"I better win," he muttered.
II
Orlassai-Erlaan stormed back into the camp, bellowing for the army to assemble. While the warriors gathered in their tribal groups, the war engines were lifted from their positions and the behemodons roused. Eriekh emerged from somewhere, dodging between the assembling fighter bands.
"We attack?" said the priest. "Your conversation with the usurper went so well?"
"Not well at all," Orlassai-Erlaan growled. "He has something planned, wanted us to fight in an hour's time. I suspect he has reinforcements arriving. We must crush his army before they arrive."
"Why leave the defences of the camp?"
"You call these defences?" Orlassai-Erlaan snarled, waving a hand at the ditches and earth ramparts. "They will not protect us. We are losing, Eriekh. Unless you have received some word from Asirkhyr that he has brought my second army from the desert, we do not have the luxury of waiting."
"We have yet to fight a battle, and you concede defeat?"
"Ullsaard has trapped us here, leaving a trail of unburnt fields and intact towns like a line of seed to capture a bird." The king-messiah smashed a fist into the side of his helm in self-remonstration. "And I walked blindly into his snare! While we remain here, more legions will descend upon us. We must break through Ullsaard's army and into Okhar, and send word to Asirkhyr to bring fresh troops to us."
"What is your plan, mighty Orlassai?" a voice asked from behind. He turned to see the group of shamans, eyes averted from him.
"All-out attack," replied the king. "Extend the army past the right flank of the Askhans and envelop them. Use the behemodons to engage their left flank and stop them reinforcing. When we have encircled the end of their line, redirect the beasts against the centre and scatter all opposition."
"As you command, lord of the skies, watchful guardian of the deserts," said the shaman, bowing low and backing away. The group held a brief conference and then hurried off in different directions, calling out for others.
"And where will you fight?" asked Eriekh. "What if they withdraw to their camps?"
"I am going to kill Ullsaard," said Orlassai-Erlaan. "His death will not win the battle, but it will certainly shorten the war. He has brought us here for a reason; he cannot simply let us walk away this time. He needs to win this battle as much as we do."
The first tribes were already pouring from the camp, spreading out along the road towards the Askhan army. The ground trembled as behemodons lumbered forward between the clusters of warriors, the crews in the howdahs shouting and laughing down at those forced to walk.
"And have you anything to add to our strength?" the king demanded of Eriekh.
"I am not a master of the sword," the priest replied. "Our powers are subtle, and I possess no particular skill for battle. Remember the other gifts we have bestowed upon you, not just that fine body. Lead your army, let them hear your voice, let them see the slaughter you wreak. I shall do my part to aid you, do not fear for that."
"I heard rumour that when Ullsaard sought the Crown, Lakhyri visited upon him nightmares, and inflicted pestilence, snow and grief upon his legions," said the Mekhani king. "Can you not use such sorcery now?"
"Such things take time to prepare and to work their way into the hearts and bodies of men," said Eriekh. "You think that if we could conjure up storms in an instant, raze the ground in fire with a word, we would have kept ourselves secret for these thousands of years? These things, the eulanui could do, but we are only their servants. Be thankful for the powers you have already been given."
Orlassai-Erlaan grunted his disappointment and turned away. He joined the flood of warriors pouring out onto the grassland, taking up his position at the front and centre of the army. Harsh horns blared and the Mekhani shouted boasts and threats as their numbers swelled.
The king-messiah studied the Askhan formations. They did not move in response to the assembling Mekhani horde. Two legions formed the centre, arranged narrow and deep, the long spears of the phalanxes like a forest. On their left, the spear blocks were dispersed and Orlassai-Erlaan's keen eyes spied lava throwers between the legionnaires; to any other they would have been hidden from view. On the Askhans' right, the phalanxes fell back in echelon, each a few paces further back so that the line appeared to curve away from their foes.
From this, the king tried to discern Ullsaard's plan and work out if his own would succeed. On the face of it, the Askhan deployment favoured Orlassai-Erlaan's approach. The right would commit to attack, allowing the Mekhani numbers to spill out further and surround the phalanx. The left looked set to defend with the lava throwers, while the centre was poised to respond to either direction.
Checking his own troops, the king saw that they were almost ready. He glanced at the sun, judging the time to be close to noon. The king-messiah was confident his scouts would have spied any reinforcements within ten miles. That gave him at least two hours grace, probably more. Ullsaard had thought himself clever to set the timetable, but Orlassai-Erlaan was wise to his tricks now. He would decide when they would fight.
He waved to the chieftains of the lacertils and the lizard-riders set out, fanning across the grass in front of the Mekhani. As expected, the Askhan kolubrids issued forth from between the phalanxes to combat the approaching skirmishers. The lacertils closed fast, braving the clouds of bellows-arrows to bring their slings into range. With little room to withdraw and keep their distance, the kolubrid riders suffered in the exchange; their bellows bows hit hard but could not match the weight of missiles unleashed by the slings of the Mekhani cavalry.
Another lesson learned from the first encounter.
As the kolubrids fell back, the lacertils did not follow directly, but moved sideways, trying to force the Askhans back towards their own centre where they would impede any advance from the phalanx.
Orlassai-Erlaan drew his sword and raised it above his head.
"Attack now, my brave followers!" he roared. "End now the days of deprivation that have been heaped upon us. Take back your pride with your spears. Let your weapons feast on the enemy as we will gorge on their food and women!"
The king looked on proudly as the army advanced. No mad dash, no hoarse shrieking; just a steady push with shields held to the front and spears shouldered. It was not quite the in-step march of a legion, but it was better than what Erlaan-Orlassai had seen of the Mekhani the first time he had encountered them.
The ground was soft underfoot, still sodden from the spring rains. The Mekhani left a swathe of flattened grass nearly a mile wide in their wake, great holes left in the mud by the tread of the behemodons. Ahead, the Askhan legions shifted. Trumpets blasted and drums beat the orders as companies split along the left of their line, moving out to match the overlapping ranks of the Mekhani. In response, the legion next to them widened its lines, bringing forward the rear ranks of the phalanxes to fill the gap.
Urged on by their drivers, the behemodons moved ahead of the infantry, stomping across the soft turf, studded armour plates slapping at their flanks. They dragged sleds behind them laden with more ammunition, young warriors clinging on as they bumped over the uneven ground. Erlaan-Orlassai could see the brightly feathered headbands of the shaman-chiefs waving in the wind as the tribal leaders called to each other from their howdahs, their ceremonial staffs waving and pointing to keep a safe distance between the monstrous war beasts.