The Shadowbearer (An Aegis of the Gods Book)

Chapter 17

A relentless march past the Sands of the Abandoned then through the Everlast Mountains into Everland brought Stefan’s forces to this rock–strewn pass. With Harnan territory due east of the Sands, this was the only route left to them. As usual, he’d made sure his soldiers feasted the night before. Men should not battle on an empty stomach. They needed their full vigor when they went to greet their gods. To either side, rock faces and slopes rose to sheer heights. His cape billowing behind him, Stefan surveyed the Erastonian army. Through a wavy haze of heat, black armor glinting, they spread below in an unmoving mass half the number of his forty thousand Unvanquished.

Stefan wiped sweat from his brow then raised the looking glass to his eye. The men of the Erastonian vanguard wore dark, shiny leather armor and bore short dual swords, one on each hip. Behind them stood infantry in black plate mail, either with two–handed great swords or tasseled polearms. Inside each helm, he made out faces so pasty white they gave the impression his men faced walking corpses.

Battle standards flapped above the Erastonian army, displaying a gray fist enclosed around a black lightning bolt—the Searing Fist. Against the backdrop of the valley and the mountains behind the enemy, a storm boiled. Lightning flickered among the gray clouds like some daemon’s eye opening and closing quickly. With each flash in the puffed quilt, thunder rumbled. At a slow roll, Erastonian drums joined the bellows. Their trumpeters blared in unison. From over two thousand feet away, the enemy ranks rippled as they began their charge.

What do they hope to accomplish? They have no archers or cavalry, and we have the advantage of higher ground. This is going to be a slaughter. Still, something about the way they charged gave Stefan pause. He frowned, took the looking glass from his eye, and wiped away sweat once again. The Erastonian infantry appeared closer than they should be for men who ran. He scanned the field through the bronze tube. The Erastonians had covered over half the distance in moments. In Ilumni’s name, how is that possible?

“Tell the men to fire the scorpios,” Stefan yelled, hand clenched around the looking glass.

Both Kasimir and Garrick started at the order, but they passed it on. Trumpets along the Setian lines blew.

The Cardian slaves cranked the drays into position. Operators turned the loading mechanisms on the scorpios.

By the time Stefan brought the tube to his eye once more, the charging Erastonians were within five hundred feet. In a black avalanche, they swept down the pass, the rumble from twenty thousand boots shaking the ground. The absence of a single battle cry among them was more than disconcerting; it made Stefan’s heart hammer. Good gods, they’re fast. Too fast.

“Fire,” Stefan shouted as he fought down the dread that threatened to become panic. “FIRE—Gods damn it—FIRE!”

Three thousand scorpios loosed their projectiles. The din of oncoming boots washed out the twang of the weapons’ release. Through the looking glass, a nervous tingle rippling within him, Stefan followed the bolts’ flight. Zipping sideways like rain showers whipped by the strong winds, the steel–tipped projectiles flew true.

Within a foot of striking their targets, the bolts rebounded as if they struck some unseen wall. They fell to the ground. Not one struck their intended targets.

Stefan gasped. Next to him, similar exclamations issued from Garrick and Kasimir. Shocked and awed murmurs rippled down the cavalry ranks to either side of them.

The scorpios reloaded and fired. Again, no effect.

The operators cranked the gears frantically now. Bolts flew and struck the same invisible wall.

A Forged shield, it had to be.

“Signal the pikemen to be ready.” Even as he yelled the order, Stefan knew it was too late. He’d been too stunned by the infantry’s speed and the failure of the scorpios. The Erastonians would slam into his men before they arranged their formation. “Cavalry, charge!” he cried.