It was rare for Xerxis to know defeat, and the loss of Primus Sellk’s decurium was the first he had felt as they penetrated Iosan lands. As Makeda had anticipated, the northeastern border of Ios was more lightly patrolled than the southern, allowing them to quickly advance past the outer watchtowers, annihilating the light opposition they had initially faced. Word had clearly reached the Aeryth Dawnguard. The foes they had faced were only the first of many defenders gathering. On hearing of Sellk’s defeat, Xerxis went to personally inspect the site of the battle and assess the state of those who remained.
Loraak, his signal bearer and nephew, knelt next to the corpses of a ferox and rider, inspecting the wounds. “Firearms,” he said. “Similar to those used by Cygnar.” Xerxis sat astride Suruk, the great cerops he’d ordered sent to him from the east after suffering near-fatal wounds at the hands of the dirt mystics. He did not relish having to rely on a mount, but he would not hold back his army in any way. “Primus Vulto,” he said to the tall officer who had first informed him of the situation here. “Sellk claimed to have the Iosan border force boxed in. That does not appear to be the case. Who commands his remaining forces?” They had already heard Sellk had been slain.
“Dakar Saikhan, Tyrant,” said Vulto smartly. Xerxis nodded. He had hand-selected these soldiers, each officer a worthy veteran. They continued on, and when they reached what was left of the decurium, Xerxis saw the troops arrayed in a defensive formation near a rocky, moss-covered ridge. He counted several hundred warriors, mostly Praetorians and Venators. Several scarab packs were penned nearby, next to the surviving Cataphracts. The geography made the encampment easy to defend; Saikhan had positioned his troops wisely.
They found the senior dakar at the center of a group of ferox scouts. He was short for a skorne but barrel-chested and muscular. His Cataphract armor was dented, and he wore a
bandage over his left eye. His other eye widened when he saw Xerxis. The scouts bowed low as the tyrant dismounted and strode toward them.
“Tyrant Xerxis, I did not expect the honor . . .” said the dakar as he rose from a deep bow.
“Report, Dakar,” said Xerxis sharply. “Tell me how Sellk managed to lose so many warriors.”
“They attacked at night, using these,” said Saikhan. He placed an object into Xerxis’ outstretched palm: two green lenses on a leather strap, meant to be worn on the head. “It allows them to see better in the dark.”
Xerxis called for Aptimus Sarangerel, one of his extollers, to examine the device with the crystal oculus that replaced one of his eyes. Xerxis knew the extoller could use the power of that oculus to see in the dark, and he inquired whether these devices might be similar.
“This mechanism is quite basic, very different from what we use,” said Sarangerel. He was old and rail-thin, with a hunched back. Though physically not well suited for an extended campaign, he could rely on his two apprentices for assistance when he required it, and his loyalty was beyond question. Scoffing, the extoller continued, “Our oculi allow us to see spiritual energy. These simple chymically treated lenses merely amplify existing light to afford the Iosans some amount of night vision. This would give them an advantage in night attacks, but not near the vision of an extoller.” “Such devices are common among their soldiers,” said Saikhan. “They will use them again when they come to finish us off tonight.”
“And we will do our best to disappoint them,” said Xerxis grimly.
To Saikhan’s credit, Xerxis saw no need to reposition his troops. With such a small force and limited intelligence on
the enemy, he decided to keep his Cataphracts in reserve under the command of Primus Vulto. He’d brought several
dathas of Praetorian keltarii, which he assigned to the
vanguard. Sellk had few warbeasts, but Xerxis knew the Iosans would not be limited in the use of their myrmidons. The primus had captured and interrogated one of their arcanists, and after three days with the paingivers she had explained how the great machines functioned and how they required downtime after battle to restore their energy. The primus had then sent small harassment forces to deny the Iosans that luxury.
The skorne readied for battle as night fell. To make their position more defensible, they felled trees and hewed the trunks into spikes, which the Cataphracts pounded into the ground. Several large bonfires were lit close to the ridge to provide light for the army without ruining their night vision. The night air was cold, and fog began to form between the trees.
