Seth had felt his father’s last few seconds he’d been in utter agony, and his mind had bled his pain into the heavens, for those listening. ‘Has there been any word of what befell my fa- er, General Korion?’ I can’t imagine it’s good meat.’ He saluted and started to walk on, then turned. ‘Then burn the carcase where it lies, Storn. But the damn thing’s too big to move, so we’re not sure.’ There were splintered shafts of timber protruding from beneath the monstrous carcase. ‘The Rimoni caravans show ’em off, for a price. ‘Sometimes folk dig up old bones in the wilds,’ Storn replied. ‘I wonder if there were ever real drakken?’ A lot of men have died for that coin, and many more will if we mishandle it.’ Storn saluted and Seth looked away, staring at the great bulk of the construct-drakken. Storn ducked his head, then said reluctantly, ‘Yessir.’ ‘You’ve still got the gold, haven’t you, Tribune?’ The rest must still be in the Zhassi Valley, facing Sultan Salim – so I don’t know who they’d send.’ Seth glanced at Storn. But the men who died here were the cream of the First Army. ‘Will they send more men to stop us, sir?’ I’d been wondering how we’d manage the supply situation.’ We’ve managed to salvage enough food here to get us to Pontus, maybe even Verelon.’ ‘Most of the survivors have fled along the northern road, but they’ve taken no supplies. ‘We think around a third of Korion’s men got away, but not many magi, sir,’ said Tribune Storn, Ramon Sensini’s senior logisticalus, who was walking with him. Some were now padding about the camp as if wanting to resume their lives of servitude, but most of those still alive – the surviving legionaries had managed to slay a great many – were out in the desert now, and likely not coming back. The camp was ghastly, a never-ending parade of the dead and the maimed, rent and shredded by wild beasts that had once been obedient constructs. The aether still felt wounded from the immense energy expended here. All the surviving magi were fled, and the Souldrinkers were all dead, immolated by their own powers.
Moontide quartet nations full#
The other drakken was gone, having eaten its handlers and destroyed two full Inquisition Fists as they slept, then driving off another before simply flying away. The rear part of its body was charred through to the bone he could see the ribs, broken by the fall from hundreds of feet above. Seth Korion stared at the fallen drakken. He did all that, not me.’ He paused, then grinned. Ramon raised a nonchalant, it-was-nothing hand. ‘Well done, all of you.’ He looked at Ramon. Tell the men.’ He clapped his hands, a little dazedly. Remember, these people aren’t our enemies any more. If anyone – or any thing – resists, send for me or Jelaska. And some of those construct-beasts will still be hostile, so we’ll need to move in groups. There’ll be injured, Lanna, so get ready for casualties. ‘Well,’ the general’s son said, after collecting himself, ‘I suppose we need to go over there and look around. They all looked to Ramon, who looked to Seth. ‘What the Hel do we do now?’ Evan Hale whispered, speaking for them all. The rest of the surviving Lost Legions magi – Fridryk Kippenegger, Lanna Jureigh, Carmina Phyl, Chaplain Gerdhart and Evan Hale – were not far behind, all lost for words as they gazed at the most destructive scene they’d ever seen: a battle won without a blow, through the sacrifice of others. Seth came to meet them and hugged them both hard, not even attempting to hide his emotion. The tents and wagons had been mostly burned out and a pall of smoke hung over it all – ash, and the miasma of death. The rising sun revealed the full extent of the devastation visited upon Kaltus Korion’s army: his camp was not just wrecked it was devastated, with construct-beasts still stalking the remains, seeking more men to kill.
Many of Kaltus Korion’s rankers had fled in their direction, only to be taken captive any of the wild constructs that’d come their way had been driven off. They landed solemnly, to find their whole camp wide awake. May your god take you home, Ramon wished the Souldrinker silently, then he took up the tiller again and began to pilot them back towards the Lost Legions’ camp. Delta’s morose, lifeless face held just the hint of a smile, but his eyes were empty. Wordlessly, they hugged, then turned to the slumped figure in the prow, huddled over a blackened crystal in his seared hands. The stars were fading and the few clouds turning pink and gold. He blinked slowly at the scarred face of Mater Lune, Goddess of Insanity.
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