The troops waited in expectation for Michael’s traditional address before each battle, but Michael simply sat astride his horse, staring out at the opposing army. He had a faraway look in his eyes, almost as if he weren’t seeing them but something else. Perhaps a row of armored children arrayed across the plain.
“Sire,” said Aedan. “Sire?”
Michael turned toward him. There was a strange look upon his face-distant, dreamy. His eyes, so often angry and full of fire in the past, were calm.
“Sire, the troops are awaiting your address.”
“Ah,” said Michael softly. He rode his horse out in front of them, and a hush fell over the army.
For a moment, he simply sat there, his gaze scanning the ranks. Every eye was on him. He gave the
shortest speech he had ever given in his life.
“It ends here!” he said, his voice ringing out clearly He drew his sword and held it high over his head as he turned his mount.
“Advance!”
Aedan trotted up beside him with the standard as the army moved off at a marching pace down the slope into the plain. Across from them, standing perfectly still, was the Army of the Gorgon. They were as motionless as statues, all dressed in black armor, pennants fluttering in the breeze.
There was no sound upon the field except the steady tramping of feet and the clinking of armor and gear. Inexorably, they closed the distance.
Michael rode silently, staring intently straight ahead, his gaze scanning the opposing ranks for some sign of Raesene. When they had almost reached the bottom of the slope, Aedan noticed Michael stiffen, and his gaze locked on. He looked in the same direction. For several moments, he could not pick out what Michael saw, and then he spotted it and wondered that it did not stand out more clearly It was the first time he had ever laid eyes on Prince Raesene, and he saw that the stories they told about his size were true. He sat astride the largest warhorse Aedan had ever seen, a black Percheron with tufted hooves and a long, dark, flowing mane. But as large as the horse was, its rider dwarfed it. He was easily three times the size of a normal man, incredibly massive and wide, dressed in black armor like his troops except for the red dragon emblazoned on his breastplate. Next to him stood his standardbearer, holding aloft the black and red colors of Raesene-a red dragon rampant on a field of black, surmounted by jagged lightning.
What Aedan at first took to be a helm he realized after a few moments was not a helm at all, but Raesene’s head. The Gorgon rode bareheaded into battle, bony protrusions on his crown and two large black horns curving upward from his temples. He was still too far away to make out the Gorgon’s features, but he was grateful for that. He wondered if the legends were true about the Gorgon’s being able to slay with just his gaze. If so, how was it possible to fight such a creature?
Rank upon rank of goblins, gnolls, and ogres faced them, augmented with human mercenaries, for whom Aedan felt the greatest contempt of all.
What kind of men would willingly serve an awnshegh? A creature who had once betrayed his own people to the Dark Lord.
Behind him, Aedan heard the steady tramping of feet and the rattling and squeaking of the siege engines at the rear as they rolled forward, drawn by teams of horses. They would not come into play at this stage of the battle, and perhaps might not come into play at all unless they could not turn the Gorgon’s troops and break them, force them into a retreat back into the obsidian fortress.
The enemy waited as they advanced steadily. A mile…. A thousand yards…. Eight hundred …
seven… six…. When they were about five hundred yards apart, the Gorgon raised his sword, and a loud cry went up from his forces as they charged, the cavalry leading the way as they thundered across the field toward them.
“Charge!” Michael screamed, and with their battle cry of “Roele!
Roele!” the Army of Anuire surged forward.
Michael headed straight for Raesene, with Aedan galloping at his side.
The hoofbeats of the horses made a sound like rolling thunder as they flew toward one another, the foot soldiers running behind them.
The mounted sections met first, and the field filled with the sounds of blades ringing upon blades.
Michael met the Gorgon, but they had time for only a quick exchange of blows before they were separated by the plunging beasts around them.
Then both armies met with a clashing sound of metal on metal, and the air was filled with the noise of battlemen screaming, gnolls howling, goblins keening, ogres snarling, horses neighing, and above it all, the ringing clatter of swords and shields and spears. Archers on both sides loosed several volleys into the rear ranks of the opposing force, and then there were no more rear ranks as both armies melded into a vast melee as wild as it was deafening.
Aedan tried to stay beside the emperor, but it was impossible with so many bodies surging all around him. His standard fell, the shaft chopped in half b a wildly swinging blade, and one of the foot soldiers picked it up and held it aloft as Aedan reached for the shield slung from his saddle and lashed out all around him, killing and maiming to survive.
The gnolls fought like the half-beasts they were, using teeth as well as blades. One sprang up behind Aedan on his horse, and Aedan twisted, feeling teeth snap on his helm as he brought his shield around and knocked the creature off. A mounted mercenary charged him, and they
