As was Maddek.
Much different it was from the constriction in his chest as they’d ridden south the previous day, when Yvenne’s hopeless gaze seemed always before him. A constriction that increased whenever the crest was mentioned again, along with idle wondering if she hadn’t known what the gift meant, and that was why she’d hidden it for so long.
But she had hidden it for good reason. And had been right to. For in truth . . . if she had presented that crest to Maddek, he would have believed it stolen. At the beginning, he had been stubborn in his certainty that his mother would not have chosen such as her. So even if she’d given him proof, he would have doubted.
That shame had been a festering wound in his chest as they’d ridden south. This unease and prickling tightness over his skin was not the same.
The sun was rising to the east. Facing the Scourge, the Parsatheans were lined up on their mounts—a thousand riders strong, with Maddek and his Dragon at the center. The Syssian soldiers at the Scourge’s base would see but a line of riders across the horizon.
It was those soldiers who should be uneasy. They were already in formation, ten by ten, only a hundred in number. These were the soldiers from the Syssian outpost. The bulk of the might Zhalen had brought was in the Rugusian army, three hundred more in number—not in sight, but instead gathered behind the Scourge.
“Do they think to conceal their numbers from us?” Toric asked.
Maddek shook his head. He knew not what the purpose of it was. And that likely added to his unease.
Enox rode up, the faint light catching in the silver beads in her hair. “Our scout reports the same—Rugusians waiting behind, only Syssians ahead.”
“Do they have a position on Zhalen?” So that Maddek might kill him.
Enox shook her head. “Not yet.”
“It makes no sense.” Ardyl spoke what they all thought. “We cannot see them, but whoever is their command can also not see us.”
No, they could not. “What of the Scourge? Might they have archers hidden in the ruins?”
“Not that I have yet seen or heard reported from my scouts.”
So there were only the Syssian soldiers who posed an immediate threat. “I will ride forward and appeal to Yvenne’s soldiers as I promised.”
Enox nodded.
An alarm she would give if any new threat appeared. Kelir raised a flag, signaling that they only approached to speak. Trotting forward, Maddek studied the Syssians. No clear leader was there among them. None were mounted. Where would an order come from?
“Movement at the head of the Scourge!” Danoh called.
“Drepa?” Toric asked. “There is a nest in the eye.”
“There was a gleam of metal.”
From armor or weapon. Yet the Scourge’s head was a poor position to take. The ruins were so huge that an archer standing between the eyes might only hit a target as distant as the Scourge’s nose, and could be no threat to anyone near the Scourge’s belly.
Maddek neared the Syssians, his unease lifting the hairs over his skin. For not only were none of the soldiers mounted, neither were they armed. Instead they only wore heavy armor, their arms strapped with vambraces jutting with spikes. He slowed his horse, the Dragon doing the same.
No soldier would wear such armor. Too easy it would be in battle to stab one’s own face or chest—though these were well protected in both face and chest. By the orange torchlight, Maddek could see little within the close-plated helms—only the wetness of drool that stained chins green, as if they’d been eating grass.
Realization gripped his chest. “Fall back!” Spinning his horse about, he shouted again. “Fall back!”
Snarling and roaring came from behind him, a wave of brainless beasts unleashed. With one hundred poisoned soldiers after them, the Dragon raced back to the Parsathean line.
“Silac venom?” Kelir yelled. “But they were held!”
Just as revenants had once been held at a stream, though humans could not be made revenants. And never had Maddek heard of a poisoned beast waiting for anything. So he knew not how it had been done, but it had been.
“It must be Aezil!” Ahead, he could see the Parsatheans readying for the soldiers’ charge, but they still didn’t know what came behind them. “Is there a familiar?”
“No birds!” Danoh shouted.
But the sorcerer would need eyes on the soldiers to control them. Realization hit them all at once, but it was Ardyl who yelled it. “He’s on the Scourge’s head!”
And so too would Maddek be. But not yet.
He galloped along the line. “Fight by two!” he shouted. “Bludgeon to hold, blade to kill! By two, bludgeon and blade!”
For the soldiers were armored so well they would not be easily struck down. But a blunt force might knock them back long enough for a blade to find a mark.
He pulled up alongside Enox. Their horses had outpaced the rampaging soldiers, yet soon they would be upon them. “That is why the Rugusian soldiers are hidden behind,” he told her, chest heaving. “So not to draw notice when the beasts are released.”
Which also meant whatever control Aezil had over them was not absolute, if he could not make them distinguish between Parsathean and Rugusian.
An angry gleam flashed through her eyes. “Should we draw notice to them?”
By riding around the ruins, with the beasts following. “As you will. The sorcerer must be on the Scourge—and perhaps Zhalen with him. I will take my Dragon with me.”
She nodded. “Ride as one.”
As silver-fingered Rani did, as death did—though she had already come for the soldiers. Many times in the past day, Maddek had wondered whether Yvenne ought to have accompanied them. She was well protected, yet not having her near was a fear in itself. That he couldn’t stop what might harm her.
Yet he was fiercely glad she hadn’t seen this—her soldiers, poisoned. Sacrificed and changed into beastly weapons instead of allowing them to fight of their own will. Turned into brainless animals that the Parsatheans would have to put down.
Zhalen must have feared that the soldiers wouldn’t be loyal to him.
Leading the charge, Enox raced down the line and a thousand warriors thundered after her. Remaining in place, horses snorting and stamping, Maddek and his Dragon watched the brainless soldiers turn in that direction.
“When we have a clear path—”
The ground shook. His mount snorted, prancing uneasily.
A great boom followed, as if thunder were right upon them. The galloping army transformed from a flying arrow to whirling confusion, like leaves scattered on a stream. A thousand horses screamed in fright, the warriors upon them staring in terror as the ruins in front of them moved. The mountain of obsidian shifted and heaved, cracking and shattering, like an old man stretching his bones after a long sleep.