Chapter 43:
Hatred is an Art
Warderer slowed his horse to a walk as he crested the next hill. The King of Iom breathed heavily. He could feel it now, that burning pain gripping his innards. There was no doubt of it. He was very sick.
The debilitating sensation of illness, however, did not prevent Warderer from feeling other things as well. Barbara had never had much of a gift for the ancient powers of darkness, but there had been a very slight link that Warderer could sense in her, and that link had suddenly dissipated. Barbara must be dead. As well as Solo.
A bitter laugh burst through his lips entirely without his permission. He had invested so much effort and now Barbara and Solo both had the singular bad taste to join Gordon. Dead… all dead now except for Hindel.
That might have mattered to him once, but, in the course of his ride, Warderer had made up his mind. He had been a fool to challenge Mishalea on her own terms. That old bitch was too canny to be defeated by the same means that she used every day. The ancient powers of darkness. Warderer had, for years now, tried to expand his power by the swelling of an army, the conquering of territories, the ruthless seizure of ancient artifacts. And for what? He couldn't defeat Mishalea's power. He could latch on to it, undermine it, debilitate her control, but he couldn't take her power away from her.
He never had been able to do that and Iom had not helped him as he had once hoped. And now his own power was fading. Spinning out of his control. Dying. He didn't have the time to wait any longer. Mishalea needed to die, and anyone who could not help him to achieve this aim was useless and unnecessary. So, Warderer felt very little but sardonic humor at the deaths of Barbara and Solo.
Now, Mishalea would be cautiously worried about what he would do next. Well, let her be worried. He had always tried to keep her as off-balance as possible. And, even better, the impossible had been achieved. He no longer sensed Zeon's presence in the world. That meant that Mishalea must have vanquished the self-styled king of the devils. She must be supremely weakened from this… and Warderer was now ready for the most violent, powerful, vengeful fight of his life. It all boiled down to this. Vengeance against Mishalea was at hand and it would be sweet.
There were still factors that he was uncertain of, outcomes that he couldn't control. The most pressing question, of course, was Hindel. What was he to do with his remaining general? But if that was uncertain, at least Warderer was finally, fully confident of his path. Sergei (though he had no doubt that the name had been a fabrication on the part of the old man) had shown him the way. The power… the possibilities were there, in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was close his fist.
A sudden violent burning in his stomach reminded him that he had best set his plan into motion soon if he hoped to enjoy the fruits of it. "Mayhaps," he wheezed, "I should concentrate of on not vomiting up all my guts, before I do anything else."
With the monumental will that had made him one of the most feared, and certainly the most unpredictable, sorcerers to ever have lived, Warderer forced himself to remain steady in his saddle. He took a deep breath, mitigating the pain as best as possible, and then set out, his hands eager on the reigns.
---
Dawn had acquired a new respect for Gort. The elderly dwarf had, when things seemed to be at their bleakest, managed to turn back the brunt of the enemy assault, thus winning them all another, brief, respite. He had taken heavy wounds for his trouble though, and that bothered Dawn more than she chose to say. She considered herself to be an excellent warrior, and Deanna, when it came to combat, was made of true steel. She was less certain about any number of the others, and if Gort was too wounded to fight any longer…
Knuckles the monk was tending to the dwarf even now, though, so her fears were quite baseless. As for the rest of it… well they remained hard-pressed. Slit had thrown all of his forces square at them twice now, and, since then, had engaged in a number of lower scale skirmishes. Graham had fallen in the last of these, and Dawn was duly sorry. The archer knight had been a staunch ally and a dutiful warrior. At least he had died honorably. The only other casualty so far had been one of Ian's, a bird warrior known as Julia. She had taken a very bad, messy wound, and had been a long time dying. Deanna had decreed that, as much healing as she would need, the healing resources of the group should not be squandered. Shortly after, he had made the mercy killing himself.
In some obscure way that Dawn could not define, that had been hard to see. Dawn was not made for thoughts of philosophy, however, so she dismissed the subject from her mind, turning back to her post. It was her watch, to give warning when Slit came again.
A soft voice said, "Dawn?"
Without bothering to turn her head, Dawn said, "You shouldn't be here. You should be within the safer confines of this place, conserving your strength. You've now dueled the same wizard twice."
