The Betrayed (46 page)

Archduke Radik had sent envoys to the mercenary leaders in Adam’s camp, offering them gold and amnesty if, at the crucial moment in the upcoming battle, they decided to change their allegiance. To his great surprise, the envoy had never returned. This was a distressing development of events. Mercenaries never refused money.

Still, despite the small setbacks and occasional qualms, the Parusite lords were not really worried. The Caytoreans seemed to have vanished, having abandoned the eastern and central Territories, moving their forces even further west. This allowed the Parusites to advance into Caytor without the fear of exposing their flanks. In the north, the Eracians seemed reluctant to budge from their enclave by the border.

The only real problem remaining was Adam the Godless, with his twenty thousand men, lodged in and around a large city called Roalas. Despite his impressive record of victories against the Feoran rabble, this man had no chance against the superb Parusite knights. They only needed to defeat him, and then both the eastern Territories and a sizable chunk of Caytor would be theirs. Plus, they would have defeated the heathens, a real boon for Parus.

This campaign, which they had believed to be a curse, was turning into a blessing. And now, the patriarchs were all dead. There was no one left to drip poison into their king’s ear. He would heed only their advice now.

“Our scouts report a force of twenty thousand men at most, half of them peasants,” Alexei said.

“They have almost no cavalry or heavy infantry,” Radik suggested.

“By defeating this Adam, we will have assured our claim on the captured Territories. Neither the Caytoreans nor Eracians will have any strength left to challenge our presence. And we will have gained twice the territories originally intended.”

“And we will have defeated all of these infidels. Our gods will be pleased.”

The last sentence seemed to trigger something in their king’s head. It perked up on its neck. “Yes. That’s it. I have a plan,” he whispered. “Summon the war council.”

Within minutes, all of the nobles were gathered in their king’s tent, staring at a map of western Caytor. “My scouts report a weak and tired force of maybe twenty thousand men,” Vlad spoke, pointing at the large chart. “They have just taken a city and must be suffering from many casualties. This is an ideal time for an attack. Before they can consolidate or fortify their positions.”

Duke Maris waited for his lord to let him speak. “Indeed, my king. That is a very wise plan. The scouts report most of the enemy forces camped outside the city. They must be busy pillaging and raping. They surely do not expect an attack from the southwest. Their flanks and rear will be totally exposed.”

Vlad waved a short stick he used as a pointer, obviously excited. Some of the aristocrats around him backed away from the stinging lashes.

“Our scouts have reported little or no patrols. All of them have come back safely. This means the enemy is completely oblivious to what happens just a few miles behind them,” Alexei spoke.

“We will crush them in one sweeping blow,” King Vlad said loudly, almost shouting.

And that concluded the council. In the morning, the command was issued for all troops to prepare for battle. The day turned into a frenzy of preparations, with smiths hammering fresh blades and shields for the soldiers. Fletchers slew geese and dried their feathers before making fresh swaths of arrows for the archers.

The Parusite lords assembled their forces and, under their colorful banners, led them into Caytor. They kept in tight formations, keeping the flank and van forces close by. They did not wish their advance to be detected by the Eracians. They expected to arrive within just a few miles of the enemy positions by nightfall and rest for the last time before striking at dawn.

All indications showed the Parusite army would be victorious by tomorrow evening.

King Vlad rode Fania at a light canter, keeping somewhat ahead of his troops. They had urged him to stay behind, but he refused. He never let them bundle him into the rear, like some coward. He was the best warrior Parus had ever had. He was invincible.

And tomorrow morning, he would kill thousands of infidels.

With a smile, he headed for Roalas.

Adam did not share the same sentiments as the Parusite king.

Having been informed of the enemy move, he had deliberately toned down the ferocity of preparations for the inevitable clash, making the enemy patrols believe he was a complacent, deluded little warmonger, enjoying his little victory.

His men gnashed their teeth whenever a Parusite scout came and went away unscathed, but they never once doubted his judgment. Even the mercenaries were afraid of him. Genuinely, deeply afraid.

Like any dog who could not intimidate his foe with his barking, Captain Franco had come to him with his tail tucked between his legs, begging forgiveness and acceptance. The grisly murder of the animal torturers and the head and penis display over Roalas had convinced the last of the sell-souls that crossing Adam would be the worst mistake they could ever make.

It came as no surprise when the mercenary captain came to inform him of the envoy, offering money in exchange for betrayal. A hireling had turned into a devoted follower. If he were not a dead man, Adam would have almost been impressed with his ability to render miracles.

Just to spite the Parusites, Adam had ordered the envoy fatally detained. The enemy had no idea whether the soldiers of fortune would bet their luck and side with them during the battle.

Today, it would all end, Adam knew.

The air reverberated with the chaotic clop of thousands of hooves of Parusite cavalry, moving closer toward Roalas. Adam had his regiments feign a panicked scramble to arms, with people running all about the camps, ringing bells and shouting. The day was clearing, the dawn mist and light rain receding. The smudge on the horizon was forming into a solid mass of enemy troops.