“I see movement!” shouted a Praetorian down the line. An instant later the air darkened with crossbow bolts. As one, Xerxis’ keltarius units raised their double-bladed polearms and spun them around at lightning speed, deflecting nearly all the incoming projectiles. A few pained grunts marked where bolts found a mark.
Saikhan stood nearby, looking at Xerxis as if he expected the counterattack order at any moment, but the tyrant remained silent. Xerxis squinted into the dark, trying to predict the next move of the enemy commander. What would he do if their positions were reversed?
“Tell the Praetorians to brace for a charge,” he said. “Bring the scarab packs to the front.” He mentally urged Suruk into position at the head of his army. Two lesser cyclopes flanked him. The primitive creatures reacted to the unknown with rage, and right now he sensed that rage was directed at the enemies in the trees.
No sooner had the order gone out than mounted Iosans in plate armor thundered out of the forest. Lance points dipped as they charged across the open ground, firing heavy shot with explosive reports. Then the Iosans were leaping over the sharpened stakes to smash into the skorne lines. Praetorians howled their war cries as their battle-brothers were shot, impaled, or crushed beneath the armored steeds. Some managed to raise their polearms to blunt the charge, and several steeds screamed as they went down. Other riders were slowed enough to be dragged from their saddles and hacked to pieces, and a small group of Praetorian ferox retaliated on the far side with claws, fangs, and polearms. A group of four riders had charged straight at Xerxis. One was swept off his horse by a blow from one of the cyclopes, who then broke the horse’s back with a powerful overhand
strike. A second rider managed to drive his lance into the other cyclops’ chest. Xerxis could feel the life ebbing from it but used his mortitheurgy to stall its death as it clawed its way up the lance to deliver a crushing blow to its killer’s breastplate.
That left two horsemen for Xerxis. He drew Lamentor and let the massive flail dangle. One of the riders came up fast, earth churning beneath his mount’s hooves. Xerxis compelled Suruk to attack. The beast lowered its horn and hit the attacker’s mount head-on, snapping the steed’s neck and throwing its rider to his certain death. The sudden jolt caused black spots to appear in Xerxis’ vision, and he was painfully reminded of his injuries. He ignored the pain and struck at the last rider, who had ducked low in the saddle under a blow from one of the cyclopes. The flail collapsed the Iosan’s breastplate and knocked him off his horse, and the point of Xerxis’ standard made sure he would never rise again.
Xerxis scanned the battlefield in the brief lull that followed. From atop Suruk he saw black and red insectile carapaces seething between the skorne lines. Impelled by the whips of beast handlers, a scarab leapt onto the back of one surprised Praetorian and used him to launch into an attack that unhorsed one of the knights. Several more swarmed the Iosan as he fell.
A trumpet sounded from the forest and the remaining Iosan horsemen wheeled to retreat, unleashing more fire from their lances upon any skorne in their path. The charge had not been as effective as the enemy commander had expected, and he was trying to salvage what he could. A cry went up from the rear of the camp. Xerxis stood in his stirrups and then cursed as he was momentarily blinded by his own bonfires. There was movement on the cliffs behind him. Dark shapes descended long gray ropes, and furious battle had erupted at the base of the ridge. The Iosans hadn’t been waiting for the skorne to tire themselves out— they’d been waiting for other troops to circle around behind them. The cavalry charge had been a distraction. Xerxis felt a glimmer of admiration for the Iosan commander.
Firelight reflected off a Cataphract standard. Vulto had taken the initiative and commanded the reserves to attack. The heavily armored skorne plowed into the leather-clad Iosan assassins, their swords cutting through them like parchment.
the Beast hit the attaCker’s
mOuNt head-ON, sNappiNg the
steed’s NeCk aNd thrOWiNg its
rider tO his CertaiN death .