Natasha gave vent to a soft puff of laughter, "Yes. He's very strong. In a way… it's hard to see how strong he is. A wizard with such a gift…. And yet he gave it to the darkness. To hurting people. Enemy spell-casters in this war have always frightened me. It wasn't the same during the Civil War."
"Really? I would have thought… Woldol hurt you as much as anyone else. Your family, wasn't it?"
"My whole village. Razed. But Woldol… I never met the man, Dawn. He was terrifying, but I didn't hate the spell-casters amongst his ranks. Many of them thought they were serving their country as best they could… And of our own countrymen, what were they to do, when their lords called? I never hated or feared them particularly. Woldol was different. Some of the tales Yeesha told of the time when she was enslaved by him…" Natasha shuddered.
"Woldol was… well-known for his hedonism." It was a fairly mild comment, compared to the atrocities it spoke for. In truth, Woldol had been an utterly unstable, garish, and despotic ruler. He hadn't been much of a military leader either; on the field, Dawn was confident that he would have made many mistakes. He had been fortunate to have fine tactical minds surrounding him… Bazoo had been a fine strategist and Gepple had once been a soldier. And of course, Dantom, who had betrayed Nicholas I as had so many others.
Woldol's rise to power had been meteoric in its speed once he conspired to crown Edmond. His fall had also been meteoric in speed after he had failed to insure the death of Prince Nicholas.
The saddest part of it all was that Dawn was certain that the whole sorry episode would only be remembered as a small time of unrest. Cypress had been in an uneasy state of affairs since the death of Silus the Sinister (though he had named himself Silus the Magnificent). He had been a terrible king, lecherous, vain, cruel… and on his deathbed he had legitimized all of his bastards. Cypress still felt the weight of that, even now, nearly one hundred years later, even though King Gadis had ended the line of the pretenders after they rose against him a second time.
"Did you want something?" Dawn's tone was sharper than she had meant it to be.
"I… no…. Oh, I'm sorry Dawn. This is just… this is difficult for me," she concluded lamely.
"I don't see why. You have Deanna, don't you?"
Natasha stared at her. "Honestly Dawn, you're starting to sound just like Prince Nick."
At that, Dawn turned to face her friend, very slowly. "What?"
"I know he's had a hard life, and I know what a good king he'll be. I know what he's done for us, but he's so… cold."
"Cold?" The notion bothered Dawn for some reason that she could not define. Was that truly how she seemed to others? She was logical of certainty, but… And even if she did seem cold, why should it matter? She did her duty, didn't she? Didn't she?
For a moment, Dawn was so preoccupied that she missed the change of expression on Natasha's face. She spun around, silently berating herself for taking her eyes off of the surrounding terrain, and, acting on instinct, thrust her spear outward. She was rewarded by a man screaming and angling away, clutching his wounded arm.
There was a twang of arrows, and Dawn threw herself flat, glancing backwards. Natasha hadn't been so lucky; she had taken at least two arrows. For one moment the crazy thought flitted through Dawn's mind that she could leave Natasha to die… Somehow prove that her love of Deanna was invalid? "Help," screamed Dawn, forcibly turning away from the treacherous thought. "Attack! To arms!"
---
High Commander Eiku fumed in silent anger. When Tarbeck alone had returned from the little task that Eiku had set Cellion—Tarbeck of all people-! Mishalea had been incensed to learn of the attack on the negotiators. Of course, Eiku had anticipated that, but it would have been so much easier to explain their violent deaths and report what had been learned nonetheless than it was to explain the failed attack. By all the gods above and below, nineteen men slaughtered, and Cellion amongst them!
Eiku had humbly accepted the blame for the incident, though he had been sure that Mishalea knew that it was really Lynx who had authorized the attack, and she had been free about assigning it to him. Currently he was stewing outside her shrine, as though he were some lowly servant awaiting his master's pleasure.
Still, what was done was done, so Eiku had done the next best thing and blamed Tarbeck for the incident as well. It was patently untrue, but he had spun further fabrications suggesting that Lynx and Tarbeck had collaborated on many treasons. Strangely enough, the Chief Gaoler hadn't protested, but rather, he seemed to understand. He had gone to his execution smiling faintly and had not once contradicted Eiku. Of course that one had always been a bit odd…
Sighing, Eiku massaged his aching temples. In a way, he admitted privately, it was almost a relief. Cellion had been a good soldier and had shown a flair for tasks that would have repelled most other men. He would not be easy to replace, but Eiku could not help feeling some measure of relief that Cellion, and now Tarbeck, had both taken many of his own secrets to their graves. Only Slit was left now, and even he didn't know everything.
