'No doubt,' Duiker cut in. 'And here's one last insult.' He kicked out, the toe of his boot driving into the nobleman's flabby throat, then up. Trachea crumpled inward, head snapped back with a crunching, popping sound, Nethpara pitched backward, thumped heavily on the cobblestones. His eyes stared up unseeing at the pale sky.
Pullyk Alar shrieked.
Soldiers closed in around the historian, weapons out.
'By all means,' Duiker said, 'I shall welcome an end to this-'
'You shall not be so fortunate!' Pormqual hissed, white with rage.
Duiker sneered at the man. 'You've already convicted me as an executioner. What's one more, you craven pile of dung?' He shifted his gaze to Mallick Rel. 'And as for you, Jhistal, come closer — my life's still incomplete.'
The historian did not notice — nor did anyone else — the arrival of a captain of Blistig's garrison. The man had been about to speak with Duiker, to inform him of the safe delivery of a child to a grandfather. But at the word 'Jhistal' he stiffened, then, eyes widening, he took a step back.
The gates opened just then, and the troops of cavalry poured through. Motion rippled through the legions of infantry as weapons were readied.
Keneb took another step back, that lone word echoing in his mind. He knew it from somewhere, but full awareness eluded him, even as alarms rang in his mind. A voice within was shouting that he needed to find Blistig — he did not yet know why, but it was imperative-
But he had run out of time.
Keneb stared out as the army surged towards the gate. The orders had been given, and the momentum was unstoppable.
The captain took another step back, his words to Duiker forgotten. He stumbled over Nethpara's body unnoticing, then spun about. And ran.
Sixty paces on, Keneb's mind was suddenly flooded with the memory of when he had last heard the word 'Jhistal'.
Duiker rode with the mounted officers out onto the plain.
Korbolo Dom's army looked to be in full panicked flight, though the historian noted that they still held on to their weapons even as they fled back over the mound and its facing slope. The High Fist's cavalry rode hard to either side, quickly outpacing the footsoldiers as they pushed to complete the encirclement. Both wings rode beyond line of sight, into the evenly distributed hills of the burial ground.
The High Fist's legions moved at double time, silent and determined. They had no hope of catching the fleeing army until the cavalry had completed the encirclement, closing off all avenues of escape.
'As you predicted, High Fist!' Mallick Rel shouted to Pormqual as they cantered along. 'They are routed!'
'But they shall not escape, shall they?' Pormqual laughed, pitching unevenly in his saddle.
The pursuit took them up and over the first barrow, and they rode among the corpses of the Seventh and the Wickans. Those looted bodies spread northward in a wide swath, mapping the route of Coltaine's running battle, over the next barrow, then around the base of the one beyond. Duiker struggled to keep from scanning those corpses, seeking familiar faces in their unfamiliar expressions of death. He stared forward, studying the fleeing renegades.
Pormqual periodically slowed their pace to keep within the midst of the infantry. The wings of cavalry were somewhere ahead, and had not reappeared. In the meantime, the thousands of fleeing soldiers stayed ahead of the phalanxes, sweeping around the barrows, leaving booty behind as they went.
The High Fist and his army doggedly pursued, down into a vast basin, packed with the routed enemy who began pouring up the gently sloping sides. Dust ringed the crest to the east and west, and directly ahead.
'The encirclement is complete!' Pormqual cried. 'See the dust!'
Duiker frowned at that dust. Faintly, he heard the sounds of battle. A moment later those sounds began to diminish, while the rising dust thickened, deepened.
The infantry marched down into the basin.
The fleeing soldiers had reached the crests now on all sides but the south, but instead of continuing their panicked pace, they slowed, readied their weapons and turned about.
The curtain of dust climbed higher behind those warriors, then mounted figures appeared — not Pormqual's cavalry, but tribal riders. A moment later the ring of footsoldiers thickened, as rank after rank joined them.
Duiker spun in his saddle. Seven Cities cavalry lined the south skylines, closing the back door.
And
'Mallick!' Pormqual shrieked, reining in. 'What is happening! What has happened?'
