Page 34 of Of Empires and Dust

He drew the water up slowly, allowing it to soak the earth, turning it to mud so dense it would pull at boots and sap the energy from already tired legs. The speed of the Thebalan horses would suffer tenfold.

Below, the Thebalan forces slowed as they trudged through the dense mud, shouts and commands echoing in the natural acoustics of the valley. For a moment, Dayne feared they might turn back in favour of a better route. It’s what he would have done. But their march was too urgent, and so they pushed forwards into the valley that would be their tomb, under a crimson-touched sky that was to be the last sky they would witness.

Dayne cast another cursory glance at the opposite slope. Even though he was looking for them, the other half of his forces were all but impossible to see. Masked by the foliage and aided by the night, they truly blended with the hillside.

Dayne hooted twice more, amplifying the sounds with threads of Air and Spirit. Around him, the sounds of shuffling signalled the others reaching for arrows or pulling valyna spears into their grasps.

Dayne slipped an arrow from the closest quiver, his fingers brushing the wild turkey feather fletching, black and grey striped. The wood was cedar, the sweet fresh scent lingering. He’d had the arrows made only a week prior by Tula Vakira’s best fletcher. For some reason, knowing the heart of something, the core of what comprised it, gave Dayne a soothing sense of calm. Particularly if it was a weapon with which he was to take a life. And he would take many lives that night.

He nocked the arrow, and Marlin’s words echoed in his head. The words the man had spoken the day Dayne had losteverything. No, the day Loren Koraklon and the empire hadtakeneverything. Words that reminded him of his purpose.

“War is no different to peace. It is simply more honest. Do not hesitate, do not contemplate mercy. Remember everything I have taught you.”

“Valtara will be free,” Dayne whispered. “Even if I have to wade through a river of their blood. Valtarawillbe free. May the gods forgive me.”

Dayne peered over the rim of his shield, watching as the column of torches continued their march.

Just a few more paces.

They needed to wait until the Thebalans had slogged far enough into the valley they would be entrenched in the mud, unable to flee while Dayne’s warriors fell upon them. Dayne had never liked fights like this. A man should know how and why he died; that was a belief Dayne held close. But if doing it this way saved more lives in his charge, then so be it. Besides, the Thebalans had known why they would die the moment they’d betrayed their people. They’d sealed their own fates long ago.

Dayne twisted a little, pressing his boot into the ground to make sure he had solid purchase. He lifted himself more upright, angling his arrow above his shield’s rim. Once more drawing in threads of Air and Spirit, Dayne let out a sharp whistle, drew his bowstring, picked his target, and loosed.

The snap of bowstrings sounded all about him, the soft whistle of arrows gliding on the air. Grunts followed as men and women heaved valynas, angling them upwards so they would fall like steel-tipped rain. Across the way, thousands of arrows and spears plummeted into the valley, glinting in the crimson glow of the moon.

A moment passed where all was still, where the Lost Hills were peaceful and silent. Then came the screams.

Dayne nocked another. Draw. Loose.

His hands fell into a rhythm. Nock. Draw. Loose. Nock. Draw. Loose. He lost himself in the repetition, his arrows vanishing amidst the swarm of steel and wood that fell upon the Thebalans.

He gave two more sharp whistles, one after another, signalling for the warriors on the flanks to pull their shields from the ground and fall into position on both sides of the Thebalans, blocking off any escape, trapping them in the valley of mud and death.

As more arrows and spears fell, Belina touched Dayne’s arm. “If we press them now, they’ll surrender. They’re broken.”

Dayne laid his bow in the grass, then slid his arm through the strap in his shield and ripped it from the earth. He snatched his valyna from beside the quivers. “Surrender is not an option for them, Belina. They turned their backs on us twice already. We can’t give them a third opportunity. Today they die.”

He gave one more sharp whistle to halt the barrage of projectiles, then let out a roar and charged down the hillside.

Vibrations jarred Dayne’s legs, his steps heavy as he sprinted downhill. The footfalls behind him thundered, warriors bellowing war cries. The Thebalan forces ahead were shattered. Arrow shafts and thick spears jutted from the broken bodies that littered the valley floor. Torches burned in the mud, their light glimmering in the pools of water. The groans of the dying and the wails of horses were like a nightsong, sad and slow. And those who yet lived were exhausted.

As Dayne reached the bottom of the hill, a group of Thebalans emerged from behind an arrow-studded cart, one of the horses squealing in the mud, a spear pinning a man to its side.

Dayne dropped his left shoulder, allowing a thrown spear to glide past and lodge into the earth. He swung himself back, hefting his valyna and launching it. The weapon caughta charging Thebalan in the chest, punching through his cuirass and knocking him off his feet.

Ripping his sword from its scabbard, Dayne hurled himself forwards. He twisted, deflecting a spear with his shield, then drove his blade up through the woman’s neck. Her eyes rolled, blood sluicing down the steel. Dayne pulled the blade free and in the same motion swung his shield arm and rammed the steel rim into a man’s mouth, teeth snapping like brittle wood.

Three more times he swung his blade, and three more times blood sprayed. His own forces fell in around him, the Andurii holding tight to his flanks, moving as a solid unit despite the saturated earth.

A sharp whistle sounded to Dayne’s left and a glint of steel punched through a Thebalan’s neck, bloodmist pluming as the man fell into the mud. Two more flashes of steel, two more Thebalans fell. Dayne knew Belina’s throwing knives anywhere.

“Sorry I’m late,” Belina called, weaving through the Valtaran spears around her, her footsteps somehow light even in the mud. She had a mud-smeared ordo strapped to her left arm, a valyna in the same fist. She grabbed the spear with her other hand, freeing her left to hold the ordo’s grip properly, then nodded towards the shield. “I changed my mind about the shield. These things are fucking heavy.”

Dayne only grunted in response, taking a moment to survey the carnage. The waterlogged valley was nothing but blood and death. Clutches of Thebalans fought tooth and nail, backing against broken carts and stacks of bodies. They wouldn’t last long. It was a massacre, but that was precisely what Dayne wanted. He needed Loren Koraklon and the other traitors to know the cost of their choices. He needed to put fear in their bellies.

“Andurios!”

Dayne twisted at the call, seeing three mounted lances charging from the left.

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