Seven Sorcerers(13)
The head of the second Serpent, which moved alongside the first, was Tyro, Emperor of Uurz, also called the Sword King. He rode a trotting black charger that kept him beside the marching Giant-King. Tyro’s crown was a masterwork of gold and emeralds, his gilded breastplate bearing the sun-sigil of Uurz. On his banner a similar sun cast yellow rays across a field of green, and not even the pelting storms could dim the brightness of that standard. Tyro’s broadsword hung between his broad shoulders, and his cloak was a perfect replica of his royal banner.
Nineteen legions of Uurzian soldiers marched behind the Sword King. The foremost and rearmost legions were comprised of cavalrymen similar to the Men of Udurum in all but colors. Whereas Vireon’s train was black and purple, Tyro’s was green and gold. Tyro commanded more than twice the number of archers, horsemen, swordsmen, and lancers as the Giant-King. Nearly sixty thousand warriors had followed Tyro from the City of Sacred Waters; yet the Sword King had none of the Giantkind in his service. Each one of Vireon’s Giants, or Giantesses, was worth two companies of human soldiers, if not more. Therefore, Vireon’s forces were accounted greater and far deadlier than Tyro’s, despite the discrepancy in raw numbers.
Dahrima marched in silence, gazing often across the storm-wracked sea on her right, or into the tangled forest of the High Realms on her left. Now and then she wandered close to the edge of the sea cliff and felt the absurd urge to leap from it into the turbulent waters. Already she was drenched, as was every Man and Giant marching northward; the rain had found its way beneath her bronze cuirass and settled into the fibers of her cloak and tunic. It would have settled into her skin and softened it as well if she were not an Uduri with skin hard as stone.
She felt pity for the Men of the legions when she looked upon their miserable faces. They did not have the hearty constitution of Giants and could not ignore the damp, the chill, and the discomfort of such weather. The blue-skinned Udvorg were used to bitter ice and terrible cold; for them these southern storms were hardly noticeable. Each evening at the setting of camp, and all through the sodden nights that followed, Men gathered about their tent-fires, shivering and huddling together for warmth like hairless wolf-pups. Meanwhile, the Udvorg and Uduru gathered around barrels of cold Khyrein ale, laughing at the thunder and the sea winds that swept the coastline.
As for the Uduri, the Giantesses gathered about Dahrima as if she were their captain, although no such rank existed among them. They were pledged to serve Vireon and the City of Men and Giants. They had given their males the blessing of absolution years ago, urging them to go north to the Icelands and mate with the blue-skins’ fertile women in order to save the dwindling Uduru race. The Uduri had remained in Uduria and taken a vow of service to the King, although a handful of them had wandered into the wilderness and disappeared instead.
They were barren women, yet potent warriors. The Ninety-Nine Uduri found satisfaction not in the roles of mothers and wives, but as elite guardians of Vireon’s house. When Vireon had led his forces south to make war on Ianthe the Claw, forty Uduri had remained to watch the walls of Udurum. Twenty-nine had recently met honorable deaths, either while protecting the King and his family before the southward march, or while battling the Swamp God west of Khyrei. Ninety Uduru had died in that battle, along with four hundred Udvorg and their King Angrid. Vireon now ruled over all Giants, both pale- and blue-skinned. The leviathan of the marshland had also claimed the lives of many brave Men. Dahrima had gained a new respect for the warriors of Uurz and Udurum after seeing their valor in the grip of such a colossal horror.
On the evening of the third day’s march the signal came back through the line. The two armies would halt here for the night, perched between raging sea and highland forest. The Uduri gathered around Dahrima, as they had done on the two previous nights. She led them toward the cliff’s edge where the mud was less deep and the ground was mainly crags of mottled stone. She leaned her great axe and longspear against an outcropping of granite and sat down with her back against the rock. Her spearsisters did likewise. The moon was lost behind stormclouds and the rain poured as steadily as ever. She heard the crashing of waves against the strand far below the precipice. She studied the tangle of black-barked trees standing a half-league inland, wondering what mysteries lay in their green shadows.
The Men passed tents, bedrolls, and provisions forward along the lines and their camp slowly took shape. The first cookfires were kindled beneath canvas tarps. Giants did not bother with such formalities. When they did erect tents, they simply picked the nearest spot of level ground and made it their home for the night. Some of the Udvorg wandered toward the forest to hunt nocturnal game, while others cracked open ale barrels or wrestled for the amusement of their fellows.