then dismounted.
“Lord Hemman,” Antonil said, nodding his head slightly. “I am pleased to meet you again, this time in light of day.”
One of the men stepped closer and bowed. He was tall, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and firm.
“Only a few tried to stop us, and they backed away when we drew blood,” said Hemman. “We have come to offer our allegiance to the rightful king of Mordan. Antonil Copernus, will you accept my sword?”
He drew his sword, knelt, and offered it up. Antonil smiled.
“Of course,” he said, saluting with his own.
Hemman stood, but when he turned to go, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His deep voice dropped lower in volume, possibly the quietest the man could whisper.
“They know we have left,” he said. “All our families are in danger. Our name is nothing without you. Will we win? Tell me, Antonil. Let me hear the words. Can we win this fight?”
Harruq looked to Antonil, and he was not the only one. Tarlak crossed his arms and waited. Bram’s eyes narrowed, as if ready to judge the new king by his answer.
“Both the grave and the throne await me,” Antonil said. “And by my sword, the wings of Ashhur, and the magic of my friends, I will seek them out, and run from neither. Let the priest-king fear my name. I come for what is mine.”
Hemman nodded. Worry still filled his eyes, but the answer seemed acceptable. He turned to the other lords and let them introduce themselves as the thousands crossed the river. As they bowed to their lord, Tarlak took his Eschaton and left.
25
V illage after village fell. At Thulos’s insistence, they made for the Corinth River, seeking an entrance into Mordeina and meeting with the rumored priest-king.
“If his allegiance is true,” the god told Velixar, “then the last of the angels stand no chance. At worst, we find them already dashed upon the walls. It would be a shame, though. My sword desires blood, and this world has proved rather elusive in providing worthy opponents.”
“At least you killed the daughter of the whore,” Velixar said, stepping out of the large tent.
“Just one of them,” said Thulos. “Another remains.”
Velixar glared but kept his mouth shut.
On and on they travelled until they reached the Bloodbrick. Thulos led the way, and he stopped before it to survey the area. On both sides he saw communal graves burned with fire. Blood soaked the bridge. High above hovered a legion of crows, no doubt having feasted well the week before. Many bodies still floated, caught against the rocks, their bodies pale and eaten away by the fish and the birds. Distressingly few bore the wings of Ashhur’s angels.
“Who fought here?” he asked.
“It must have been Ashhur’s men, for I see wing bones among the pyres. But against who? I don’t know. Perhaps an army from Mordan marched south, hoping to subdue Ker and her king.”