That, of course, had been the real reason for ordering the attack in the first place. There were the other benefits to be considered, naturally, and Cellion had named them. Eiku's real concern, however, had been that contacting anyone who had been with the Shining Force for any good length of time could be irreparably dangerous. After all, Tao had been there long enough, she doubtless knew who had originally set Ian loose on the countryside and Eiku had no desire for the council to hear about that.
At that moment, the door slid open, and Paezorta ushered Eiku in. Mishalea glanced in his direction, coldly. He would most like be in disfavor for some time now. Not allowing that to faze him he strode forward and seated himself in the High Commander's chair. The seat Lynx had always taken.
Turning his gaze to study the others, Eiku's eyes slowly narrowed. Magus was there, in the Sub-Commander's seat. Mishalea had evidently gone ahead and given him the promotion. That rankled, but with Cellion slain, Eiku didn't have anyone else to suggest. Certainly not Slit; useful though he was, he was still a lizardman. But there were others there as well, the Vandal and that smirking devil, Geshp. And even…
Eiku broke the long silence, "You speak for your master, Lord Oddeye?"
"The self-styled king of the devils lies slain." Mishalea's voice held a trace of satisfaction. "Advisor Geshp and Lord Oddeye have both graciously consented to be made members of our small council."
"Not so small," quipped Geshp.
Eiku wasn't paying attention. Geshp joining the council was one thing, but Oddeye? Even if Zeon was dead… Oddeye wouldn't have simply acquiesced. There had to be something else going on.
Too many new players…
"And what of Iom?" asked Eiku, choosing to keep his speculations to himself. "Are they… unrepresented here?"
"Iom remains an ally," Mishalea replied curtly. "But Warderer has no voice in our private counsels." She glared around the table for a moment and then said briskly, "To business then. As regards Iom…" She turned to gaze at Rilix.
"Ah, yes," purred the Vandal. "Her power was so slight that I confess I didn't miss its presence… but some of our men have discovered the General Barbara dead. Assassinated it would seem, by other Iomites." Rilix smirked for a moment and then continued. "There is more serious news, however. I remain unable to trace Warderer and… I do sense the absence of Solo's power. He must be fallen."
"Grave tidings," murmured Mishalea.
Magus volunteered, "You think the barricade is in danger?"
Eiku snorted derisively. Trust Magus to pick out the obvious. In the meantime Geshp was asserting, "The barricade must be protected at all costs. If there is any danger it might fall… I propose that we gather more troops together and send them out under a more formidable general's leadership." He paused briefly to scratch his chin. "Lord Oddeye, say."
Paezorta frowned. "Certainly the barricade must needs be protected, but even if we sent out more men? Could they get there in time? If not, then we may be overstraining our resources in sending out another full army. Mayhaps we should reinforce the barricade first and watch. General Cameela is able, certainly."
Oddeye spoke for the first time. "Indeed she is." There was contempt in the gaze he gave Geshp. Contempt and loathing.
"No good," growled Eiku. "We have nothing to do but wait. It would strain our forces to assemble another army and we don't even know what's happening out there. Even if Solo's dead, it may have been a power struggle. And if so, whoever takes over isn't going to risk destroying all of their forces by defying Warderer. Even if we sent more troops to the front, if things are already at a dire point, they won't get there in time. We should conserve what we have rather than throwing it away on futile gestures."
His abruptly delivered advice seemed to startle people. Geshp objected, "Protecting the barricade must needs be our paramount concern, if it falls-"
"If it's going to fall it will fall before we can get reinforcements there. Tell me, Advisor, how much good will it do us if all we do is futilely send forces that will be less strongly protected than those we have already placed in the field?"
Geshp's jowls quivered as he squinted at Eiku. Finally he said in the acid tones of an enemy, "I say that we must strike at once."
Mishalea looked pensive. "Paezorta?"
The High Captain was a long time in answering, his troubled gaze sliding first to Eiku and then to Geshp. "As your chief military executive, I cannot condone the passive resistance that the High Commander urges. And yet… a strike on the scale that Advisor Geshp proposes…"
"This is a political matter as much a military one," Geshp muttered, but Mishalea paid him no heed.
