The Black Gods War

utter devotion to our chosen path, so that we may attract the gods’ aid, like a determined flower calling to the sun from a rocky field.”
    Lucia mounted her mare again and listened to the proliferating commands directing the bulk of the Rezzian army to move north and leave their camp exposed to their enemy. She looked about for signs of Danato’s presence but found none. Whether dreaming or awake, she was perfectly confused.

    ~~~~~

    Ysa rode directly in front of Lucia, anticipating her devotee’s every movement. The goddess kept her cool gaze upon the distant Pawelon army, and willed the sky to fill with darkness.

Chapter Eight: The Wrath of Athena

    THE REZZIANS gave rise to a percussive din: rhythmic crunching of boots, hearts pounding against metal, out-breaths exploding in unison, tens of thousands racing as one, muscling to live another hour beneath the goddess’s baleful sky.
    Lucia watched as Duilio ensured the legions advanced in ideal formations. His corps of commanders rode on horseback, giving commands and receiving information, relaying to the Strategos detailed accounts of their movements.
    Soon after the council had ended, the legions held their shields and spears close to their bodies, each man turned in place to his right, and they ran north in formation to avoid becoming surrounded by Pawelon’s two armies. Running hard, they advanced further north than Pawelon’s northern troop, which had been slow to respond to their sudden change in direction. That Raf’s cavalry were well ahead suggested their northern flank would remain protected.
    Duilio smiled above his caparisoned steed. “Our men are fit. The pigs are slow, physically and mentally. They won’t outmaneuver us today.”
    Lucia watched the Pawelon armies falling behind their own. “I hope our men won’t be too exhausted to fight.”
    “Oh no, Your Grace. These men yearn to push against impossible odds. They are heroes.”
    Swift, grey clouds overshadowed them, 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