Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) by Melvin Jim

Author:Melvin, Jim [Melvin, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bell Bridge Books
Published: 2013-09-30T05:00:00+00:00

Pure Madness

1

THE JIVITAN ARMY that surged northward toward Dhutanga was half a league wide and half a mile deep, which included five thousand infantry at its rear along with hundreds of supply wagons. The first row was composed of heavily armored cavalry. Four rows of lightly armored archers followed. This arrangement was duplicated eight more times. It took the army until late afternoon to traverse seven leagues.

In the middle of the first row rode Queen Rajinii, her black hair flowing beneath her helm. To her right were Elu, Torg, Laylah, Ugga, and Bard. To her left, Navarese, Julich, Manta, and two other necromancers. Of the nine hundred in the lead row, only Torg, Bhojja, and ten-score Tugars did not wear armor.

General Navarese called a halt three leagues from the southern border of Dhutanga. Soon after, the queen rode forward and turned to face the army. When she spoke, her voice carried a great distance. Though the horsemen were dispersed over more than one hundred hectares, the majority of them could hear her speech.

“We await the arrival of our ungodly enemies. As we know, the druids prefer to fight at night, hoping to spread terror in the darkness. But we do not fear them, even when the sun has fallen. The One God, whom we name Ekadeva, will provide us with whatever illumination is needed for victory.”

In unison, the white horsemen cheered. When the clamor dissipated, Rajinii spoke again.

“By the glory of the One God, may we all survive the battle. But do not mourn those who die beneath Ekadeva’s banner. Their reward will be eternal bliss.”

Amid more raucous cheering, the queen urged Arusha forward. As she passed Navarese and his mount, she said, “The army is yours, general. Do with it as you will. I am now just another soldier.”

Navarese removed his helm and bowed in the high saddle. Then he rode forward and turned to face the massive gathering. When he spoke, his voice also was amplified, and Torg saw that he carried a staff of rare white oak similar to the queen’s, though the gem imbedded in its head was jasper instead of jade.

“White horsemen, we will await our enemies here. But do not mistake torpor for cowardice. To the contrary, we are as confident of victory as we are in our faith. Even so, we will pay a dire price on this day. The druids will show no mercy. Therefore, we must not relent until every one of the enemy is destroyed.”

There was no cheering; only the subtle tapping of countless arrow shafts.

As if in response, the modest beginning of a dreaded sound crept toward their ears from the north.

Humming.

There was a collective series of gasps, but Navarese was not dismayed.

“Every one of you has spent years in training so that on this day you would stand proud. Discipline, white horsemen! Trust in it. If you do, we . . . will . . . prevail.”

The cheering that followed was the loudest yet, and for a time, it overwhelmed the distant sound of humming—but it could not do so forever.

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