The green banner of Uurz fluttered above the three Kings’ heads, followed closely by the purple standard of Udurum. Behind them came the combined forces of the two nation’s cavalry. Two Legions of Uurzian horsemen totaled upwards of six thousand riders. Vireon’s horse legions were half that number, but his true strength lay in the Giants who were stationed at the ruined city itself. Still, the riders of Udurum meant that Tyro commanded a blended cavalry force of nearly ten thousand on this day. They moved in two columns along the bank of the Orra to position themselves behind the hills north of the ruins.
“What do you think of the Giant-King’s strategy?” Tyro asked Mendices. He spoke loud enough to be heard above the clattering of horses’ hooves and the clanging of spear, shield, and harness.
The Warlord turned his head, squinted eyes peering from the shadows of his greathelm. “It seems wise enough,” he said. “Let the Giants bear the brunt of the invasion.”
“Are you surprised that Vireon suggested it?”
Mendices shrugged in the saddle. “I am grateful,” he said. “Those behemoths are far harder to kill than Men. Let them face the onslaught of Zyung before we do. Let us hope they succeed in knocking a few hundred ships out of the sky.”
Back in the valley proper, the Udvorg, Uduri, and Uduru were gathered among the stones of the dead city. Nearly three thousand Giants would draw the God-King’s attention. The allied host could not ask for a better vanguard. It was now midday, and Khama’s magic had told the Kings that the airborne fleet would arrive soon. How much chaos the legion of Giants could inflict upon it remained to be seen. Yet the powers of both Vireon and Khama stood with the Giants. This gave Tyro some measure of confidence that Zyung’s invasion would be well met. Perhaps Vireon would grow tall as a mountain, as he had done in the Khyrein Marshes, and snatch the flying galleons from the air with his fists, cracking them like walnuts. Tyro shuddered as the vision entered his mind. What if Zyung and his legion of sorcerers could grow as large? Or even larger? Such sorcery boggled his mind; best leave the details of its working to sorcerers and the sons of sorcerers.
This brought Iardu and Sharadza to mind. Where were they? The Shaper had promised more sorcerers to stand against the invaders. He had told Vireon they would meet him here, but there was no sign of any reinforcements, sorcerous or otherwise. Sorcerers could never truly be trusted. Mendices certainly did not trust Vireon any longer, now that he had seen evidence of Vod’s power in the Giant-King. Yet it was this power that gave them a glimmer of hope against the overwhelming odds the Men of Uurz must face.
On either side of the ruins the valley ridges were lined with twenty thousand archers, more than half of them Uurzian. Behind the bowmen the bulk of the northern forces waited for their signal to rush the lowland. Fourteen combined legions armed with sword, spear, axe, and mace.
With cavalry stationed upriver, archers and infantry above the vale, and Giants straddling the ruined city, the armies of the north were ready for battle.
Tyro chose a wide, flat area of the river basin to assemble the ranks of horsemen and their captains. The Orra raced blue and silver across the grassy tableland, winding between a league’s worth of rocky hills before feeding the delta. This was once a place of fertile plantations whose produce fed Shar Dni and was traded across the Five Cities. Now it was untamed grassland again, save for rotted fences and the fallen timbers of corroded manor houses on the hillsides. How quickly the verdant earth had risen to erase all signs of agricultural development. Eight years of neglect and steady rains would do that to any land. Fear of the haunted ruins downriver kept even the most stubborn farmers from resettling here. There were no more Sharrians in this country, and likely never would be again. Their bloodlines had been absorbed into the populations of Udurum and Uurz.
When the signal came, the cavalry legions would thunder along the abandoned river road and join in the great slaying. Until then, Tyro must wait in the grave company of D’zan and Undutu. Their sorrow seemed as deep as his own, but he dared not speak of their common grief. They were three Kings wrapped in shrouds of pain and loss, ready to spit in the eye of death and take their place among the legends of the world.
Tyro closed his eyes and tried not to think of his dead wife and child.
You will see them again when you enter the valley of death.
Lyrilan’s dream-words echoed inside his skull. His horse whinnied, eager to run and break the tension of stillness. All about him men whispered assurance to their steeds, patting necks, securing lances, loosening blades in their scabbards.