The Dark Lord

fear, Bayan put the arrow to the stave, then—in a sudden hush—pushed the string away from him, drawing, sighting, seeing the geese climbing into the summer sky, leading the first bird, then—snap! —the arrow was away, lofting into the sky.

The khagan shuddered, feeling nauseated, but the arrow rose and rose and then, reaching the top of its arc, fell gently, piercing the goose through the center of its great white-and-gray body. There was a burst of feathers and the bird fell, plummeting, into the marsh below. Bayan's mouth was open in surprise. He could not bring words to his lips.

'See,' C'hu-lo whispered, rising and leaning close, 'the king of kings is mighty. His strength flows to your arms from his heart. In this way, all his friends are exalted.'

Bayan watched as half-naked boys ran out from the base of the hill, leaping amongst the pools, running between tall stands of green cane. Soon they would bring him his kill, the first of the season, and it would roast over a stone pit, a delicacy for all the warriors thronging to his tent.

'Feel your arm, lord of men, is it strong?'

Bayan nodded, flexing the fingers of his right hand. The bowstave felt good in his hands, right and proper. His hand seemed powerful, not so weak and pale. Strong, like the Avar nation.

—|—

'Hey-yup!' Jusuf pointed with his lance, rear strap wrapped around his arm, through the crowd of legionaries jogging along the road, and the column of light horse following him swerved like a flock of birds turning over a lake. The mare whickered, found the footing on the side of the road suitable and half-trotted, half-slid down the bank into high grass. Jusuf let the horse find her own way. He turned in the saddle and watched his men pick their way down the slope.

On the road, long lines of Eastern infantry moved north at step-and-a-half time. A column of nearly a hundred men tramped past, long rust-colored tunics hanging down to their knees, broad-toed boots ringing on the paving stones. Each man had a leather quiver slung on his back, heavy with arrows, his bow in hand, half-strung. A small, round wooden shield—painted a solid color and bossed with iron—bounced on his shoulder. Most of the archers carried axes thrust into broad leather belts, or short swords hung from a strap. In the Eastern manner, their hair—most of them were bareheaded, though some sported straw hats against the sun—was cropped short in a style the Khazar heard called 'leonine,' though they looked nothing like any species of lion Jusuf had ever seen.

The Khazar light horse trotted through high grass, stirring up a drifting cloud of dust and seeds to hang in the air, glowing in the early morning light. The entire Roman army had started moving before dawn, and Jusuf was hurrying, trying to get into position before the battle started. Dahvos and the main body of the Khazar horse were somewhere behind him, held up on the road or trying to pick their way through the maze of farm tracks paralleling the highway. The high grass suddenly fell away and the mare splashed through a shallow stream and up a stony bank. Almost immediately, Jusuf shouted to his trumpeters to sound a warning call.

'Time to cut wood,' he said, chuckling to his aides.

Long wide-mouthed horns of beaten bronze wailed.

A hundred yards away the Avar camp was awake and alarmed, with men pouring out of a farmhouse and leaping up from the ground like ants disturbed from a nest. A huge crowd of Slavs spread out across the open fields, hair hanging lank around tattooed shoulders, the rising sun winking on iron caps and the points of their spears.

'Deploy in loose order!' Jusuf shouted, turning and riding towards the highway on his right. The Khazar lancers advanced to the left of the Eastern infantry, providing an appetizing target for the Avar knights. All around Jusuf, his men rode up out of the stream in a steady wave, lances unlimbered or bows laid across their saddles. A hundred feet away, as Jusuf trotted to the end of the line, a cohort of Eastern Empire heavy infantry splashed across the stream as well. Between the stream and the houses was a long section of open, flat ground. They advanced with a measured step, heavy oval shields facing the enemy. Each man marched forward with a long spear angled up and ahead, steel helmet shining, a tuft of cloth—matching the color of his shield—dancing at the point. The tramp of their boots boomed in time with a shouted cadence.

Beyond them, barely visible against the bright eastern sky, ranks of Goths filled the main road. Jusuf ignored them for a moment and cantered up to the edge of the Roman infantry. A dozen paces from the edge of the formation, a grizzled-looking veteran was walking backwards, his red cape swirling around his legs, watching the alignment of the men.

'Centurion!' Jusuf called as he rode up. 'Good day!'

The officer looked up, scowling, then made a face to see some barbarian looming over him. 'What do you want?'

'To wish you and your men good luck,' Jusuf said, leaning on his saddle horn. He felt a little giddy with battle imminent, and the air was clear and sharp and the morning birds were singing. With luck the day would be gloriously clear, though at the moment a haze drifted among the trees. 'We'll watch your back.'

The Roman officer stared at him for a moment, walking backwards, one eye gauging his men's advance. Then the man grunted and waved in acknowledgement.

'Good hunting!' Jusuf shouted, saluting to the men in the ranks, some of whom were looking over at him curiously. Then he clucked at the mare and turned back to see to his lines. The Khazars had crossed the streambed and fanned out in an easy trot. Across the fields—studded with individual trees and piles of stones gathered by farmers—the Avars were pouring out of their encampment in a black flood. Horns blew and drums beat furiously. Jusuf looked off to his left and frowned. There was no sign of the Eastern cataphracts lurking among the brush and trees.

'Signal advance at a walk!' Jusuf signaled to his banner and trumpet men. Flags fluttered in the air and there was more wailing and honking. Mindful of Dahvos' warning to stay out of trouble, Jusuf tossed his lance to one of the couriers behind him, then drew his striking sword. 'Advance!'

—|—

'My lord! The Romans...'

'I can hear them.' Bayan was watching the morning sky, chin raised while servants bustled around him, strapping greaves and armored plates to his legs, his arms. A light fog was dissipating, leaving the sky a clear blue. A few thin clouds streaked the face of Tengri's heaven. A broad leather belt was cinched at his waist and he lowered his arms, letting the armorers slide a back-and-breast of laminated iron strips over his arms. The khagan pursed his lips, finally considering the umen commanders kneeling before him. 'What do you see?'

The young man kept his face impassive, though Bayan could see a vein throbbing on the side of his neck. 'A Roman army, lord of the world... a large force of infantry is astride the road, while cavalry is forming up on either wing.'

'Their numbers?' Bayan shifted his bow from one hand to the other, allowing the armorers to secure the straps on his right arm and slide an armored glove over his fingers. The khagan flexed his fingers in the glove, finding the mesh of iron rings firm. He nodded absently to one of the servants, who opened a small box and took out a steel ring, incised with interlocking geometric shapes. The thumb ring fit snugly over the armored glove and Bayan turned the ring slightly, ensuring the smooth inner surface sat under his thumb.

'Three thousand foot in the middle, my lord. Four thousand Khazars on the right, and another four thousand Roman horse on the left.' The umen commander made a face at his mention of Roman horse. Bayan understood—the men of the Stone City might have a rich empire, but they were not horsemen. At least the Khazars could draw, loose and ride at the same time. 'But more men are still coming out of the woods.'

Bayan scratched his beard, thinking. The color of the sky promised a beautiful, clear day. Even the damp closeness of the woods and fields did not weigh on him as it usually did. 'I will command the right wing,' the khagan said briskly. 'My household guard and the heavy horse will be under my banner. The Sklavenoi and Slavs and other lesser men will hold the center, among the buildings. Place Jujen and his umen on the left, to screen the flank. I doubt the Roman horsemen will be able to dislodge him!'

The umen commanders laughed, rising and bowing to their khagan. Bayan was pleased to see their faces filled with eagerness for battle and honorable glory. The sky father would bless them