Beyond the Edge of Dawn by Christian Warren Freed Read Free Book Online

to see. Arrows were knocked, bows drawn. The moment was now. He dropped his arm. Six arrows thrummed through the darkness. Pirneon’s heart refused to beat. His entire plan hinged on the sentries being killed without noise. Only seconds went by, but it felt like an eternity. Five of the six shafts were true, and the sentries dropped dead.
    Pirneon already had his raiders up and moving before the last body hit the sand. Sword in hand, he charged silently down the dune. The soft sounds of a hundred others accompanied him. Pirneon raced past the feathered corpses. There, half of his force split off to the tents filled with sleeping soldiers. He directed a handful to snatch torches and burn the camp. The confusion alone should prove enough for him to reach the Satrap and do what needed to be done.
    Cries of alarm went up from around the camp. Flames sprang to life as the dry rotted fabric of the tents burned. Pirneon led the handful of men crowding him. This was the only chance he was going to get.
    “Come on,” he snapped. “Kill everyone in the way, and don’t stop until we gain the command tent.”
    The soldiers around him slashed their way through the camp with vigor. Pirneon found the indiscriminant slaughter a useless act. It served to slow their advance and inspire thoughts of revenge when the smoke cleared, threatening to provoke a wider war. The Satrap’s tribe was well connected and still had many allies. Any extended violence would keep Pirneon in the desert longer. He despised the desert. Snarling at his lazy thoughts, the Gaimosian hurried.
    Slowing to a creep at the edge of the last row of tents, Pirneon got his first good look at the command tent. More than two dozen alert and decidedly dangerous guards were posted by the front. They were heavily armed and expecting trouble. The battle raging throughout the camp scarcely interested them. Their sole purpose was to protect the Satrap. Swords drawn and archers ready, the guards were vigilant. Pirneon scowled.
    At least twenty meters of open area separated his raiders from the tent. The swordsmen weren’t an issue. It was the archers who worried Pirneon. Those crossbows were more than a match for even the most heavily armored. Having insisted on stealth over protection, Pirneon’s raiders would be woefully exposed. Their black tunics and pants wouldn’t even slow the bolts. The potential for slaughter was high but worth the risk as far as Pirneon was concerned. He grit his teeth and leaned back as the rest of his forces caught up.
    Most were bloodstained, and all were panting heavily. Pirneon found their lack of skill and discipline disturbing. The Satrap should already be in chains. Instead, he was forced to delay because of the sloppy barbarism of his allies. That ignorance was going to cost them dearly. Pirneon had no qualms about sacrificing a few for the greater good. Intensified sounds of battle drifted to him. All elements of surprise were lost. They were going to have to scrape their way out of the camp whether they succeeded or not.
    “Now! Rush the guards. Take down the crossbowmen first. I’ll grab the Satrap,” he ordered.
    Pirneon saw the fear in their eyes and almost sensed a trap. For the briefest of moments, he felt his soldiers plotting against him. The moment passed, but doubts lingered. The motley group Caliph Adonmeia had given him wasn’t fit to muck out stables, much less win a war. He smiled cruelly.
    “Attack!”
    The intensity in his voice gave them a start, and they paused for a split second in shock. One by one, they gathered their wits and charged. Howling and bellowing ancient war cries, they rushed towards the guards. Pirneon stood fast and watched the scene play out. The guards remained motionless. The raiders ran in an unorganized mob. He idly wondered how those fools would feel if they realized they were never meant to be more than a diversion. The thought almost made him smile.
    At five meters, the guards fired. A dozen