The generals knew the truth about the invasion, that it had come at the behest of none other than the Grand Khan Golgren, so in typical minotaur fashion, they had loudly voiced their opinions about that. However, in the end, Faros had convinced all of them of the necessity. The ogre realm was ruled by spell-casters, and spellcasters, especially ogre ones, had no honor. The spellcasters explained why so many patrols already had perished in “accidents” or had just gone missing. Surely, the next step for the Titans would be to conquer Ambeon. It, therefore, behooved the empire to strike first …
No matter how many legionaries might perish.
General Thandorus, though one of the newest commanders, had been chosen by Faros to be his executive officer. Badger Legion had the honor of serving as the emperor’s personal military force. Thandorus did not mind what some might have taken for a slight demotion; to serve directly under the emperor was, for him, the proudest moment of his career thus far.
Scouts rode ahead of the ground forces, seeking as best they could signs of either sorcerers or the military “hands.” Most of the legionaries hoped for a direct confrontation with their ogre equivalents, as death by weapon was far more desirable than perishing in magical flames or some other distasteful spell, but they were prepared to face whatever was necessary. Minotaur soldiers did not back down merely because the enemy used tactics of which they did not approve.
The foremost ranks bore long lances held slightly upward with both hands. The angle was better for wielding them until an enemy actually stood before the line. The legionaries up front also carried at their sides well-honed, freshly cleaned swords and on their backs powerful, double-edged axes. There were daggers in their belts too. The weight of the weapons and the armor the legionaries wore meant little to the minotaurs; trained from birth for combat, they lived for battle. Their eyes held no fear of death, but rather eagerness to prove their mettle and earn honor for both themselves and their clans.
Behind the lancers came several ranks with long swords and axes. The ranks were there to add additional protection for the first lines, should any foe begin to move too close for the long spears to be effective. They were also ready to charge past the lancers if the situation warranted it.
Stationed at various intervals, mounted units with lances, axes, or other hand weapons kept a diligent watch. On a signal, the foot soldiers would break before them, allowing the cavalry free access for a charge of their own. There were hundreds of warriors on horseback, all chosen for their riding skills and ability to engage in battle while in the saddle.
And flanking the cavalry were the archers. With their powerful bows, they could fire well beyond the front lines. Indeed, should an ogre hand march against the legionaries, the first deaths would belong to the archers.
Great weapons rolled behind-catapults, ballistae, and other mechanical wonders that had rejuvenated the empire and worried the rest of Krynn. The steady advance begun under Emperor Hotak and continued under Faros had enabled the latter emperor to start the machine of war and get it running at high capacity, with only a day or two’s warning. Whatever his own distrust of Golgren, Faros knew that his rival was correct concerning the threat of the Titans to his people. Better a thousand legionaries and more should pay the sacrifice if it gave Golgren the opportunity he desired to reclaim the throne.
Besides, once ensconced in Blode, Faros had no intention of turning back. He would not leave Golgren in control of the enemy realm.
Faros, red-plumed helm set over his horned head, surveyed the advance from atop a massive, brown stallion-Thandorus’s own steed offered by the general to his lord. Thandorus rode beside him, and a score of officers trailed in their wake. The pair was surrounded by Thandorus’s personal guard, who had strict orders to protect the emperor even if it cost the general his life. Such was the intense loyalty that Faros brought out in his subjects. He was seen as the epitome of the storybook hero, rising from battered youth to slavery to rebel leader to emperor. The nephew of the despot Chot the Terrible, he had been an innocent pawn during his uncle’s downfall and execution on the Night of Blood. Hotak had tried to ensure that no blood member of the Kalin Clan would remain alive to seek vengeance, yet Faros had persevered through the fiery mining camps of his own people, the brutality of the ogre taskmaster Sahd, and pursuit by ogres and legionaries alike. To Thandorus and the other officers, he represented the entire brave history of their people.
A bird screeched from high above, drawing the party’s attention. One of the officers raised his arm and made a sound akin to the avian creature’s cry.
The brown, red-fringed bird alighted. It was a small raptor, used for both hunting and messages. The empire’s message network was among the finest in all the known world; the birds were trained to exhibit the same efficiency as their masters.
The officer removed a small note bound to the bird’s leg. Without reading it, he handed the message to General Thandorus.
“The scouts report no sign of any hand or any other ogre force for half a day’s journey. They have three message birds remaining. The next report comes at sunset.”
Faros eyed the rising landscape. “No word of Titans?”
“None.”
“We should assume their presence anyway. The damned spellcasters could be miles away; then they can materialize in a heartbeat, right in front of us if they like.” The emperor glanced over his shoulder. “Or behind us, even.”
“Dishonorable way to fight,” growled Thandorus.
“But still a tactic we must watch for. Make sure the guards in the rear are keeping watch on the path we’ve already taken.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thandorus snapped his fingers. One of the officers nodded, turned his mount around, and rode off to ensure that the emperor’s command was obeyed.
“We’re already deep into ogre land,” Faros muttered. For a moment, his eyes grew veiled, and Thandorus looked away. The emperor was remembering the harshness of his time as a slave and a fugitive. The general had seen up close the many scars covering Faros’s body. Some had come from minotaurs, but most had been delivered by Faros’s ogre slavers. “How deep will they permit us?”
Shielding his gaze, Thandorus rose in the saddle. “Perhaps they don’t think us worthy of notice, my lord. Perhaps all they care about is the half-br-”
Something swift and sharp burrowed through the general’s chest, armor and all. It struck so quickly that Thandorus even had time to glance down at the gap just beginning to grow red before he toppled off the horse.
“Drop!” Faros roared, obeying his own command as he spoke.
The sky filled with hissing darts flying so fast that they were all but invisible until they struck a target. Two more officers fell before the rest could join the emperor. Faros’s mount let out a short whinny before tumbling toward him.
He rolled to the side just before the weight would have crushed his legs. Around him, the emperor heard the screams of the wounded and dying and the continued hiss of death from above.
They were not normal weapons. No ogre fired them. Kneeling beside his horse, Faros saw that they had more or less materialized above a high ridge to the north.
Scores of legionaries already lay wounded, dead, or dying. At the beginning, someone had been aiming for Faros in particular, but the strike had gone awry. Either the Titan or Titans who had cast the spell-there could be no other source for such an attack-had from a distance mistaken Thandorus for the emperor, or something else had saved Faros.
“I will fight my own battles, Sargonnas,” the emperor muttered then shook his head at his own mistake. It was not the customary behavior of Sargonnas, though the god of vengeance had saved Faros in the past. Yet what other deity would see favor in his living?