Well, the first War of the Machines seems to be drawing to its final inconclusive chapter — leaving, alas, everyone the poorer, many bereaved or maimed and millions dead, and only one thing triumphant: the Machines. As the servants of the Machine are becoming a privileged class, the Machines are going to be enormously more powerful. What's their next move?- Tolkien, 1945
Chapter 2: In The Country of Madness
Feed the gods or be eaten
- from, The Precepts of the Forge
The night was moonless, but Lord Vissaban had no trouble picking out the leading elements of his army, far down where the scrubby uplands ended and the Red Desert began. Inspired by some omen of the priests, the Shashul had decreed at sunset that his conquest begin without delay, not waiting even for the morning. The Emperor's word was law, and so pyres fed by frantic slaves now burned every league along the Scorpion Road as it snaked its way down the last, steep miles of the Vorgul Shelf, lighting the way for the endless tide of soldiers descending from the Rainlands.
Scale armor and polished spear tips glittered in the firelight, making the Road appear in the darkness like some flame-tinged river, winding lazily between hills and forest. As he watched, awed, Vissiban was reminded of nothing so much as the great serpent of the old legends, the ancient dragon said to be lying in wait, preparing to consume all of Azoth.
The Shashul's supreme commander and most trusted general wondered for a long, doubtful moment just what he was unleashing on the world.
Not family, these, nor friends. Rather a pack of wolves, united by only by desperation and by hunger.
- from, The Shashul's Daughters, a Tragedy in Three Acts
The Coward stood in the center of what had been Lord Qazr's private amphitheater, on the sand where only a few days previous slaves and beasts fought and died for the amusement the wizard-lord and his entourage. It was a small arena, nothing compared to the vast
Circus Carnivora where Zar Vorgul's grand spectacles were held, but its tiered semi-circle of stone seats was large enough to accommodate those who would soon be directing the city's defense. It was an eclectic crowd.
In the center, in Qazr's old throne, sat Lord Odrosyan, resplendent as ever in robes the color of sunset. He'd replaced the face powder of a courtier with fearsome Drathan warpaint, giving his jowled moon of a face the impression of a sneering monster. He seemed much less the mincing dandy of the day previous, more sorcerous and wild.
Around him was arrayed a much diminished court of Drathans, those too attached to Zar Vorgul or too irresistibly curious to flee the coming battle. Like their titular lord, the wizards were all arrayed in warpaints and headdresses as flamboyant as they were fearsome. Among their number sat Lord Alkhazar, flanked by Faceless lieutenants in painted masks identical to his own. Assembled together the Drathans looked like nothing less than some demonic choir.
Many of them were looking with pointed suspicion at the Saliszi contingent to their left: Barsabbas the Phantom and other commanders of his rogue army. Many of the Drathans had wanted the Saliszi heretics turned away at the gates when they had arrived in the wake of Alkhazar's army, but Daigon had had the last word. The Coward knew that Barsabbas had his own agenda in being here, but he also knew the Forge Cult hated one thing more than Drathans: heretics. The Firebrands were in Zar Vorgul, and their survival was now tied to the survival of the city entire.
Next to the Firebrands, sat Gost and a cluster of Necrodomii in war-kit, their unblinking electric gaze following Daigon in unnerving unison.
Har Dok other Beast King captains sat to the right of Odrosyan and his coutiers, intermingled with the commanders of the city guard and more than a dozen sellsword companies: Coward's Men, Red Fangs, Goblin Eaters, Desert Wolves, the Forge-Burned, and more. A diverse and varied brood of killers, united in brutality and ambition.
Finally, at the end of the semi-circle, sitting in the shade of a pillar, sat Malkut of the Viitru. Daigon caught her eye a moment.
Then he spoke, his shivering voice quiet but carrying.
"I've given you your orders. Lord Alkhazar's soldiers will hold the southerly walls and towers, and the Dreamer's Gate. City guard and hirelings will hold the rest of the battlements. The Beast Kings, Necrodomii and the Firebrands will reinforce threatened sectors at my command. Lord Odrosyan and his colleagues will be using their talents to destroy the Rainlander War-Engines-"
"The full might of our Art will be made known," said the wizard.
"Quite," said Daigon. He was wearing a light cuirass of chitin and black glass, with a battleaxe at his hip and two swords slung across his back. One a simple, business-like steel blade, the other an elegant white glass scimitar, decorated with elegant Drathan script along the face of the blade.
"Our position is good- the battlements are strong and we lack not for food or water. The plains around this city are utterly dry, and the Shashul cannot sustain a siege. They will storm the city immediately," said Daigon, "The Rainlander legions are well trained, but your men are seasoned killers. There is one thing to fear-"
"False gods," said Barsabbas.
Daigon glanced at the hulking Salszi, "The
Swordarms, the elite of the Forge Cult. They are few, but the boons given them by the spirits they serve are powerful. They can cut through a score of troops with ease, alone."
"Not Necrodomii," said one of the tech cultists flanking Gost, his voice a flat buzz, "The relics are superior to the haunted metals of the Saliszi."
"Our friends," said Daigon, gesturing to Gost's company, "have given us a number of what they call minor vox-relicts. You will each be given one, or a signal-rune enchanted by Lord Odroysyan. Activate these when and if you encounter the
Swordarms or even hear their battle prayers. Reinforcements will be deployed to you."
Daigon paused, eyes sweeping the muttering crowd.
"You all have your reasons for being here," he said, "but your fates, our fates, are now one. Tied to this city. If Zar Vorgul survives, our destinies will again take their own separate courses. If it falls, this will be our shared tomb."
Marrone
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