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Authors: Moses Siregar
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flaunting a supernatural origin. Lucia knew that had the legions not been rushing to save their lives, each and every man would have stopped and stood in awe of the waves of lightning streaking across the dark sky.
Confusion still clouded her mind. Was this the obvious stuff of Danato’s dreams, or a harsh reality that looked like a fantasy? She prayed to Ysa to protect them.
~~~~~
Unseen by men, the goddess Ysa’s beast of a horse walked confidently through the Rezzian ranks, its thin rider demonstrating unshakeable poise. Her pointed nose, tight cheeks, and thin lips—with a silver helm framing her jaw—made her fair-skinned face appear sharp with deadly calm.
Ysa willed her horse to gallop and soon halted in the narrowing space between the two armies. A cool breeze swept through the desert plain. She studied the Pawelon army, her blond hair stirring in a full-bodied mass near the center of her back. She looked to Lucia, far in the distance, and raised a fist inside a bright gauntlet.
~~~~~
Lucia spotted a searing burst of light near Pawelon’s army. Once it dimmed she focused on the enemy’s changing positions. She yelled to Duilio, “They’re widening their front line.”
The old man looked intently with an air of disbelief, his vision aided by the fingers of lightning glowing above. Pawelon was creating a wide front line from north to south and stretching its northern flank farther back to the west, toward the nearest canyon wall. They were digging in for a fight and trying to keep the Rezzians from encircling them.
Why aren’t they delaying to bring their armies together? Lucia wondered. By stopping and lengthening their formation, they were cutting off Raf’s attempt to outflank them, but they would soon be engaging Rezzia with only half their strength.
“They’re daring us to engage them,” Lucia said.
“They can dig their graves if they want to,” Duilio said as his horse moved about nervously. “Now pray for glory.”
Duilio unsheathed his short sword and raised it as he screamed, “Advance! For Lux Lucis!”
~~~~~
At the front of the Rezzian line, Atius heard the fierce pounding of drums ordering the onset of the charge. Across the desolate battlefield, distant rows of round enemy shields waited motionlessly. Behind them, Pawelon’s archers hid like cowards.
He set his feet for the charge, pointing at the heart of the enemy.
Gods, grant that I may gut ten pigs before I fall. And take me before you take my brothers.
Atius banged his throwing spear against his shield. His brothers did the same. Their clangor rolled across the desert and rose to the dark heavens.
“March!” he bellowed.
He made long strides into the open field, his men following in ranks beside him. The muscles in his arms clenched with excitement, yearning for the slaughter to come. With his body protected behind his shield, he’d rush past Pawelon’s outstretched spears, ram his own shield against his enemy’s, and surprise the first pig with a stab to the gut. With his brothers at his side, he’d push further into the wall of spears, lashing out with his sword like a snake’s tongue whenever his enemies least expected it.
They drove onward, silent and focused, within range of Pawelon’s bows.
The first volley of Pawelon’s black arrows took flight, soaring up against the backdrop of the red cliff walls.
Atius issued the command, “Tortoise!”
He raised his curved rectangular shield in front of him, covering himself from knees to nose. His brothers along the front and the flanks raised their shields with him, overlapping as a bulwark against the falling arrows. The remaining shields formed a tight ceiling above them. The soldier to his rear rested the forward edge of his shield on Atius’s head, restricting and focusing Atius’s vision forward.
“For Lux Lucis!” he yelled as they marched steadily onward.
The hissing of arrows filled the air. The shield above Atius blocked his view of the
Confusion still clouded her mind. Was this the obvious stuff of Danato’s dreams, or a harsh reality that looked like a fantasy? She prayed to Ysa to protect them.
~~~~~
Unseen by men, the goddess Ysa’s beast of a horse walked confidently through the Rezzian ranks, its thin rider demonstrating unshakeable poise. Her pointed nose, tight cheeks, and thin lips—with a silver helm framing her jaw—made her fair-skinned face appear sharp with deadly calm.
Ysa willed her horse to gallop and soon halted in the narrowing space between the two armies. A cool breeze swept through the desert plain. She studied the Pawelon army, her blond hair stirring in a full-bodied mass near the center of her back. She looked to Lucia, far in the distance, and raised a fist inside a bright gauntlet.
~~~~~
Lucia spotted a searing burst of light near Pawelon’s army. Once it dimmed she focused on the enemy’s changing positions. She yelled to Duilio, “They’re widening their front line.”
The old man looked intently with an air of disbelief, his vision aided by the fingers of lightning glowing above. Pawelon was creating a wide front line from north to south and stretching its northern flank farther back to the west, toward the nearest canyon wall. They were digging in for a fight and trying to keep the Rezzians from encircling them.
Why aren’t they delaying to bring their armies together? Lucia wondered. By stopping and lengthening their formation, they were cutting off Raf’s attempt to outflank them, but they would soon be engaging Rezzia with only half their strength.
“They’re daring us to engage them,” Lucia said.
“They can dig their graves if they want to,” Duilio said as his horse moved about nervously. “Now pray for glory.”
Duilio unsheathed his short sword and raised it as he screamed, “Advance! For Lux Lucis!”
~~~~~
At the front of the Rezzian line, Atius heard the fierce pounding of drums ordering the onset of the charge. Across the desolate battlefield, distant rows of round enemy shields waited motionlessly. Behind them, Pawelon’s archers hid like cowards.
He set his feet for the charge, pointing at the heart of the enemy.
Gods, grant that I may gut ten pigs before I fall. And take me before you take my brothers.
Atius banged his throwing spear against his shield. His brothers did the same. Their clangor rolled across the desert and rose to the dark heavens.
“March!” he bellowed.
He made long strides into the open field, his men following in ranks beside him. The muscles in his arms clenched with excitement, yearning for the slaughter to come. With his body protected behind his shield, he’d rush past Pawelon’s outstretched spears, ram his own shield against his enemy’s, and surprise the first pig with a stab to the gut. With his brothers at his side, he’d push further into the wall of spears, lashing out with his sword like a snake’s tongue whenever his enemies least expected it.
They drove onward, silent and focused, within range of Pawelon’s bows.
The first volley of Pawelon’s black arrows took flight, soaring up against the backdrop of the red cliff walls.
Atius issued the command, “Tortoise!”
He raised his curved rectangular shield in front of him, covering himself from knees to nose. His brothers along the front and the flanks raised their shields with him, overlapping as a bulwark against the falling arrows. The remaining shields formed a tight ceiling above them. The soldier to his rear rested the forward edge of his shield on Atius’s head, restricting and focusing Atius’s vision forward.
“For Lux Lucis!” he yelled as they marched steadily onward.
The hissing of arrows filled the air. The shield above Atius blocked his view of the
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