Dust of Dreams

chased him about and the wind drove grit and sand into his face so that by day’s end his white deathmask was somewhere between grey and brown. Besides, he was not so old that he could not have trotted out with Talt’s war-party yesterday-not that Talt agreed, the one-fanged bastard.

Kamz was reaching an age when loot became less a luxury than a need. He had a legacy to build, something to leave his kin-he should not be wasting his last years of prowess here, so far from-

Thunder?

No. Horses.

He was on a ridge that faced a yet higher one just to the north-he probably should have walked out to that one, but he’d decided it was too far-and as he turned to squint in that direction he caught sight of the first outriders.

Akrynnai. A raid-ah, we shall have plenty of blood to spill after all! He snapped out a command and his three wardogs spun and bolted for the camp. Kamz voiced a cry and saw that his fellow sentinels, two off to his left, three to his right, had all seen and heard the enemy, and dogs were tearing down towards the camp-where he discerned a sudden flurry of activity-

Yes, these Akrynnai had made a terrible mistake.

He shifted grip on his lance, as he saw one of the riders charging directly for him. A fine horse: it would make his first trophy of this day.

And then, along the ridge behind the first scatter of riders, a mass of peaked helms-a blinding glare rising like the crest of an iron wave, and then the flash of scaled armour-

Kamz involuntarily stepped back, the rider closing on him forgotten in his shock.

He was a seasoned warrior. He could gauge numbers in an instant, and he counted as he watched the ranks roll down the slope. Spirits below! Twenty-no, thirty thousand-and still more! I need to-

The first arrow took him high between his neck and right shoulder. Staggered by the blow, he recovered and looked up only to greet the second arrow, tearing like fire into his throat.

As blood spurted down his chest, the biting flies rushed in.

Warleader Talt probed with his tongue his single remaining upper canine and then glared at the distant horse-warriors. ‘They lead us ever on, and not once do they turn and fight! We are in a land of cowards!’

‘So we must scrape it clean,’ said Bedit in a growl.

Talt nodded. ‘Your words ring like swords on shields, old friend. These Akrynnai start and dance away like antelope, but their villages are not so fleet, are they? When we are killing their children and raping their young ones, when we are burning their huts and slaughtering their puny horses, then they will fight us!’

‘Or run in terror, Warleader. Torture kills them quick-we’ve seen that. They are spineless.’ He pointed with the tip of his spear. ‘We must choose our own path here, I think, for it is likely they seek to lead us away from their village.’

Talt studied the distant riders. No more than thirty-they had spied them at dawn, waiting, it seemed, on a distant rise. Talt had half-exhausted his warriors attempting to chase them down. A few scattered arrows sent their way was the extent of their belligerence. It was pathetic. The warleader glanced back at his warriors. Eight hundred men and women, their white paint streaked now with sweat, most of them sitting, hunched over in the heat. ‘We shall rest for a time,’ he said.

‘I shall remain here,’ Bedit said, lowering himself into a crouch.

‘If they move sound the call.’

‘Yes, Warleader.’

Talt hesitated, turning to squint at a mountainous mass of storm clouds to the southwest. Closer, yes.

Bedit must have followed his gaze. ‘We are in its path. It will do much to cool us down, I think.’

‘Be sure to leave this hilltop before it arrives,’ Talt advised. ‘And hold that spear to the ground.’

Nodding, Bedit grinned and tapped the side of his bone and horn helm. ‘Tell the fools below who are wearing iron peaks.’

‘I will, although it’s the Akrynnai who should be worried.’

Bedit barked a laugh.

Talt turned and trotted back down to his warriors.

Inthalas, third daughter of Sceptre Irkullas, leaned forward on her saddle.

Beside her, Sagant shook himself and said, ‘They’re done, I think.’

She nodded, but somewhat distractedly. She had lived her entire life on these plains. She had weathered the fiercest prairie storms-she recalled, once, seeing a hundred dead bhederin on a slope, each one killed by lightning-but she had never before seen clouds like these ones.

Her horse was trembling beneath her.

Sagant gusted out a breath. ‘We have time, I think, if we strike now. Get it over with quickly and then try to outride the storm.’

