The Black Gods War

rest of the army sat and chattered in hushed but excited tones.
    Lucia watched the sky filling with dark clouds and felt humidity moistening her face. What madness is this?
    I’m dreaming. She looked high and low for signs of Lord Danato. No, I woke up this morning. But these black clouds! And this unbelievable challenge from Pawelon. This cannot be reality. They wouldn’t change their tactics and throw their entire army at us.
    “What now, Danato?” she mumbled without intending to. You want me to experience all of our soldiers dying this time? “Wake me up now, bastard,” she meant to speak the second time.
    “What is that, Your Grace?”
    “Duilio, they wouldn’t leave their citadel, would they?”
    “I apologize. I did not foresee this possibility.”
    “The bulk of their forces have remained close to their citadel the entire war.” Lucia pointed up to the west. “Isn’t this absurd?”
    “It is indeed a drastic departure for General Indrajit.”
    “And the clouds. How often do you see clouds like these in the valley?”
    “Never before, Your Grace.” Duilio searched the sky, contemplating. “We must hope it is not an ill omen for us. Perhaps the omen is for Pawelon. They are acting out of character.”
    Show your foul face to me, Black One.
    Lord Danato did not appear. Instead, a veteran council of long-haired Rezzians quickly formed around Duilio and Lucia.
    First came young Tirso, from the far eastern coastal villages, believed by his men to be the son of the god Sansone. Heavy Manto, from the sparse forests south of Remaes, rode to them on a fat, dull horse. Fair Raf, long bearded and moustached, from the wide nomadic plains, carried the historic great sword of his tribe across his back. Noble Alimene, known throughout the army for his captivating tales of the sea, represented the great port city of Peraece.
    The brothers Fulvio and Forese, sons of the wealthiest family in Rezzia, from the Lympia province made fertile by the goddess Jacopa. Giunto, the protector of the great walled city of Petrus, so feared by the Andaran tribes to the north. Wandering Belincion, leader of a mysterious order of men and women devoted to the goddess Vani. And from the empty, lifeless region of Satrina came Pexaro, slovenly cousin to Lucia’s father, who brought with him a constant stream of deadly spear throwers.
    “Is it possible they outnumber us?” said a voice from the chorus.
    “It is possible. Yes,” Duilio answered. “Their numbers are a mystery, but our scouts estimate their forces to be relatively equal to our own.”
    Mighty Tirso barked from beneath his red-plumed helm, “It wouldn’t matter if they outnumbered us three to one. Once we close with them, their spearmen will be no match for our swords.”
    Giunto slammed the butt of his throwing spear into the ground. “Our Haizzem ascends to Dux Spiritus and, look, our prayers have been answered. We have a chance to fight the pigs on a real battlefield, as if they were not cowards for just one day.”
    “But our position is a disadvantage,” Belincion said in placid tones. “They come from the north and the south.”
    “No,” Giunto answered, “we still have strategic options if we act quickly.”
    Tirso explained, “Move the bulk of our troops either directly north or south, being sure to keep the Pawelons in front of us. They will not dance with us all day. When they close in, we will not find ourselves caught between them.”
    “And that would be suicide for our camp,” Vani countered. “Our food and water. Our tents and supplies. The wounded and the servants could all be killed.”
    Tirso stepped toward Belincion and leaned his spear forward. “Only if they keep their forces split, giving us an overwhelming advantage against whatever they send against us. We still have reserve men and warpriests at the camp.”
    “And that could mean total victory for Rezzia.” Giunto’s expressive face shone with courage. “Praises to the gods of Lux Lucis!”
    Bearded Raf raised one hand. “Be cautious, brothers! The pigs’ sages must have surprises in store for us. We have an obligation to our Haizzem not to risk his army.”
    “Indeed.” Fulvio looked like a king in his exquisite, brightly polished armor. “We may not be ready for their dark trickery. And the gods only seem to ignore us. Soon our Haizzem will come. We should behave guardedly until he arrives.”
    “Your Grace,” The old Strategos turned his soft eyes to Lucia,