[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
spearmen reached the earthworks. Snipers kept hurling darts into the fray.
Ethrian brought up ten thousand swordsmen, also in scattered array, and
behind them wave after wave from the horde in waiting.
Or half-horde. The stone beast had squandered sixty thousand before
relinquishing control.
Page 86
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Ethrian found it hard to believe that all those bodies were moving simply
because he willed it. He had only to imagine a movement, and the men he wanted
making it, and it happened. A hundred men to storm a knoll where an arrow
engine was taking his main thrust in enfilade? There they were, scrambling
uphill, falling, lying still for ten or fifteen minutes, then rising to charge
again. It was like daydreaming with the daydreams coming true.
He had the Seventeenth completely engaged. Sahmanan kept the Tervola
occupied. Only a few demons roamed the contested slopes, and they had little
effect.
He had thought-space left for other maneuvers. Ten thousand tireless soldiers
marched southward, to pass round the legion, form smaller units, and head
west. When they left the desert they would begin recruiting. Perfection,
Ethrian thought. Sheer perfection.
He banked his mount and dropped lower, passing above the battle at a hundred
feet. Spooky, he thought aloud.
The battle was so quiet! Machines might have been fighting down there. He
heard only the movement of feet and the clang of weapons. The dead had nothing
to say. The soldiers of Shinsan were schooled to fight in silence. Few would
cry out even when mortally wounded. Their sole voluntary sound was the rumble
of signal drums.
A ballista shaft screamed up. It ripped a hole through his mount s wing.
Hey! he said, more surprised than frightened. That was too close.
They might not throw their magical shafts at his scattered men, but they
would target him if they realized that he controlled their attackers. If he
perished, the dead army would collapse. There might be nothing left when the
stone beast reanimated.
He wished he controlled the flyers. Now would be a good time to commit them.
Bring them swooping in, blasting away, and scrub the Tervola before they could
defend themselves.
He thought at his snipers, telling them to take higher ground and concentrate
on enemy commanders. They were no longer needed to cover the assault itself.
He was losing men, but it looked good. Already several hundred of the enemy
were out. The defense had begun to fray. Several strong points had yielded.
His own fallen were rising again.
They were worth ten live soldiers. They could rise and rise
again . . . Omnipotence engulfed him. For a moment he knew how it felt to be a
god.
He felt for the enemy dead, tried to raise them, to confuse the legionnaires
by making them fight among themselves. He found nothing. Dead men, yes, but
none ready for his command. They were passing through the transfers before
they cooled.
Just for an instant he had forgotten that he battled the Dread Empire. There
was no confusion on their side of the line. They would not lose sight of their
mission. They would not panic. They were, as always, the best. He might end up
taking but a single body into his own force, that of the last man guarding the
last portal while the last corpse went through.
Page 87
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Ethrian reached into the Seventeenth s fortress, trying to find dead men
there. He sensed bodies, but none he could touch. He would have to put his own
warriors inside first. The enemy were too much in control right now.
He was not disappointed. His strategy was working. The pass would be his. He
laughed. Most of his soldiers had gone down at least once, but few had been
badly mauled. They rose again and again.
His laughter rang across the night. Sahmanan heard it. She called back, her
voice merry with imminent victory. The Tervola heard it as well. They
responded defiantly. The Seventeenth s battle drums roared.
The drums. Those infernal drums. He had heard his father tell of their
endless, terrifying rumble, but never had heard them before. Chills crept down
his spine. Fear hit him. He began to doubt.
Those were the drums of the Dread Empire, drums of promise, drums which
proclaimed, We of the Seventeenth do not stand alone. We of the Seventeenth
know no fear. A hundred legions will rally behind us. Come find your doom,
enemy of the empire.
Though his blood ran hot with the joy of victory, Ethrian could not help but
hear the drums.
He was winning. The mountains would be his. He would travel on and meet
Shinsan again, round the fortress beyond desolation s edge . . .
There were other legions and other armies. A hundred legions might be an
exaggeration, but, for certain, this victory would be a small one. A minor
incident on the road. The great battles were yet to come.
He had heard his uncle Valther describe the battles in Escalon, when Mist and
O Shing had taken war to that once mighty kingdom. Compared to those this was
a skirmish. For battles of that epic stature he would need all the might of
his stone godling, and more.