"But," prodded Mishalea, "you also urge for action?"
"Aye, milady. Action is of necessity at this point."
Mishalea's eyes slid past Magus, ignoring him as usual. "Oddeye?"
The cool, measured response came almost immediately, "I should say that your High Commander summed things up very well. He seems to have a realistic grasp on the situation."
Geshp bristled angrily at the insult, but Mishalea merely held up a slim hand before turning to the last of her advisors. "And you?"
"I would also urge caution," rasped Rilix.
"There you have it Geshp. You and Paezorta stand alone in this matter. Caution seems to me the wisest course of the moment. Eiku, I want you to see to bolstering our defenses here, and, marshaling a force that can, if necessary, march to the aid of the barricade. Magus… I'll want to see you in a while. It may be that even a wine-sodden oaf such as yourself knows something of import after all the time you spent in Rune. Geshp, Oddeye, I'll want to speak to you later as well." She dismissed them all with a curt nod, before turning to Rilix. "And, we are agreed on this course?"
"I'll find out what Warderer's up to as best I can," she promised.
"Very well. Oh, Paezorta, now that I think on it, you might have General Hindel brought to me. It would be well to see what he may know."
"As you say milady," Paezorta responded stiffly.
Eiku rose to his feet abruptly, nodding at all of them as he made his way out. Mishalea had given him a task; he had no need to ask their leave of him. He had, he thought, handled this first council meeting rather well. He seemed to have made an enemy of Geshp, but that was as it was. Eiku had survived Lynx's unrelenting hatred for years; Geshp did not concern him overmuch.
In the meantime, Lynx's final ploy had failed, and though Cellion was dead, he had successfully kept Mishalea from knowing that he had ordered Tao and her friends slain. Additionally he had just managed to isolate Cameela, so hopefully the Shining Force would kill her for him and keep Mishalea from ever knowing whatever Cameela did know.
At this stage of affairs, the most important thing was to develop more strategies against the Shining Force. As long as he kept his wits about him though, there would be no difficulty too great to cope with. Eiku had already risen high in his life, after all, now all he needed to do was to support Mishalea loyally and effectively and his destiny would be assured.
---
Betrayal had not come easily to Hindel. Loyalty had been a basic part of his nature, and Warderer had done everything for Hindel. He had risen Hindel high, honored him, protected him… The Black Knight silenced the gnawing regrets as best he could. Not that he could, very well.
Not only was this a betrayal of King Warderer on a personal level, but, of course, he had always done his best for Iom. Hindel considered himself a patriot, yet here he was, slinking off to commit treason, leaving Barbara dead behind him. He had meant to speak to her before running off like this and he had found her murdered. Consequently there would be chaos in the ranks of Iom without a leader…
But Hindel was resolved. There were other debts to pay. And he had paid, and paid, and paid.
---
The wizard was very fast, but not quite fast enough. Not quite. Gepple eyed the man he had once named a colleague with distrust, keeping his sword directed at the wizard's chest. Ordinarily such a mundane weapon wouldn't be much of a threat to an undead, but then, normally his sword wouldn't be smeared with those magically imbued oils either. And Bazoo knew it. Gepple could see that much in his eyes.
The undead wizard slowly rose to his feet. "Gepple. This is a pleasant surprise." He eyed the sword, his head bobbing nervously. "Should I take this to mean that you've missed me?"
Gepple ignored that coldly. He had no doubt that the wizard would play for as much time as possible before making his inevitable attempt at freedom. Still… killing him outright would be messy. Doubtless Bazoo had made some sort of cursory precautions. "You've made bad choices, wizard."
"Oh please, you wound me. You went against Iom as well."
"But I did not alienate Zeon."
"Ah." A slow smile crept across the bald man's unnaturally preserved skin. "What a fool you are. Zeon's dead."
Gepple choked back the momentary impulse to question his foe, but Bazoo had seen that brief moment of distraction. Moving more rapidly than Gepple would have supposed the pampered fool to be capable of; Bazoo lurched forward, nearly past Gepple's reach.
Gepple spun about as quick as he could make it, his sword shearing through the air. Bazoo gave a hoarse cry, flinging himself forward, only just missing the deadly cut. The wizard flung up his hands kicking outward. Gepple stumbled backwards, making another cut. He missed this strike as well, off-balance as he was and his long cloak swept across Bazoo's table, knocking a candle to the ground.
