Jarsun and Belgarion drew up their mounts at an angle that afforded them a view of all the allies. Belgarion smiled casually at each of them in turn, unfazed by the scowls, grimaces, and even outright hostility (this from Druhyu) that met his attempts at friendly greeting. He said not a word.
Jarsun sat silently, his back to the enemy lines, staring down at the reins clutched in his thin bony fist. Several moments passed. The first gloaming appeared on the eastern horizon. The Krushan lines straightened up into perfect formation, not a man out of place, then fell completely silent, ready for the imminent start of battle. Several of the mounts dropped the inevitable loads of manure and steaming hot streams of pungent piss, filling the brisk morning air with two of the many odors of battle. The stink of human urine, offal, blood, vomit, intestines, bowels, and other bodily parts would join it as the day progressed, but for now, these twin animal odors were the strongest smells. A flock of cranes flew by from west to east, calling out mournfully. Higher in the sky, carrion birds had begun to gather in anticipation of the feast to come.
Jarsun spoke without raising his head, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “You fear Vrath.” Even the horses pricked up their ears and tilted their heads in his direction. He had the complete attention of all present. There was no grumbling now, or wayward comments. Even the perpetually angry Druhyu lowered his flaming eyes and listened.
“But it is not Vrath you will fight today.”
Slowly, after another long pause, the God-Emperor of Reygistan raised his head. He swiveled his skull, taking in every one of the allies. Even though he did not linger on any one, each and every man, woman, and beast felt his gaze sear their minds. Pupils widened. A horse whinnied nervously and had to be restrained by its rider.
“It is the crown princes of Hastinaga whom you face on this field today. Adri and Shvate. One blind since birth, the other crippled by his inability to withstand direct sunlight. Both boys, barely on the cusp of manhood, extracted from their guru’s hermitage before they could complete even a full season of learning.”
Jarsun raised an arm and held it at an impossible angle, pointing behind himself at the Krushan frontline across the field. “There they stand, about to enter the first battle of their lives. No experience in single combat, armed or unarmed combat, horseback, chariot, foot, or melee. No experience at all, in truth. Only a few score practice rounds, mostly with each other, with virtually no supervision or expert guidance. Why is that? When even a little boy or girl born in the Krushan line is an expert at all varieties of combat by the age of nine? Because Adri and Shvate were born crippled and deemed incapable of achieving the high standards demanded of their lineage. Yet, because they are Krushan, and because they are the crown princes, tradition demands that they lead today’s battle.”
Jarsun lowered his hand and moved his horse, riding the line of allies slowly, looking each one in the face as he passed. Each one felt an uneasy prickling in the back of their head, at the base of the skull, as if the Reygistani’s gaze penetrated through their eyes into their brains all the way to the command centers of their bodies.
“Vrath believes he is achieving several things with this ruse. By bringing the crown princes to lead this battle, he creates the illusion that they are capable of ruling someday. Naturally, he intends to lead the actual fighting himself, using his mastery of warcraft and his own prowess as an unsurpassed yoddha to crush our rebellion. He intends to win the battle almost single-handedly, then credit the victory to young Adri and Shvate. Thus ending our uprising, crippling our armies, and proving beyond a doubt that the two grandsons of the late emperor Sha’ant are true heirs to the Krushan dynasty. It is a brilliant plan, but it is this very plan itself that will be the Krushan’s undoing today.”
On the field, the conchbearers on both fronts raised their white conchs to their mouths, lifting their heads to prepare to issue the first call. Jarsun glanced in their direction but did not react. He continued speaking as calmly as if they had all day to discuss the matter at hand.
“Vrath’s plan depends on the two boys merely being figureheads, seen by all, present in action, perhaps even tossing a spear or loosing a few arrows, drawing swords for effect mayhap, but not actually engaging in full combat. Our plan is simple: engage the boys. Focus our entire attention upon them, and them alone. Attack them with every cadre and weapon at our disposal. Assault them relentlessly, ruthlessly, and do not stop until both boys are lying dead and maimed beyond recognition.”
The conchbearers sounded the first call, a short, sharp burst that filled the early morning sky as the first rays of sunlight crested the eastern mountains. The allies responded with hastened breath, flared nostrils, and quickened pulses. But in their eyes was a spark of hope that had not been there before. In some eyes, there was even . . . excitement. In one pair of eyes, there was malevolent glee. Druhyu grinned broadly, rising to his toes and peering down at the field as if to mark out the two young lives he looked forward to ending this day.
“Vrath has anticipated this stratagem, of course. He anticipates everything, knows all. But he will have no choice. While every last one of you attacks the two Krushan boys, he will be forced to leave them to fend for themselves. Because he will be occupied with a more pressing threat, locked in a fight which he will neither be able to win nor end quickly. Because he will be facing me personally, in a fight to the death, and if you think Vrath is a warrior to be feared, then know now that Jarsun is one foe even the stone gods of Krushan would fear to face in battle.”
The second call sounded, the mournful lowing of the conchs lingering longer than the first, but breaking off just as abruptly.
Jarsun stopped. He was now in the same place he had been when he had begun his pre-battle speech. He scanned the allies once more with the same intense gaze. More than one shivered as if the warm summer day had turned unexpectedly chill.
“When we win the day—and win we shall—I shall ask something of each of you. Nothing too precious. Yet not trivial either. You will give it freely of course, without hesitation or question. And in case you need reminding, our pact remains in effect even in the unlikely event that one or more of you should fail to survive the battle.” Jarsun’s gaze paused upon Usha of Ushati. “Your successor will inherit your part in this alliance. We are bound, not merely until death do us part, but until Vrath and the Krushan dynasty are completely destroyed.”
Jarsun looked at the assembly in one wide, sweeping glance and smiled, showing thin long teeth. “To war!”
Jarsun turned his horse to face the battlefield, gathering the reins in a preparatory stance as the third and final call began to sound.
As the conchs finally faded away to a grim silence, the Reygistani spurred his horse onward and galloped down the hill at a blistering pace, blazing a trail down the hillside, aimed as straight as an arrow at the legendary white chariot of the war marshal of the Krushan forces: Vrath.
The battle had begun.