Vulto’s quick response had blunted the Iosan ambush, but the skorne were still too vulnerable. The enemy commander had sent skirmishers against them, perhaps hoping to decimate the command structure before they knew what was happening. If Xerxis or his subordinates were inclined to lead from the rear, the plan might have worked. Now that they were aware of the threat, however, the ambushers would be swiftly dealt with.
With the skorne distracted, it would have seemed the perfect opportunity for the enemy to renew the attack from the forest. Surprisingly, there was no immediate response from that quarter. The wisps of fog had thickened into a dense soup that hid the enemy, but no attack seemed forthcoming. In the enemy commander’s place, Xerxis would have thrown everything he had into the fray. What was holding the Iosans back?
He called for Aptimus Sarangerel. When the extoller arrived, his crystal oculus glinting in the firelight, Xerxis asked, “Can the Iosans not use their devices to see through fog?”
“I am not an expert, but it seems not.”
“Good. We shall use that against them,” Xerxis said. Sarangerel nodded, and Xerxis smiled. “Send one of your apprentices to Vulto and the other to the left flank. You will come with me.” He turned to Dakar Saikhan. “Have the Venators clear a path.”
The dakar gave the order, and the Praetorian lines opened up as every second soldier took a step back and sideways behind his closest peer. Venator reivers marched through the gaps, knelt, and fired their weapons into the fog. Karax warriors then advanced and formed a shield wall.
The enemy commander had spread out his forces, both for the flanking maneuver and because maintaining tight formations in such dense forest was impossible. Sarangerel and his apprentices peered through their oculi and also used their powers to enable a chosen few others to spot ghostly figures in the fog, whose locations they relayed to Xerxis’ troops. By the time the afternoon sun had burned off the morning fog, most of the Iosan forces were destroyed or captured.
Xerxis’ army had not gone unscathed. He listened with half an ear as Saikhan delivered the casualty list. A large number of Venators had fallen to the surprise attack at the rear, and the scarab packs had not survived the withdrawal of the
Iosan cavalry. Despite the losses, any other commander would have counted it a great victory. Xerxis did not. Numbers were already against him, and he knew more Iosans would join the fight, including forces from Aeryth Dawnguard. Any casualty was one too many.
They rejoined the main army two days away from the Hill of Scavengers, a giant slope that rose out of the surrounding forest where the main Iosan force was encamped. As soon as he reached his tent, Xerxis banished his advisors. Every morning, junior officers updated or redrew the maps sketched of the local region, adding features and adjusting the placement of small bone chits used to designate friendly or enemy forces, the former stained blood-red. There were far too few representing his skorne.
He adjusted the chits around the base of the hill. Any way he positioned them, they were still dwarfed by the Dawnguard forces. He frowned deeply and rose. To a waiting slave he said, “Bring me Dakar Saikhan.” A few minutes later the stocky commander arrived and bowed deeply.
“Report on the state of your soldiers, Dakar.”
“They are under Primus Taalharn’s command now. We have lost one in five, but those remaining are eager and ready to fight.” Saikhan hesitated, then proceeded carefully. “I am curious as to why I was not assigned to another taberna?” “I asked that you be assigned to me,” said Xerxis.
Saikhan’s eyes widened and he bowed deeply. “I do not deserve such honor.”
“As the ranking officer in Sellk’s decurium, you know the land better than anyone.” He pointed to the map. “Tell me what we can expect at the Hill of Scavengers.”
“There has been a fog every morning here,” Saikhan said, indicating where it lay heaviest.
“And the enemy?”
Saikhan’s attention shifted to the enemy chits on the Hill of Scavengers. “They are cowards and prefer to fight from a distance. Now that they have the high ground, they will cling to it.”
With limited Venators, Xerxis’ forces were best up close, but if he charged up the hill his army would be torn apart by the Iosan ranged weapons. He needed to neutralize that advantage. “Dakar,” he said thoughtfully. “What did we do with our prisoners?”
It was a two-day forced march to the trees along the base of the Hill of Scavengers. Xerxis had commanded the paingivers and a few dedicated mortitheurges to lend his troops fresh