As the first of the Manslayers met the Giants, the Feathered Serpent rose from Vireon’s shoulders and flew into the ranks of gliding sorcerers. Now Vireon blew two more blasts on his war horn, and the Legions of Uurz and Udurum footmen poured down the sides of the valley, twin floods of purple and black, green and gold, to meet the swirling silver of the Manslayers.
Dahrima waded among the Zyungians, turning the wicked blades of their spears with her shield, slicing them neck to groin with her axe, stomping on the corpses of dead men, hewing down one challenger after another.
Now a new kind of rain fell in the valley, a rain of blood spraying from the burst flesh of men as they died. The Giants waded through a sea of rushing Manslayers. They could not kill all of the invaders; the foes’ numbers were too great, and they would not stop flooding into the valley.
Dahrima saw the first Udvorg fall, his eye and brain pierced by a Manslayer’s flashing blade. She hacked her way toward the Giantslayer, but he was lost in the mêlée before she could avenge the blue-skin. She killed five other men trying to reach him. Their blades were uncommonly wrought, made with curling and jagged designs, and at times they hooked and scored her flesh, though none managed to deliver a serious blow. She killed and killed again. Their armor split like the shells of insects beneath her sweeping axe.
The legions of Men blended with the legions of Manslayers, and Dahrima saw Vireon crushing Zyungians by the dozen beneath his colossal feet. Yet his eyes were upon the sorcerers floating and swarming above the battle. Khama was a raging ball of fire, chasing the wizards here and there across the valley. He caught one in his coils and Dahrima heard the wizard’s globe of light shatter like glass above the noise of battle. The Zyungian’s flesh burned away and his bones fell to ash as Khama darted toward the next one. The silver-robes cast burning light at him, but the Feathered Serpent brushed away their power like it was nothing. He belched lightning bolts that shivered and cracked their protective globes.
Vireon grew larger still, towering above the valley. He plucked sorcerers from the sky with his bare hands and squeezed their glimmering globes in his fists until they shattered. The men inside died screaming as he crushed their bones and hurled their remains at the dreadnoughts. Those who avoided his grasp cast bolts of light at him like burning spears. Vireon ignored them as he yanked another sorcerer out of the sky.
The thunder of horses’ hooves joined the clanging of sword and shield. The cavalry legions led by Tyro crashed into the spreading ranks of Manslayers, none of whom had the advantage of horse power. Did they even ride horses on the other side of the world? No, they rode flying lizards. Yet they had not brought enough of those winged terrors.
The valley became a sea of blood and metal and swirling death. The archers along the ridges fired the last of their arrows, then drew their longblades and rushed down to join the mêlée. Still the Manslayers poured ashore from their golden ships. The Men of the Five Cities were outnumbered thirty to one, not counting the legion of sorcerers. Yet the defenders had known this would be the case.
Dahrima fought on, pulling a lance from her shoulder after killing the man who put it there. Every now and then a Giant fell, but it often took several Manslayers to kill even one of them. In such cases the enraged Udvorg fell upon the slayers and tore them to bits. Yet there were always more Manslayers rushing forward to take their place.
She could not see how well the Men of the Five Cities were faring against the Men of Zyung. She could see nothing anymore but a red haze of muscles, entrails, and mangled armor. Broken shields and rolling heads. Severed limbs and howling wounded. Cracked skulls and crushed ribcages. The red rain continued to fall beneath the relentless sun.
There was only killing and more killing to be done.
Dahrima howled in the deluge of steaming crimson.
“For Vireon!”
Tyro was the spearhead at the front of the cavalry wedge that pierced the ranks of Manslayers. The momentum of the charge trampled hundreds of invaders beneath a wall of mailed horseflesh. Skulls and corselets were punctured and crushed by iron-shod hooves. Tyro’s lance punctured a scaled Zyungian breastplate and caught fast in the dying man’s ribs. He cast the broken shaft aside and laid about him with broadsword and spiked shield.
Each of the Zyungian warriors stood head-and-shoulders taller than any man of Uurz. Whether they were drawn exclusively from a race of massive Men, or grown to mighty proportions by sorcery, Tyro neither knew nor cared. His rearing warhorse struck at them with its hooves while he clove their metal and flesh with his heavy blade.
Undutu drove his spear through the chests, necks, and faces of a dozen foes before turning to his longblade. D’zan had not bothered to carry a lance; his greatsword flashed down upon beaked helms and spiked shoulders, wreaking havoc on the flesh beneath. The Yaskathan’s horse was the first to go down, impaled by a trio of Zyungian spears. Yet D’zan fought more fiercely with two feet on the ground, his iron blade spinning in red arcs.