Chains of a Dark Goddess

Chapter 3

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*Seven Years Ago*

Breskaro rode at the head of the Valiants, Issaly’s most celebrated century of lancers. Their bright pennons snapped in a vigorous sea breeze. The sun glinted against their silvered helms. Beneath them, warhorses stamped and snorted. They were spearheading the long march of Seshalla’s Third Crusade against the savages of Brekka who worshiped Zhura Dark Moon and other heathen gods. 

Breskaro should have been breathing in the fine autumn air and preparing himself for the glorious battle ahead. Instead he glared broodingly at the men around him — Colonel Dero Fortrenzi, General Magnos Togisi, and Captain Vin Amrasi — all close friends. He knew them well enough to know that something was wrong. 

Colonel Fortrenzi had been Breskaro’s mentor when he was a squire, and while Fortrenzi was still lean and fit, his hair had long since gone gray. Fortrenzi commanded the Breakers, three centuries of horsemen that followed behind the Valiants. Though their current position was relatively safe, Fortrenzi seemed unsettled and anxious, as if expecting to be ambushed.

“You are brooding today, Breskaro,” said Fortrenzi. “Do you think poorly of our chances? Or has your mind wandered elsewhere?”

“I was thinking of home. Orisala was unwell when I left. And I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life in this saddle.” He glanced with concern at his war-weary mentor. It was an open secret that this would be Fourteen’s last campaign. “As for our chances, the Goddess is ever with us. She will see us through.”

“We smite with love, in Her name,” General Togisi stated. All nodded their agreement. “The enemy ahead is nothing but ill-equipped rabble. Men we can break easily.”

Magnos was the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army. He and Breskaro had served together as squires and fought their way up from the lowest ranks, winning acclaim throughout the Issalian Empire. Each owed the other his life a dozen times over and had, in their youth, been best friends. But as Magnos climbed to greater ranks and responsibility, Breskaro set off on quests for holy relics and won wide acclaim as a hero. Over the years they had grown apart, but recently that distance had increased. 

“Our infantry’s exhausted from the fight in the gorge,” Breskaro advised. “We should stop and rest for a few days.”

General Togisi stroked his long mustache. “The Matriarch wants us to conquer Spente before the first of Winter.”

“We have time enough for that,” Breskaro said.

“I fear that in the coming weeks we will encounter more than we initially anticipated.”

“Have I missed a scouting report?” Breskaro asked, looking at his second-in-command. Captain Amrasi shrugged.

“Just a feeling,” Togisi replied. “Regardless, I’d like to get there before the heathens in Spente can mass in greater numbers. The rabble ahead of us now pose little threat. We risk more if we let their spirits rise and their numbers swell, both here and in Spente.”

“What would you have us do, General?” Colonel Fortrenzi asked.

“Archers and cavalry. The infantry shall provide our reserve. The Valiants and the Breakers shall strike head on. Split their lines, crush their command. Without their leaders, their army will flee the field. As soon as you engage, I will attack their weakest flank with the Imperial First.”

Colonel Fortrenzi fidgeted. Breskaro chewed on his bottom lip. He started to say something, but stopped. 

“The Valiants shall do their best,” he said with a sigh the others seemed not to notice. “If need be, we could win the day on our own.”