Just mouthing the name in silence was enough to make his heart tremble with hate so hot it nearly drove him mad. Guin, that leopard-headed freak, was the one who had shamed him, had made his beloved goddess look upon him with cold eyes. He was the one who had brought Astrias so low. One more mistake and the young knight—once admired by all as the Red Lion of Gohra—would lose his post as captain. Amnelis had said as much.
The thing that stoked the fires of his shame the highest was that the strange warrior had not even taken him seriously when he had challenged the fiend to single combat.
You are no challenge for me, little one. Wait twenty years and come again. Then I will fight you.
He knew Guin had been laughing at him behind that leopard mask—a cold, harsh laughter, not of victory, but of pity! Thinking on that moment, Astrias felt his shame burn white-hot, casting tall shadows of anger.
And now I’ve been told to wait in the back, where I’ve not a chance of taking one enemy head, not one!
All Astrias could hope for was the impossible—a sneak attack from behind, led by Guin himself.
I’ll show him my mettle when next we meet! If only I am given the chance…
The young captain had been thinking of nothing else for a while now. From time to time he rose in his saddle, scanning the fray far ahead of him for a sight of the leopard-man towering above the clashing armies. Unable to spot his nemesis, he felt uneasy at first, wondering where the terrible warrior might be and what he might be planning. His unease changed to elation as he considered the possibility that Guin might indeed appear behind the army and answer his misguided wishes.
Come out, Guin-fiend! Then we’ll see who’s the little one! I challenge you, Guin!
“Captain!” Pollak called out as though he’d read Astrias’s mind. “I wonder what’s going on. I don’t see that leopard-head anywhere.”
Astrias started, then assumed an air of nonchalance. “Perhaps he’s leading another party around to the back.”
“I would wish nothing else,” Pollak replied. He knew well what it was that his captain truly desired. “Then we’ll hunt that freak ourselves. Captain.”
“What?”
“Who do you think he is, sir?”
“A good question.”
“Where did he come from? You would think we would have heard if such a warrior lived among us in the Middle Country.”
“He might just be someone we know. Someone famous.”
Astrias thought back on the discussion at the war council three days before.
“I wonder what we’d see if we took off that mask.”
“Indeed.” Astrias seemed suddenly uncomfortable talking about his adversary, but Pollak continued, unaware of his captain’s mood.
“What is he thinking, anyhow—a man, taking the wildling Sem as his allies? Indeed I cannot believe that the royal house of Parros has actually joined forces with these desert barbarians. I saw the spires of Crystal. It was a beautiful place. Every Parrosian I saw was beautiful, too, all fair and slender, with skin as white as alabaster.”
Astrias said nothing. He was thinking of someone more beautiful still, but these thoughts were madness, and certainly nothing he could share with another, not even his trusted lieutenant.
“The royal family of Parros and the Sem—it’s impossible,” Pollak declared with finality. Then he laughed harshly. “But these are all things we can find out once we capture the leopard-man and persuade him to spit out what he knows. Captain? Are you listening?”
“Huh? Ah, what?” Astrias turned, pretending that he had been surveying the battle.
“In any case,” Pollak added, “it is our utmost priority to do whatever we must to take the leopard-man, and bring him before the lady general. Or bring his head, at least.”
“Absolutely.” Astrias smiled with the thought. Then his tone changed as he gazed out toward the front lines again. “Ah, Pollak.”
The other looked, hearing the anger in his captain’s voice.
“Look, they’re doing it again. The Sem are pulling back again.” Then Astrias slapped his saddle and swore. The Sem didn’t ever want this battle to end, obviously. They had had their fun and now they were retreating, again.
Dom dom dom dom dom dom…
The wildling war drums beat a quick rhythm, mingling with the screeching war cries of the Sem as they turned and ran back up the dunes en masse, without discernable order or pattern.
This time, however, the knights of Mongaul were not of a mind to let them leave.
“Wait, you cowards!”
“We won’t let you escape this time, monkeys!”
“We’ll wipe them out! Follow them! Follow!”
“Begin pursuit!”
“Orders! Orders! Pursue the Sem!”
Today, the Mongauli army was a mighty arrow loosed from a ready bow. There was no turning back, no slowing down. They had waited far too long to let this opportunity pass.
“Garanth!” Marus wheeled his horse around to join his lieutenant in the line of blue knights that was quickly reforming at the base of the dune.
“My lord!”
“After them!”
Count Marus waved the baton in his hand and quickly the blue knights of Tauride showed the quality of their training, spreading rapidly into five lines for the pursuit.
“After Marus Corps! Forward!”
In an instant, the desert was transformed into a dry riverbed along which a four-colored flood of men and horses readied to pour in haste.
“Doalspit!” Astrias swore far behind them and reluctantly formed up the men of his rearguard. Then the blue, the black, the white and, lastly, the red knights of Mongaul shouted their battle cries and began to move forward, chasing the retreating Sem up the face of the dune. The battle for Nospherus was entering its final act.