Tyro knew the meaning of his brother’s words.
I will see them again when I die.
Was the dream an omen, some vision sent by the Gods of Earth and Sky? Gods rarely spoke so directly to Men. Perhaps it was simply his own sadness and guilt mocking him. If he had remained at Uurz instead of pursuing the war with Khyrei–a war that was abandoned for the one he now must fight–he might have protected Talondra from whatever it was that murdered her. It could have been only a dream born of grief.
Or was it something altogether different?
Tyro had lied and called his brother a sorcerer to discredit and humiliate him. Could Lyrilan actually be what he was accused of being? Could he have called upon some dread power to slaughter Talondra and send Tyro a warning of his coming death?
Lyrilan was a scholar, not a wizard. He was sitting right now in some comfortable Yaskathan library, probably drunk and over-pleasured by southern whores.
Damn these thoughts…
Tyro shook between visions of Talondra and visions of Lyrilan, both lost to him.
There was nothing to do but await the smoke and thunder of battle, and the signal that would send his legions riding to red glory. He only wished his head would clear and leave him free to focus on the ordeal to come.
Undutu and D’zan sat quiet on their mounts beside him. Mendices rode about the ranks, correcting formations and giving courage to the men. Tyro should be doing this as well. Yet his dark thoughts kept him where he was, watching the riverwater splash over rocks in swirls and eddies as it ran toward the sea, where it would be lost forever, subsumed by the great expanse of the Golden Sea.
There was nothing to do but wait.
High cliffs to the east and west enclosed the great bay beyond the delta. This made the bay and its crescent coastline the most likely place for the sky-ships to dock. So the Feathered Serpent had told the Giants, gliding in gentle circles above their heads.
“The ships and their crews have endured a long journey,” said Khama. “They will be nearing the end of their power and ready to descend. I do not think they are built for resting upon land. They will crowd the bay and the waters outside it, then pour forth their legions to take the valley. We must not strike until Vireon gives the command. Then our battle begins according to the plan of your King. Strike fast and hard, break as many of the vessels as you can. When the Manslayers and the silver sorcerers venture among us with blade and spell, they will see our true ferocity. Remember that you are the vanguard. Others will come to your aid, once you have prepared the way for them. Look to the Giant-King for wisdom and courage!”
The blue-skinned Udvorg stood about the ruins with swords, axes, maces, and spears at the ready. At their very center, a core of pale flesh and blackened bronze, stood the sixty-odd Uduru and the twenty-eight Uduri. Ahead of them all, gazing across their ranks with his glittering black eyes, stood Vireon Vodson. A Giant among Giants, his head rose higher than anyone else. Along the ridges to left and right, thousands of human bowmen crouched, awaiting targets. Beyond them, out of sight of the Giants, the footmen of the north were assembled for charging. Only the sound of Vireon’s horn would bring them pouring into the valley, along with the horsemen beyond the hills.
Dahrima stood among the Uduri, neither greater nor lesser than any of her spearsisters, and admired the proud face of Vireon. He might have been an icon chiseled from stone, sheathed in dark bronze, a cloak purple as the sea flapping about his mighty arms. The hilt of his greatsword gleamed above his shoulder, and the crown of black iron shone on his brow.
“We fight for both Men and Giants this day,” said Vireon. “For the Land of the Five Cities. For the Frozen North and the sun-kissed Southlands. For the wild High Realms and the thundering Stormlands. We fight first today because we are greater than Men, who are brothers to us. My father opened the gates of Udurum to Men because he saw the greatness of their kind. In his wisdom, he believed a better world would arise from the alliance of our races. This is that world, swordbrothers and spearsisters. We come here to defend it. Udurum and Uurz and the Icelands stand together on this day. Our children and our children’s children will speak of this day a thousand years from now. They will say ‘Giants and Men stood together and cast down the Hordes of Zyung!’ Let us make them proud, People of Hreeg. These lands belong to us. Let us show Zyung what that means!”
The cheers of the Giants rattled the valley, and Dahrima smiled at her King. He could not see her, not this far back in the ranks. She had taken this position intentionally, for she would not face him until his judgment was made. She would slay and die for him, but she would not endure his scolding or his scorn. That would pierce her more surely than any spear or blade. She would regain Vireon’s favor only by destroying his enemies. Then he would love her, as she—