Even as the heat crept up Gepple's back, the dry wooden tower took eagerly to flames.
Fire.
It was the most frightening thing Gepple had ever witnessed. Especially frightening given the fact that undead were hardly invulnerable to flames. Bazoo screamed again, and turned, dashing down the stairs. Gepple lurched to his feet, but it was too late. The fire had already gotten into him through his cloak.
With a cry of despair, Gepple ran, only for his foot to plunge through a weakened floorboard. Sobbing, he tried to wrench the limb loose. It would not come. And the fire swept in.
---
"Another battle," Cameela repeated. "Slit has engaged the whole of his forces in another battle?" Her courier nodded his head wearily, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Cameela said disgustedly, "Very well then. I wash my hands of this farce. If Slit wishes to kill himself he may do so with no help from me."
As the courier sped away, Cameela settled back down, cradling her head in her hands. It was a disappointment, certainly. She had had high hopes for that summit meeting, even after realizing how arrogant Slit was. If he wouldn't respond to logic, surely he would be susceptible to some flattery, or perhaps allow his pride to be manipulated.
The real problem was what to do about him. Cameela didn't want to kill him; not when such a measure would undoubtedly spark the end of the alliance between King Zeon and Mishalea. Nonetheless, Slit was causing more problems than the Shining Force itself and unless somebody curbed him soon…
Sighing, Cameela slowly lifted her chain and ball, feeling the weight of the weapon. The power of what it could do. This inaction grated on her and fed her doubts regardless of how she struggled to silence them. Nor had there been any word from Oddeye for a long time now. Cameela was reasonably certain that he wasn't dead. If Oddeye had fallen, King Zeon would have let her know. Anyway, the very thought of it was nonsense. But she needed to do something. Perhaps she might approach the Iomite lord, Solo… But no, that would never suffice. Slit had already bought the man and Cameela would tolerate no alliance with Bazoo. She had only contempt for the undead.
With an angry toss of her head, the general rose to her feet. "Bring me Red Baron," she commanded loudly. The summons failed to bring her guard running to her. "What is this insolence," she murmured, stalking out of the tent.
The moment she did so, she understood why her summons had failed to rouse anybody. The camp was awash with battle and flame. Her shocked mind only barely took in the implications; how had the Shining Force come at her from the north?
Had there been a spell on her tent? Certainly, she should have heard something of this magnitude. With practiced steps, Cameela came forward, joining her milling soldiers, bolstering their confidence. Max must be a fool to give her battle! Or desperate, mayhaps. That would not be so good. None fought so savagely as the desperate man.
Cameela's eyes watered, and her first strike was off. She cursed the smoke savagely. Some pet mage of Max's had doubtless began the fire to confuse her men's senses. This time Cameela crouched low, lashing out catching a nondescript foe hard in the face.
The successful kill restored her senses. Where was Max? If she could bring him down, the battle might be won quickly. And there was Red Baron, turning gracefully as he cut a foe from hip to breastbone. Cameela might have turned away then, but even as she began to do so, she saw a flash of green catching Red Baron's blade in midair.
Max.
Cameela lunged forward only to cry out as a light kick landed on the back of her neck. She rolled away, recovering quickly, summing up her opponent. This man was older with well-grayed hair and a hard face. He was dressed in black silks, much as the assassins who had once set upon her. There was sardonic humor gleaming in his eyes.
"You are very lucky," he informed her. A blade suddenly appeared in his hand which had been empty before then. "You are also clumsy, for a general."
"You are slow, for an assassin," she retorted. The answering smile was cold, and the duel began in earnest. The man darted forward bringing his blade up from below. Cameela lunged just out of reach, cracking her chain towards him. With a smile, the man shifted his shoulders, slightly to the right of the blow. Cameela cried out in pain as his blade bit at her shoulder.
He's faster than me.
That was no matter, she had killed quick men before, but this one was good. Damn good. Cameela knew that her truest chance could only be if she got far enough away to get a good swing in… Taking up a defensive posture, she invited him in, offering openings that she knew to avoid. The man was fast enough to get a slash here or there, but she guided him back carefully.
Abruptly the man lunged for her legs and Cameela jumped back again. This time was a splashing sound as her feet landed in the waters of the lake, an icy chill. The man was slightly off balance and Cameela started to move in for the kill eagerly. Then she cried out in shock.
