Warrior Prophet by R. Scott Bakker

Author:R. Scott Bakker [R. Scott Bakker]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Philosophy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781590203873
Google: fkHySwZYomcC
Amazon: 0143015346
Goodreads: 18877
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2003-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

The long howl of Inrithi horns pierced the predawn gloom, and the Men of the Tusk arose certain of their triumph. They stood on the South Bank. They had met their enemy before and had crushed him. They would enter battle with all of their assembled might. And most importantly, the God himself walked among them—they could see Him in thousands of bright eyes. Spears and lances had become, it seemed to them, markers of the Tusk.

The air was rifled by the commanding cries of thanes, barons, and their majordomos. Men hastened into their gear. Horsemen streamed between the tents. Armoured men knelt in circles, praying. Wine was passed, bread hastily broken and devoured. Bands of men drifted to their places in the line, some singing, some watchful. Small groups of wives and prostitutes waved hands and coloured scarfs at passing troops of mounted warriors. Priests intoned the most profound benedictions.

By the time the sun gilded the Meneanor, the Inrithi had assembled in rank after glorious rank across the fields. Several hundred paces away an immense arc of silvered armour, brilliant coats, and stamping horses awaited them. From the southern heights to the dark Sempis, the Fanim encompassed the horizon. Great divisions of horsemen trotted across the northern pastures. Arms flashed from the walls and turrets of Anwurat. Deep formations of spearmen darkened the shallow embankments to the south. More horsemen massed across the southern hilltops, following the heights to the sea. Every distance, it seemed, bristled with heathen.

The Inrithi line seethed with the habits and hatreds of its constituent nations. The unruly Galeoth, hurling insults and jeering reminders of earlier slaughter. The magnificent knights of Conriya, hollering curses through silvered war masks. The glaring Thunyeri, swearing oaths of blood to their shield-brothers. The disciplined Nansur, standing immobile, keen to the calls of their officers. The Shrial Knights, eyeing the skies, their lips tight with fervent prayer. The haughty Ainoni, anxious and impassive behind the white cosmetics of war. The black-armoured ranks of Tydonni, taking sullen measure of the mongrels they were about to kill.

A hundred hundred banners fluttered in the morning wind.

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