The moon was a sickle that night, and rose just an hour before dawn. Its wan [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
spearmen reached the earthworks. Snipers kept hurling darts into the fray.
Ethrian brought up ten thousand swordsmen, also in scattered array, and
behind them wave after wave from the horde in waiting.
Or half-horde. The stone beast had squandered sixty thousand before
relinquishing control.
Page 86
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Ethrian found it hard to believe that all those bodies were moving simply
because he willed it. He had only to imagine a movement, and the men he wanted
making it, and it happened. A hundred men to storm a knoll where an arrow
engine was taking his main thrust in enfilade? There they were, scrambling
uphill, falling, lying still for ten or fifteen minutes, then rising to charge
again. It was like daydreaming with the daydreams coming true.
He had the Seventeenth completely engaged. Sahmanan kept the Tervola
occupied. Only a few demons roamed the contested slopes, and they had little
effect.
He had thought-space left for other maneuvers. Ten thousand tireless soldiers
marched southward, to pass round the legion, form smaller units, and head
west. When they left the desert they would begin recruiting. Perfection,
Ethrian thought. Sheer perfection.
He banked his mount and dropped lower, passing above the battle at a hundred
feet. Spooky, he thought aloud.
The battle was so quiet! Machines might have been fighting down there. He
heard only the movement of feet and the clang of weapons. The dead had nothing
to say. The soldiers of Shinsan were schooled to fight in silence. Few would
cry out even when mortally wounded. Their sole voluntary sound was the rumble
of signal drums.
A ballista shaft screamed up. It ripped a hole through his mount s wing.
Hey! he said, more surprised than frightened. That was too close.
They might not throw their magical shafts at his scattered men, but they
would target him if they realized that he controlled their attackers. If he
perished, the dead army would collapse. There might be nothing left when the
stone beast reanimated.
He wished he controlled the flyers. Now would be a good time to commit them.
Bring them swooping in, blasting away, and scrub the Tervola before they could
defend themselves.
He thought at his snipers, telling them to take higher ground and concentrate
on enemy commanders. They were no longer needed to cover the assault itself.
He was losing men, but it looked good. Already several hundred of the enemy
were out. The defense had begun to fray. Several strong points had yielded.
His own fallen were rising again.
They were worth ten live soldiers. They could rise and rise
again . . . Omnipotence engulfed him. For a moment he knew how it felt to be a
god.
He felt for the enemy dead, tried to raise them, to confuse the legionnaires
by making them fight among themselves. He found nothing. Dead men, yes, but
none ready for his command. They were passing through the transfers before
they cooled.
Just for an instant he had forgotten that he battled the Dread Empire. There
was no confusion on their side of the line. They would not lose sight of their
mission. They would not panic. They were, as always, the best. He might end up
taking but a single body into his own force, that of the last man guarding the
last portal while the last corpse went through.
Page 87
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Ethrian reached into the Seventeenth s fortress, trying to find dead men
there. He sensed bodies, but none he could touch. He would have to put his own
warriors inside first. The enemy were too much in control right now.
He was not disappointed. His strategy was working. The pass would be his. He
laughed. Most of his soldiers had gone down at least once, but few had been
badly mauled. They rose again and again.
His laughter rang across the night. Sahmanan heard it. She called back, her
voice merry with imminent victory. The Tervola heard it as well. They
responded defiantly. The Seventeenth s battle drums roared.
The drums. Those infernal drums. He had heard his father tell of their
endless, terrifying rumble, but never had heard them before. Chills crept down
his spine. Fear hit him. He began to doubt.
Those were the drums of the Dread Empire, drums of promise, drums which
proclaimed, We of the Seventeenth do not stand alone. We of the Seventeenth
know no fear. A hundred legions will rally behind us. Come find your doom,
enemy of the empire.
Though his blood ran hot with the joy of victory, Ethrian could not help but
hear the drums.
He was winning. The mountains would be his. He would travel on and meet
Shinsan again, round the fortress beyond desolation s edge . . .
There were other legions and other armies. A hundred legions might be an
exaggeration, but, for certain, this victory would be a small one. A minor
incident on the road. The great battles were yet to come.
He had heard his uncle Valther describe the battles in Escalon, when Mist and
O Shing had taken war to that once mighty kingdom. Compared to those this was
a skirmish. For battles of that epic stature he would need all the might of
his stone godling, and more.
The moon was a sickle that night, and rose just an hour before dawn. Its wan [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]