Gav Thorpe: The Crown of blood

"I don't understand why you walk everywhere," Erlaan said to Cosuas. "An old man like you surely needs whatever rest he can."

"The day I need one of those piss-stinking, flea-ridden, hotbreathed rugs with claws to get me around is the day you can light my pyre," said Cosuas. His well-known disdain for ailurs was his only deviation from Askhan orthodoxy and a source of respectful amusement amongst the officers that had served him over the years. Ullsaard thought it an odd view, but unremarkable in comparison to some of the affectations and habits of other commanders he had fought alongside.

Blackfang padded forwards, flanked by Cosuas on foot and Erlaan on his ailur, Render. Behind them slithered a coterie of messengers riding more kolubrids, ready to take Ullsaard's orders to his subordinates. In the desert valley the battle was quickly unfolding and Ullsaard was pleased to see the legions following the precise orders he had given them the previous night. Not that he had harboured any doubts: an Askhan legionary was highly trained and well-rewarded in return for his obedience and bravery.

The Mekhani were herded into the centre of a sandy depression by the harrying of the kolubrid riders. Ullsaard wanted them forced together so that their numbers would be a hindrance more than an advantage. Their foes thus hampered, the Askhan spear regiments formed into tight phalanxes and closed for the kill from both flanks. With their attackers coming at them from two directions, the tribesmen huddled about their behemodons, sheltering under the bows and slings of the giant reptiles' crews. Against the bronze-bound shields and helms of the Askhan legionnaires, these missiles had little effect; here and there an Askhan bled on the sands but the phalanxes marched implacably onwards.

Ullsaard knew the Mekhani's faith in their war beasts was misplaced. As the disciplined columns of the Askhans stopped a short distance from their unruly foes, six-man teams carrying lavathrowers emerged from between the advancing companies. Dragging wheeled barrels of combustible ammunition through the deep sand, the fire teams laboured to set up their engines, directing their iron muzzles towards the behemodons. Pumping furiously at the pressure-bellows, the teams readied their weapons.

At a shout from their commanders, they unleashed the burning fury of their machines. Jets of black-red flame leapt out like incinerating tongues, lapping at the behemodons and setting fire to the howdahs on their backs. The panicked grunts of the beasts sounded over the roar of flames. The monsters ran amok, throwing off their crews and crushing tribesmen in their angry stampede. Ullsaard spared a thought of thanks for the Brotherhood, keepers of the lava-fire's secret since the time of Askhos.

One of the behemodons loped into a charge towards the nearest lava-thrower. The men turned their machine clumsily towards it, a gout of burning fuel searing an arc through the air. Seeing that the enraged beast would not be stopped, they abandoned their engine and ran for the cover of the nearest spearmen. Behind them the behemodon, patches of fire still smoking on its hide, smashed into the lava-thrower and seized the machine in its jaws. As the gargantuan reptile lifted the lavathrower into the air the fuel tank exploded, splitting apart the creature's head and neck in a blossom of dark fire. Charred flesh rained down onto Askhans and Mekhani alike.

With their beasts slain, the desert warriors raised their crude spears and charged, churning up a huge plume of sand in their wake. Unintelligible battle cries hooting from their lips, the Mekhani hurled themselves towards the Askhan phalanxes.

Ullsaard exchanged a knowing look with Cosuas. The Mekhani had just made the fatal mistake the generals had been expecting.

Orders shouted along the line of companies, the drilled spearmen set themselves to receive the charge, forming a wall of shields and spears. Unheeding of the jagged barrier, the Mekhani leapt to the attack. Their stone spear tips crashed against shields while their bodies were spitted on the pikes of the Askhans.

Ullsaard watched the butchery without emotion. It was bloody and it was one-sided, which was the best way to fight a war. He turned in his saddle and gestured to one of his subordinates, a youth with sunburnt skin and a shock of red hair.

"Karuu, tell the cavalry to encircle the enemy," Ullsaard said to the herald. "I don't want any escaping to poison the wells or inflict other sabotage."

"What do you want to do with the survivors?" Karuu asked.

"Why don't we ask the young general-to-be?" said Cosuas.

"What do you think, prince?" Ullsaard looked at Erlaan. "Let's pretend this is your army."

Erlaan was deep in thought for some time; long enough for Ullsaard to think that he wasn't going to answer.

"There is no market for slaves these days," Erlaan said eventually. "With the expense of sending them back to civilised lands, it would cost us heavily. We cannot have them roaming around the camp, they will just cause trouble."

"So we just let them get away?" said Cosuas.

"No," replied Erlaan. "These savages will not learn. They will only come back again. We have to kill them all."

Ullsaard nodded in agreement, pleased that the young man had come to the right decision.

"There will be no survivors," Ullsaard told his messenger, keeping his eyes fixed on the slaughter.

As Karuu goaded his mount and slid away down the ridge, Ullsaard looked back to the battle. The phalanxes were driving into the heart of the Mekhani, their spears ruthlessly cutting down hundreds of tribesmen, their flanks protected from encirclement by lava-throwers and kolubrid riders. The Askhans advanced over a carpet of the dead, leaving piles of mangled bodies in their wake.

Ullsaard felt Erlaan's stare upon him as the battle unfolded with bloody predictability. He looked at the prince and saw a hint of distaste in his eyes.

"Horrible, isn't it?" said Ullsaard.

"It's a massacre, not a battle," said Erlaan.

"Good," grunted Cosuas.

"You're enjoying this?" Erlaan said, and shook his head. "What can be good about this?"

Cosuas did not reply immediately. He walked behind Blackfang to stand next to the young man's ailur. Erlaan stared down at the ancient general with faint disgust.

"Don't look at me, look at them," Cosuas snapped, raising an arm to point at the ongoing fighting. Erlaan once more directed his attention to the bloody work before them. "Would you rather it was Askhans that were dying? Perhaps you would prefer it if those poor Askhos-cursed Mekhani bastards were left maimed and wounded, to die bleeding in the desert sun, or to perish from thirst or diseased wounds?"

"They lost the moment they decided to fight," said Ullsaard. "The offer of peace was made and the Mekhani leaders refused it. We bear no responsibility for what follows. It is a mercy that we despatch them with the minimum of grief. We allow their families to collect the dead and perform whatever rites they wish to practice."

"I understand the principles." Erlaan puffed out his chest and tried to appear unconcerned but his eyes kept straying back to the fighting.

"You understand the principles, but here you will witness the practise," said Ullsaard.

"Those families will tell stories of what happened here," Cosuas said, grinding home the Askhan logic of war. The screams of dying men and crash of weapons illustrated that logic. "News will spread that Askhor has no mercy for those that oppose us and benevolence for those that do not raise arms against us. Some will not listen and they will also die. A generation from now, nobody will remember why so many were killed in this pointless place, if they even remember at all. They will remember only that Askhor is merciless and from that fear, peace prevails.