You are getting impulsive in your old age, Mishani, she told herself wryly.
There was a cry from somewhere to their left, echoed by another voice closer by. The lookouts with their spyglasses had seen something on the horizon. A few moments passed, during which Mishani felt her blood slowly chill, before the Sister spoke.
'Our enemy has arrived,' she said.
Zahn exchanged glances with Yugi and the generals, a grim understanding in their eyes. Zahn was overall commander of this force, by consent of the council of high families. The generals mounted up and began to disperse to their positions. Yugi looked at Lucia, who did not acknowledge him, then he swung on to his horse, and pulled Nomoru up behind. Zahn put his hand on his daughter's shoulder, and her gaze shifted to him.
'We will do a great thing this night,' he murmured. 'Be strong. I will return to you; I promise you that.'
She nodded, her face set.
'Keep her safe,' he said to Mishani, and then he launched himself up onto his horse. He sidled the mount over to Yugi's, and the two of them clasped arms. Nomoru turned her scarred face to Lucia and Mishani and regarded them with an impenetrable stare, then both Zahn and Yugi spurred their horses and she was carried away, down the hill and towards the front.
Lucia and Mishani were left together on the hill with the Sister and a group of bodyguards. They watched and waited. Night was drawing in as the Aberrants came, pounding through the twilight in a filthy tide of teeth and claws. They swept across the downs like the shadow of an eclipse, at a speed just short of a headlong run. Even at such a pace, they were virtually tireless, and could travel all hours with very little rest. More than once the Weavers' ability to move armies so quickly had surprised the forces of the Empire.
There were no gristle-crows in the sky. Like Lucia's ravens, they were useless at night, for they could not see well without the sun. And so the Weavers had no warning of the army ranged across the south bank of the Ko until they were close enough for the front ranks to be able to see the artillery on the hills.
The guiding minds of the Weaver forces were safely protected amid the mass of expendable soldiers. Nexuses were scattered about, riding on Aberrant manxthwa. With them rode Weavers, to whom the Nexuses signed when they had information to pass on from their connection to the Aberrants. The Weavers then penetrated deep into their servants' minds, through conditioned channels that made it an easy process, and learned what the Nexuses knew. They conversed among themselves along the Weave and then gave their orders to the Nexuses, never knowing that they themselves were in turn enslaved by the will of the witchstones and of the moon-god Aricarat. Through such a chain of command were the Weavers' affairs conducted.
The passage of information throughout the Aberrant army from the moment that the forces of Empire were spotted took less than a minute. The reaction was immediate, and unexpected. The high families had predicted that the Aberrants would slow, to take stock of the situation. But they did not know that Avun was dead, and that Kakre was in command here. Kakre had a different way of doing things to Avun.
He sent his orders, and the Aberrants charged.
Thousands of animals bayed and roared as they were goaded into a berserk rage by their handlers. The colossal swell of noise washed over the downs and reached the soldiers of the Empire. They stood grimly along the riverbank, on the flanks of the surrounding hills or packed thick on the bridge. They would not dishonour themselves by showing fear, but they felt dread settle on their hearts as they saw the hills aswarm with an army that vastly outnumbered theirs. They thought of their families, of moments of joy and pleasure, of things left undone. Some of them felt regret at their mistakes and hoped that the gods would find them worthy when they came to the Golden Realm. Some of them regretted nothing, and waited coldly for the end. Some of them felt the fire in their veins and thirsted for combat. Some felt noble, proud to be part of this; some were angry at throwing away their lives when they could have run and seen another day, another month or year, and honour be hanged.
But none of them broke ranks, and none of them shed a tear, and none of them showed their weakness. Though some sweated and trembled, though some fought to keep down the contents of their stomachs, they held at the riverbank as the Aberrants raced towards them, each second bringing them closer and closer.
And closer.
The air was torn by the scream of a firework as it spat into the twilight, trailing dazzling white fire; then the artillery opened up.
The first salvo drew a billowing line of fire across the downs, and ripped the leading edge of the Aberrants apart. Broken bodies spewed into the air in clouds of dirt and flame, shrapnel tore away limbs and sliced through hide. Those that survived the concussion and the heat were knocked to the ground where they were crushed by the stampede. The entire front line collapsed and was driven into the earth by the predators behind, who ran on through the blazing slicks left by the fire-cannons. A second salvo followed the first, pitched shorter. Shellshot sprayed burning jelly, mortars maimed and blinded, and heavy trebuchets lobbed bags of explosives that clattered to the earth amid the horde and then erupted, sending flailing corpses in every direction. The Aberrants were a target that was impossible to miss, and each shell or bomb accounted for a dozen or more. Hundreds fell as a result of those initial salvos, but they were a drop in the ocean. And the tide kept on coming.
The artillery continued firing without cease as the Aberrants reached the Ko. No longer were they aiming at the leading edge of the horde; instead, they placed their strikes carelessly into the heaving mass, confident that it was impossible to miss. The deafening barrage faded into a background noise, a constant roar of slaughter; the ground became a bloody trench of body parts, the soil red and churned and scorched. But the soldiers of the Empire had a greater concern: the Aberrants were upon them now.
The creatures swarmed onto the Sakurika Bridge or ploughed into the river, not slowing for anything. The spiked barricade across the bridge's centre took care of the first few dozen Aberrants before it collapsed: they simply threw themselves onto it with nauseating force until it cracked beneath their weight. Their brethren swarmed over their impaled corpses.
The soldiers of the Empire were ranked across the bridge to meet them. Riflemen stood behind kneeling swordsmen, aiming over their shoulders. A volley of shots cut the first row of Aberrants down like wheat. Then the swords swung, and battle was joined.
The fury of close-quarters combat was terrible. The huge, shaggy ghauregs tore into the soldiers, flinging them off the bridge into the water, or else picking them up and biting off their heads. Skrendel wound along the parapets of the bridge to insinuate themselves in the ranks of the defenders, scratching and biting, blinding and strangling. Shrillings filled the air with their insidious ululations as they pounced and tore with their claws. Other creatures fought too, nightmare things of bony hide and jagged tooth, beasts that were too strange or uncommon to be recognised as a species.
The soldiers cut and sliced, but hand-to-hand the Aberrants had a great advantage. The shrillings' natural armour turned sword blades away; the ghauregs' tough skin and thick pelt made it hard to cut them deeply, and even then nothing short of a strike in a vital organ would take them down. Skrendel were too fast to hit easily, and the soldiers were crammed too tight on the bridge to make wild swings for fear of hitting each other. The Aberrants pressed forward as the soldiers fought and died. The bridge became greasy with gore and cluttered with bodies as the men of the Empire were pushed back.