Despite his reassurances, Adam’s soldiers were quite apprehensive regarding the battle. They realized the enemy was much stronger, and they could not ignore the feeling of doom at being deliberately assembled in an inferior fighting position. But Adam insisted it was necessary for the complete victory he had planned.

Adam stood alone on a platform erected especially for what he intended to do. A far shot from the prostitute he had been in his former life. Behind him, a river of people flowed, all of them counting on him to save them, trusting him with their lives. It was a madness only a dead man could embrace with ease.

He gripped the bloodstaff, waiting. The ancient weapon excited him in an almost sexual way. The sleek, cool glassy texture had an almost divine quality about it. A weapon that could destroy armies. What was someone wielding it expected to feel?

Adam knew his military conquest would end today. There would be no more pointless wars. The streak of his perverted genius and impossible luck would not run forever. And even if it could, he did not want it anymore.

Killing gave him little pleasure or purpose. But a realm based on his principles was something to strive for. His speech before the city folk of Roalas had imbued him with a strange sense of fulfillment. He had delivered the speech as a sort of protest against the world and the gods that had abandoned him and so many like him. He had not expected his own words to work on him as well.

Adam could see himself building a nation of people who believed in reason and one another rather than fictional phantoms and false creeds. He possessed the military power to make sure his ideas were upheld. His forces would fight to the death to see his dream realized.

But while troops could keep away foreign armies from retaking the lost land, they could not build a nation. Only he was capable of that. Without him, the brilliant conquest would wane in the history books to become a lucky tantrum of a single madman.

He had the chance to forge peace with the Caytoreans and see the rise of their secular nobility to greater power. He had the chance to forge peace between Eracia and Caytor, something no politician or a general had ever accomplished. And on top of all that, he had the legitimacy to build a new world for simple people who wished to live without the hypocrisy of religion.

Once the Parusite forces were obliterated, there would be no one left to challenge him. The Feorans were a rabble, slaughtering across the Territories. Most of the Eracian army was his. The few men who still remained loyal to the monarch cowered in the safety of the border forts, without leadership or purpose. All that was left was King Vlad and his troops. But they would all die today.

At his feet lay a bound criminal who had stolen from the people of Roalas despite Adam’s explicit ban. He was one of twenty others to be used as ammunition for his bloodstaff. Despite Lord Erik’s suggestion to use fresh corpses, Adam chose to combine the destruction of the Parusite army with an unusual execution of the condemned prisoners. They, much like him, were already dead men, even if their hearts were still pumping warm blood through their veins.

He waited for the Parusites to come within a mile of his position, then three quarters of a mile, half a mile.

Adam laid the butt of the bloodstaff against the bound man. As the blood lanced into the staff, the man gasped and froze as color drained from his skin, leaving him a bluish-gray corpse. Holding the weapon beneath his armpit, Adam leveled it at the Parusite swarm, aimed, and squeezed.

Nothing happened.

He looked down at the crystal rod in his arms. In the heat of the moment, he had laid his fingers too far from the black marks. Readjusting his grip, he pressed again.

A torrent of blood jewels exploded from the tip, arcing toward the enemy in a sweep of red meteors. Adam gripped the deadly weapon in his arms and watched with a macabre, emotionless passion as the hail of rubies slammed into the enemy force.

They went down like rye under a scythe, a whole regiment flattened into a heap of still bodies. Adam aimed to the left and right, sweeping across the enemy front. Men died in their hundreds and thousands.

He could only imagine the magnitude of horror blasting through the Parusite ranks. But it was happening too fast for the enemy army as a whole to grasp their destruction. Fresh fodder streamed forward, unaware of the bloodbath happening just a few yards ahead of them. There was no sound to Adam’s destruction, only the fast flashes of red.

The bloodstaff sputtered. Without hesitation, Adam motioned for another prisoner to be placed before him. Then another. By the time he was finished with half the condemned, the battlefield was still and quiet.

Masses of his soldiers, conquered Caytoreans, and mercenaries were pouring toward the platform, shocked, speechless men witnessing history. They tottered like drunkards, dragging their bodies. The world was impossibly quiet. It was almost unbearable.

No one could believe fifty thousand Parusites had perished in just a few minutes. They all saw it, but their minds refused to register the holocaust. The scene was too surreal.

Adam turned to face his people. All standing together, murderers and children, soldiers and women, their faces pale, their eyes agleam with something he had never seen before: a sort of a panicked adoration that zealots reserved for their illusionary gods.

“The war is over,” he said. His voice carried over the silent, shocked mass. “Our enemies are dead. We can now lay down our weapons and begin our lives as free people, a new nation. You will be my people, and I will be your leader and protector.”

He lifted the bloodstaff aloft, holding it in both hands. “I hereby declare the birth of Athesia. It will be a land of men without religion. You do not need gods. You only need me.”

Silence. For a long while, no one spoke.

Then, as one, the crowd saluted and cheered, “Long live Adam! Long live Athesia!”

As the crowds roared, tears welled up in Adam’s eyes at the realization that on the day of Athesia’s birth, he, too, was born anew.

CHAPTER 44

A
yrton felt lost. Lost in time.