After a moment, Inthalas nodded.

Sagant laughed and swung his horse round, leaving the small troop of outriders to ride down to where waited-unseen by any Barghast-three wings of Akrynnai horse-archers and lancers, along with nine hundred armoured, axe-wielding shock troops: in all, almost three thousand warriors. As he drew closer, he gestured with his free hand, saw with pleasure the alacrity with which his troops responded.

The Sceptre’s great success had been founded, in part, on the clever adoption of the better qualities of the Letherii military-foot-soldiers capable of maintaining tight, disciplined ranks, for one, and an adherence to a doctrine of formations, as well as dictating the field of battle in situations of their own choosing.

Leading the Barghast ever onward, until they were exhausted-leading them straight to their waiting heavy infantry, to a battle in which the White Faces could not hope to triumph-Inthalas had learned well from her father.

This would be a fine day of slaughter. He laughed again.

***

Inthalas had done her part. Now it was time for Sagant. They would finish with these Barghast quickly-she glanced again at the storm-front-yes, it would have to be quickly. The blackened bellies of those clouds seemed to be scraping the ground, reminding her of smoke-but she could not smell anything like a grass fire-no, this was uncanny, troubling. Still a league or more distant, but fast closing.

She shook herself, faced her fellow outriders. ‘We will ride to find a better vantage point once the battle is engaged-and should any Barghast break free, I give you leave to chase them down. You have done well-the fools are spent, unsuspecting, and even now the great village they left behind is likely burning to the Sceptre’s touch.’

At that she saw cold smiles.

‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘we can capture a few here, and visit upon them the horrors they so callously delivered upon our innocent kin.’

This pleased them even more.

Bedit had watched one of the riders disappear down the other side of the ridge, and this struck him with a faint unease. What reason for that, except to join another troop-hidden in the hollow beyond? Then again, it might be that the entire village waited there, crowded with hundreds of terrified fools.

He slowly straightened-and then felt the first rumble beneath his feet.

Bedit turned to face the storm, and his eyes widened. The enormous, swollen clouds were suddenly churning, lifting. Walls of dust or rain spanned the distance between them and the ground, but not-as one would expect-a single front; rather, countless walls, shifting like curtains in a broken row of bizarre angles-and he could now see something like white foam tumbling out from the base of those walls.

Hail.

But if that was true, then those hailstones must be the size of fists-even larger-else he would not be able to see anything of them at this distance. The drumming beneath him shook the entire hill. He shot the Akrynnai a glance and saw them riding straight for him.

Beneath hail and lightning then! He tilted his head back and shrieked his warning to Talt and the others, then collected up his spear and ran down to join them.

He had just reached the ranks when Akrynnai horse-warriors appeared behind the Barghast, and then on both sides, reining up and closing at the ends to form a three-sided encirclement. Cursing, Bedit spun to face the hill he had just descended. The scouts were there, but well off to one side, and as he stared-half-hearing the shouts of dismay from his fellow warriors through the tumult of thunder-he saw the first ranks of foot-soldiers appear above the crest. Rectangular shields, spiked axes, iron helms with visors and nose-guards, presenting a solid line advancing in step. Rank after rank topped the rise.

We have the battle we so lusted after. But it shall be our last battle. He howled his defiance, and at his side-stunned, appalled, young Talt visibly flinched at Bedit’s cry.

Then Talt straightened, drawing his sword. ‘We shall show them how true warriors fight!’ He pointed at the closing foot-soldiers. ‘Nith’rithal! Charge! ’

Inthalas gasped, eyes widening. The Barghast were rushing the foot-soldiers in a ragged mass, uphill. True, they were bigger, but against that disciplined line they would meet nothing but an iron wall and descending axe blades.

She expected them to break, reel back-and the Akrynnai ranks would then advance, pressing the savages until they routed-and as they fled, the cavalry would sweep in from the flanks, arrows sleeting, while at the far end of the basin the lancers would level their weapons and then roll down in a charge into the very face of those fleeing Barghast.

No one would escape.

Thunder, flashes of lightning, a terrible growing roar-yet her eyes held frozen on the charging Barghast.