The Dark Lord

eagle and a square plaque bearing a horned ram—leading the first ranks. These men were smartly equipped, oval shields slung on their arms, long spears in hand, feathered conical helms snug under shaven chins. A Roman officer—he could be no other, not with such a proud nose and grim expression—paced them on the left and Alexandros found himself staring down in surprise at the man.

'Who are you?' the Macedonian asked, feeling a chill to see the man's iron breastplate no more than shadow or mist and his speaking mouth like glass, showing trampled leaves and mud.

First Legio Roma, the ghost answered, saluting smartly. The centurion's eyes were dark pits, without even a gleam in their shadows. Pale teeth showed in a grin. The Consul said the Epirotes are coming ashore? We're ready for another go at them, by Mars! We've waited a long time to even the score for Ausculum.

'The... yes, they are landing from their ships, just over there.' Alexandros pointed over the downs towards the sea. 'My men will hold the center. You... take the right flank.'

Ave! came a soundless response and the centurion turned away, broad hand chopping at the air. The ghostly ranks clashed spears silently on bronzed shields, then jogged on, a long, ceaseless line. The Macedonian watched them with slowly mounting fear eating away at his composure. By his count, at least four thousand men marched past, not one more than a pale outline, casting no shadow on the sunny ground, but in the dimness under the trees, they seemed almost solid.

Unwillingly, Alexandros looked to the sky and saw the sun touching the mountain peaks to the west. It will be dark soon, he thought. Will I hear their battle cries then?

—|—

A brace of Palmyrene sailors, stripped down to loincloths, bronzed limbs flashing in the water, ran the longboat ashore. The Queen swayed a little as the keel breasted on the sand, then her men braced the boat and she stepped down into shallow water. More boats followed, carrying her guardsmen from the Asura. The cool water felt good on her bare feet, splashing against armored greaves covering her trim calves. Zoe stood ready in the back of her mind, the center of a glittering dodecahedron of shifting light and half-seen patterns. Can you feel him yet? Zenobia asked.

No, but something is happening... there is a veritable army of lights snaking towards the beach from inland. Not men—not living men—but not these husks the Serpent has stirred to life either. They are very angry, I can feel that much!

'The Romans are coming,' the Queen called to her captains. She saw the Palmyrene sailors and pilots had done well, keeping their flotilla together, the ships anchored to form a barrier against the wind. The Persian fleet —and she allowed herself a cold, satisfied smile—was in confusion, ships yawing against the breeze, some fouled in another's anchor chains. 'Skirmishers and archers forward in a screen, form up the qalb and the maimanah as they come off the boats. Lord Khalid!'

The young Arab turned, brief anger flitting across his face at her preemptory command. The usual gang of Sahaba was around him, all younger men culled from the cities and towns of the Decapolis. His recklessness had turned many of the more experienced Arabs from his faction. Odenathus was first among Khalid's confidantes, but the Queen knew his friendship restrained the Eagle from openly flaunting her authority.

'You must command,' she said firmly, raising her voice to be heard over the rattle of oars and men shouting as they unloaded. 'Lord Odenathus and I will be busy in the hidden world. The Romans are sending some power against us, not just mere legionaries, and we must turn our attention away.' Zenobia singled out two of the Sahaban captains of heavy foot. 'Malik, Duraid—you must watch over us while our minds are distant—find a hundred men and form a square, girding each of us in a fence of steel.'

Both men nodded sharply, then set to work gathering up likely men. The Queen beckoned Khalid close, though she had yet to step out of the rushing surf. The day was hot and the sea pleasant between her toes. 'Our armies are scattered,' she said as the young Arab approached, 'and everywhere I see confusion. Victory will be more likely won today by clear thought than bravery or strength of arms. The footing is poor on this sand and we have no horses, so we must strike inland as quickly as we can.'

Khalid nodded in understanding, looking sharply to Odenathus and then back to Zenobia. 'Will you each ward a flank, north and south? We may be attacked from either side...'

'We will,' Zenobia nodded, and then—with a sigh—let her mind fall back, yielding hands, eyes, legs, even the beat of her heart to Zoe. The girl surged forward, filling the body with her quick energy. 'Here they come,' she cried, spying the glittering flight of arrows and javelins lofting into the afternoon sky. The Arab skirmishers were already among the higher dunes. Her hand sketched a complicated sign and a wavering gleam filled the air as the wind rushed into a near-solid barrier before the advancing army.

The Sahaba surged up the beach, voices booming like the sea, crying Allau, Allau ak-bar! Horns and trumpets wailed, answering the skirling call of the Roman bucinas. The men of Mekkah were used to running in sand and they loped towards the enemy with glad hearts. Every step taken away from the unsteady sea raised their spirits.

Zoe walked forward, surrounded by a ring of armed men and she stretched her power, feeling the heavy blue strength of the sea behind and shining red streams of power in the earth ahead. 'This land is strong,' she cried, though Odenathus was now beyond earshot.

A huge shadow suddenly rushed overhead and Zoe yelped in alarm. Shocked, she looked up, catching a glimpse of vast wings, a snaky head and a sinuous tail lashing in the air. Stunned, she and the men around her saw the thing roar past, the sound of its passage deafening everyone and snap into a tight circle over a stand of trees a half-mile away. Flame vomited down, spewing from gaping, black jaws and the entire copse burst into flame, men fleeing in all directions, the trailing black banner of the Serpent Lord engulfed in a blast of greenish-white fire.

The Queen heard a piercing howl echo in her mind and staggered, clutching her ears in pain. The cold, clammy touch of the lord Dahak faltered and she felt him struggle, wrapped in flame. In a single, crystalline moment, his control slackened, lifting iron chains from her will.

Cousin! Zoe screamed at Odenathus, her thought leaping across their battle meld, mind and mind meshing violently into one. The young man's mind was awhirl and he groped to match her thought. We are free! Zoe's shouted giddily.

Not yet, Zenobia forced herself into their meld, unexpectedly filling the apex of a triangle she'd not known existed between them. Odenathus recoiled, but then she felt glad wonder touch her like the glow of a warm fire on a cold night. Hello, nephew. Zenobia thought wryly. Zoe—the Roman prince?

The girl's exultation faded, dashed by chilling reality. Yes, she thought in unison with Odenathus. It's him!

Zenobia recoiled, faced with a secondhand image of a storm-dark titan astride a steed of iron, wreathed in rippling flame, circled by flickering blue-white signs and glyphs. A constellation of bright spirits whirled around him, shrieking with rage. Power cracked from his hand like the stroke of a forge hammer. Her body's hearing shuddered in response, the air thundering with a long, echoing crash. Lightning stabbed along the beach, darkening the air.

Our men come first, Zenobia snapped, capturing the stunned attention of the two young wizards. We must protect them!

—|—

The Lord of the Ten Serpents writhed on the ground, flames roaring around him, scaly limbs glowing cherry-red with intense heat. The copse of trees roared, slender trunks wrapped in greenish fire and the sandy ground bubbled and popped, turning to a glassy slurry under the sorcerer's feet. Wailing, barely able to breath, Dahak lunged away from the sea, bounding up into the air. Power wicked around him, the tormented core of his mind struggling to ignore the searing pain stabbing from ruined flesh and summon a shield of defense.

Gusts of wind slammed the sorcerer to the ground, sending him crashing into a stand of brambles. The iron monster in the sky banked sharply, wing rolling over and a searing trail of phlogiston smoked in the air. The viscous fluid streaked across the ground in a long arc. Dahak rolled away from the tongue of flame. Everything— trees, brambles, sand, old tufa—lit with brilliant greenish-white fire. Smoke roared up, climbing to the heavens in