Elsa’s transference magic was far more powerful than he had ever imagined. Too late, Ava and Ruva had realized that the defenders were marking boundary runes to unleash terrible magic. Too late, Utros had seen the individual strike forces encompass part of the valley around his army. Too late, he had watched the gifted Elsa lay down the anchor rune at the center of camp and trigger her devastating spell. The twins had barely shielded him in time.
His thousands of soldiers hadn’t had a chance.
Even with the breathtaking losses, though, his army was still more than a hundred thousand strong. His warriors were incensed, ready for blood, hungry to conquer the land from horizon to horizon, and he would lead them to victory. That was what he had vowed to Emperor Kurgan, even if his emperor was long dead.
In the late afternoon of a troublesome day, Utros adjusted the golden mask that covered half of his face. His helmet bore the horns of an enormous bull, an Ildakaran monster that he himself had killed. He stood outside the pavilion his soldiers had erected, a replacement for his burned-down command headquarters. The fabric was a patchwork of salvaged pieces, and the wooden posts were roughly hewn from charred trees, but General Utros did not require the ostentatious trappings Iron Fang would have demanded. The tent provided shelter and shade, which was what he needed.
Standing out in the open, he smelled ashes in the wind. Ava and Ruva stood close, stroking his heavily muscled arms, the copper wristbands. “We are ready to receive the Norukai king, beloved Utros,” said Ava.
“And we are ready to conquer the world,” replied her twin sister.
The identical sorceresses were beautiful in their blue gowns. They had shaved and scraped every trace of hair from their bodies, then painted their skin with swooping curves and angular designs that invoked arcane powers. Instead of their usual multicolored pigments, Ava and Ruva now marked themselves with black soot and dried blood, which was more powerful than paint.
“We will impress our new allies with the strength of our army,” Ava said, “but our hospitality is sorely lacking.”
Her sister added, “We cannot offer King Grieve a feast.”
Utros clenched his jaw, knowing their situation was far more serious than that. Once Ildakar had disappeared in front of them, his army no longer had hope of raiding the city for food and matériel. He had counted on that for their very survival.
He looked toward where the plain abruptly dropped down to the Killraven River and the extensive morass of swamps below. “King Grieve will bring provisions from his raiding fleet. It will be enough for now.” Utros did not manage to convince himself. “Keeper and spirits,” he whispered under his breath.
From the river drop-off he watched a party of the Norukai raiders trudging forward as if they meant to conquer the valley. He knew this was only a small delegation from the serpent ships on the river. The big raiders were hideously scarred, clad in vests of sharkskin leather or reptilian hides. Even from a distance he recognized King Grieve and his prancing albino shaman, the gangly scarred man known as Chalk.
Behind them came a group carrying crates, barrels, and sacks—enough supplies to feed a small army. Unfortunately, Utros had a large army, and now that the stone spell had entirely worn off, they were a hungry army.
Just after Ildakar vanished beneath the shroud, the lingering remnants of the stone spell had suddenly and inexplicably faded from his troops, and they became entirely human again, flesh, blood, and bone. At first, the army had rejoiced at being able to feel again, but Utros quickly realized that their restored humanity also brought them vulnerabilities. When they were still half petrified, the numerous regiments had experienced no hunger or thirst; now, though, they all felt the needs of the flesh. He had a hundred thousand mouths to feed, out here in the middle of a vast valley with no city to raid and no supply train.
First Commander Enoch arrived at the command pavilion, grim-faced with his report. Utros wanted his majordomo to join the discussions regarding their new alliance. The veteran pressed a fist against his heart and then looked at the supplies carried by the Norukai. With only a glance, he made his assessment. “That stockpile will be enough to feed the officers down to the squad commanders. We can ration carefully.”
“It won’t be enough for all of us,” Utros said, keeping his voice low.
King Grieve, Chalk, and six more raider captains approached the pavilion, trudging across the burned grass. Facing the general, Grieve clacked his jaws together. His cheeks were slashed all the way back to the hinge of the jaw and sewn up again. Tattoos covered his face, symbolic scales of his serpent god. The king’s chest was enormously broad, as if he had an extra set of lungs so he could dive deep and wrestle sharks. Implanted bone spurs protruded from his shoulders. Instead of a belt, an iron chain encircled his waist.
“We brought food, as you requested. Let us have a celebration feast!” Grieve gestured to the downtrodden slaves who served as beasts of burden. The slaves piled the supply crates, sacks, and barrels outside the pavilion, near large cook fires that had already been lit.
“My hunters also provided three deer they killed in the hills,” Utros offered. “We will roast them as part of the meal.”
“You can have all the fish,” Grieve grumbled. “I am sick of fish. I’ll take the venison.”
“Fish, fish!” Chalk capered about. “Suck the bones and chew the heads. I like how the eyeballs pop.” He bent his elbows at odd angles as he hopped from one foot to the other. “My Grieve, King Grieve! They’ll all grieve!” He wore only a loincloth of sewn-together fish skins, leaving his skin bare, as if he wanted to show off the bite marks that covered his body, thousands of pocked holes from tiny fanged mouths. His mangled lip made his grin horribly twisted.
Ava and Ruva regarded the shaman with displeasure. In unison they lifted their chins, haughty and beautiful, as if to emphasize the inferiority of Grieve’s companion.
“Today is more than just a celebration feast.” Utros tried to sound diplomatic as he led the Norukai party under the stretched fabric of the pavilion. He used his best skills of diplomacy, because he needed this large fighting force and their ships. “We must plan our war, together. My army needs to move, since we have many mouths to feed.” He gestured out to where the soldiers had set up rough tents and bedding in the blackened valley. “Our numbers may be unwieldy, but we are invincible. My army will conquer any lands we encounter.”
Grieve chuffed out a loud laugh. “You mean, any lands the Norukai leave for you!”
Utros spoke firmly. “The Old World is ours.”
“Yes, ours. Mine and yours.”
Utros remained firm, businesslike. “Together, we have to contemplate strategy. We can’t simply rampage across the continent. We must conquer and use it.”
The Norukai king was impatient. “As you wish, but we can break the continent just a little. I need the exercise.”
Ava and Ruva watched Grieve and his albino with intent gazes. The Norukai king openly leered at the two women, but they did not respond. Utros knew the twins didn’t need protection. The sorceresses could kill anyone who bothered them.
As the deer carcasses roasted over the fire and the fish cooked on smaller spits, First Commander Enoch oversaw the distribution of Norukai supplies among the army, stretching the food as far as possible.
Later, while he gnawed on bloody meat from a joint, King Grieve frowned at the emptying crates. “That is the rest of our supplies from our ships.” He did not sound upset. Rather, his voice had an insulting undertone. “You worry too much about food.”