Tentacles were growing out of the water… of pure water? Squeezing at her calves, cruelly hard, excruciatingly chill… Stumbling in pain, she saw the assassin throw himself towards her. Fighting the tentacles that were trying to submerge her entirely she jerked back, just missing his cut and seized the man, trying to pull him into the lake with her.
At that moment she heard an indistinct cry, "Hanzou," and saw the brightness of flames hissing in at the water, melding the two elements together in a dance of destruction. Even as her foe's blow took her, even as she fell to the ground, darkness enveloping her senses, Cameela thought that it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.
---
Ian was fighting a press of men when he saw it. His uncle stumbled back hard, only just turning a deadly cut back. The general in the red armor was already on him and… "Uncle," screamed Ian, making a quick kill before dashing forward, ignoring the cut on his forearm.
Max was flat on his back now, the man in red armor sweeping his blade down for the killing stroke. "No," howled Ian, leaping forward, extending his blade as far as it could go… His panic made him clumsy and, to his horror, his sword slid harmlessly across the man's red breastplate. As Ian was regaining his balance, his enemy's sword suddenly jerked up, catching his own blade.
Being a swordmaster had prepared Ian for virtually every type of combat that he knew of, but even being a swordmaster had not prepared him for the sort of demonic strength that this red-armored killer possessed.
Ian's blade was very nearly ripped from his hands, and he lost his balance again, falling to the ground. Before Ian could even draw a pained breath from his fall, he saw his uncle's sword whistle past him and slam hard onto the enemy's foot. With a grunt of pain, the man lurched slightly and Ian seized the leg hard, bringing the enemy tumbling to the ground.
The man never even lost his grip on the sword, and immediately struggled towards Ian, trying to open his throat. Ian started to reach for his opponent's sword, hoping to wrest it from his grasp, only to stop as a soul-deep chill ran through his hand. His pause was less than a second long however, and his hand shot out again, clawing at the man's face.
As his fingers found some sort of leverage to pry out, the man jerked out of reach, as though scalded by hot water. Uncle Max was on his knees, making a new slash towards the man whose hand was rising towards his face. The man lashed out, his foot knocking Uncle Max off balance again. With a grunt, Max fell back to the ground.
Ian seized his sword and thrust it upward desperately, this time catching it on the mask at the man's chin. In the next moment, Ian thought he saw a lance smash into the red armor causing the man to fall a full step backward. Ian's sword, caught, wrenched the mask out, and in another moment, the man fell on top of Ian, no longer moving.
Did I kill him?
"Help," he rasped.
"Can't," he heard Max mutter back. "Get up. This fool's… legs too heavy. What… happened to you?"
"Mountain… hit my head."
"Me too," Max agreed ruefully.
---
The news came just when Slit was finally confident that he would be able to break past those insolent wretch's defenses and slaughter them all. He swung around, gaping angrily at the courier.
"Se General Cameela is under a full-scale assault? From se norse?" His momentary dismay was quickly replaced with an eager thought about how tidy it would be if the Shining Force just killed the bitch for him. "So vat? She is se great varleader, she can deal vis it! And vat of Lord Solo?"
"But sir," the courier said, looking all the more frightened, "you don't understand. Lord Solo is slain or captured! His base has been taken!"
"Vat?" exploded Slit. Just as swiftly as his jubilation had overtaken him, fear returned. Solo already slain and Cameela under full assault. But how had the Shining Force done it? And now… they would hope he wouldn't hear, hope he would press his attack so that their other force could come in and smash him against the rocks!
His face paling with fear and anger he croaked, "A… retreat. Call a full retreat." The few men standing around him looked at him blankly. "Call a retreat," screamed the lizardman.
"But, uh, sir," ventured one of the general's. "We've nearly-"
"I said call a fucking retreat!" He took a deep breath. "All se vay! To Skull Castle!"
The general gasped, "What? No! We can't do that, we-"
Slit wasted no time, but merely swung his tail up, breaking the man's neck at once. Wounded though it was, it was still heavy enough to be a weapon and it would be best if his subordinates remembered that. "Anyvon who questions orders vill die as a traitor," he promised them all. "Now call se retreat!"
As his men scurried about to obey his orders, the lizardman allowed himself a moment of rage. His great chance at glory would be ruined, but at least his army wouldn't be shattered. Still, the cold rage filled him. They had played him. Slit would not be quick to forget that.
