John Fultz - Seven Princes

At last the legions of Vakai rose back into the sky, leaving a hundred red-stained ships floating aimlessly with tattered sails. Their decks were littered with drained white bodies, trails of crimson spilling over the rails… a forest of unmanned ships waiting to be fired and scuttled.

A great war-shout went up among the Khyreins, and they sailed among the dead ships, torching and ramming them to make a path for the Talon. Gammir and Ianthe sailed through a corridor of burning ships, and the walls of Shar Dni loomed near. The black cloud of death hovered and writhed above the Talon. Clusters of flame-red eyes stared at the ripe city, thirsty for more slaughter.

Along the city wall the flames of sentinels burned bright, and legions of foot soldiers gathered to repel a siege. Gammir pictured in his mind the legions of cavalry inside the wall, forming up to ride forth and meet the invading Khyreins at the docks.

Doomed fools…

It mattered not whether they hunkered within those high walls or rode out to meet death like heroes. They were all going to die.

As the Talon left behind the forest of burning galleons, it entered the wide Sharrian bay. Trading ships and fishing vessels sat abandoned at the docks. It seemed everIt em›y Sharrian citizen had fled to the Southern Gate. Now that gate opened and ranks of cavalry charged out to defend the docks. They poured forth like bronze ants, thousands of spears glittering in the glow of stars and their own blazing ships.

Gammir watched them gallop toward the wharves and form their lines of battle. They were children playing some absurd game. He laughed at them from his perch behind the devil-head on the Talon ’s prow. His laughter spilled across the dark water like blood from rent flesh.

Ianthe raised her lithe arms toward the black cloud again, and the legions of Vakai fell like a black rain upon the legions of Shar Dni. Khyreins cheered, waving their swords and axes as their enemies were smothered by a pall of mutilating terrors. By the time the Vakai rose to hover above the heaps of slain men and horses, the Talon and its vanguard had seized the docks. Armored Khyreins bounded from the rails and raced among the scattered dead, falling into formation before the Southern Gate, now closed again and no doubt well barricaded.

Gammir took Ianthe’s hand and escorted her along the quay. They stepped between the shredded corpses of two thousand soldiers and the remains of their hapless mounts. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, filled the night itself, drowning even the stench of the burning galleons.

Beyond those gates… a red river to spill at our feet and quench our thirst.

Gammir smiled as the shadow legions floated over the mighty walls and sank into the city streets beyond. He waited only a moment for the symphony of screams to begin, and then it came.

He stood there, a Prince among his warriors, listening to the sound of a city being murdered. After a while he called forth from the feeding shadow legions a band of his own Vakai. They followed his orders gladly, blood-drunk as they were.

A sound of thunder came from behind the bronze gates. And again. A third time and the portals burst open, shadows flooding outward and upward.

As the Vakai moved across the maddened city, the Prince and Empress of Khyrei entered its streets in a haze of crimson glory.

The red river was indeed sweet.

And so very deep.

Atop a green hill stood the walled fortress of Zaashari, built of gray granite with a central tower overlooking the sea. Between the waves and the fortress lay the town of the same name. Its roads, residences, and warehouses spread from the citadel ramparts to the white-sand beach. Outlying farms girded the settlement in fields of ripe corn and olive trees. The sun blazed high between scattered clouds, but Zaashari lay in deep shadow. Riding on the back of the Feathered Serpent, Sharadza looked down upon the unnatural gloom that smothered the town. In the midst of that eerie dark, the armor and spears of Yaskathan legions glimmered like shifting constellations.

Khama’s flight from Mumbaza was shockingly fast, and only his sorcery kept her and Iardu from being swept away by the fierce winds. Along the way Iardu advised Sharadza, helping her to grab sunbeams from the sky and mold them about herself, until she wore golden armor of condensed light with a helm of dancing flame. She forged a brilliant spear from that same light and grew herself to the impressive height of an Uduri. Iardu called thunderbolts down from the clouds into his hands, stuffing them into a quiver on his back. Now white flames streamed from the Shaper’s eyes as Khama’s great bulk descended toward Zaashari.

Five thousand silver-mailed Yaskathans marched through the conquered town. Bodies lay mangled and drained along every street and in every house. These human warriors had lifted no finger in last night’s slaughter; the Spirits of Vakai had slain Zaashari. A horde of shadows that lay sunken and dormant among the stones, alleys, and fields while the sun held the day. A dark stain on the earth itself. The grounds of the fortress proper resembled a battlefield, littered with piles of bodies and the carcasses of horses. Along the wooden docks modest fishing vessels sat still under shredded sails, some crowded with the drained corpses of townspeople who had fled too late. The Yaskathans had built huge bonfires in the early morning, and they tossed body after body into these flames. Once Zaashari was clear of decaying flesh, its occupation would be complete. Then the shadows would rise and move on toward Mumbaza for a similar yet far greater massacre. Elhathym had brought no more than five legions of men because no more than that would be needed after his blood-hungry demons were set loose.

“Look!” Sharadza shouted through the wind to Iardu. “The tyrant!”

Through an outer courtyard of the fortress Elhathym rode in a chariot of carven bone, drawn by a great black lion with gleaming eyes. It stood tall as an ox with the curving tail of a scorpion. The usurper’s robe was night-black, set with a crescent of sparkling rubies. The golden crown of Yaskatha sat brazenly atop his gray head. His eyes flashed brighter than the lion-beast’s when he looked to the rushing Feathered Serpent. Even from this distance, Sharadza heard his laughter like a flock of arrows winging past her ears.

Khama opened his fanged maw and roared his wrath upon Zaashari. The sound of it was deeper than the ocean, louder than a crumbling mountain, and a terrible wind blew through the streets and over the battlements of the captured fortress. Armored men were swept across the ground like leaves, smashed to death against walls, pillars, and each other. Spears and shields flew from the Yaskathans’ fists as they grabbed hold of whatever chunk of stone or supporting beam they could find. Their eardrums burst and their blood seeped into the shadow-stained ground, which drank it up greedily. Mailed horses flew through the air as well, increasing the devastation when their bulk slammed into groups of wailing soldiers. The tower of the fortress crumbled, raining deadly stones among the invaders. The battlements cracked and fell to the ground, burying warriors beneath splintered masonry. The wooden structures of the town itself exploded into kindling, clouds of flesh-piercing shards that found the exposed areas of armored bodies.

Khama the Feathered Serpent had belched a hurricane across the murdered town, and the Yaskathan legions were decimated. All save Elhathym. He stood unmoved in his bone chariot, and the lion-shaped demon that pulled it roared back at Khama. Elhathym’s head was thrown back in laughter as he raced down he ght="0emthe hillside, but Sharadza’s ears still rang with the roar of the Feathered Serpent. If she had stood before that terrible gust, rather than directly behind it, she would have died along with the Yaskathans. As the roaring echoes faded, Khama floated directly above the devastation, and Iardu grabbed her hand. Together they jumped from Khama’s back toward the speeding chariot below.