Warlord by Tasha Temple Read Free Book Online Page B

soldiers in the main encampment. I will lead the attack on their forces. Sabalak, take two thousand horse and cross downriver before dawn, after the water is lowered. Flank them.
    Do not ride into their camp until my signal.”
     
    Arystan straightened and took another sip of his tea, his black eyes intense, moving from Tebur to Sabalak. “The fate of our people rests in our hands. We must defeat Bayuan’s army, but it is even more important to kill Bayuan. He is protected by strong forces, dark forces. But if I can isolate him, I can kill him. He will not escape.”
    “If you can confront him, I do not think he will try to escape, my lord. He has too much pride, too much arrogance. In any event, you are the better fighter,” said Tebur.
    Arystan nodded soberly. The three men clasped their wrists together powerfully and then rose simultaneously.
    “Make the final preparations, my brothers,” said Arystan. “Tomorrow, we shall know victory.”

    * * * * *
“How many does Arystan have, Itkul?” The man’s tone was detached, calculating.
    “It is difficult to tell, General. They are camped high in the hills. I do not think a great number. Two thousand. No more than three.”
    A man of huge bulk with cold, black eyes sat cross-legged on a pile of furs across from three other men. Itkul sat on his heels to the left of Bayuan, his eyes shifting uneasily at the sounds of industry outside the tent – hooves stamping, stakes being driven into the hard ground, men yelling. The sides of the canvas tent rippled gently in the cold afternoon breeze.
    Bayuan scoffed. “So few will be easy to overcome. The river is deep here. After we complete the camp, we will find a ford and send half of our forces across, including most of the horses. We will run them down and kill them all.”
    “My lord,” said the man on the far right, bowing his head as he spoke. His scalp could clearly be seen through his thinning black hair. “We outnumber them greatly. Perhaps we should consider wearing them down, weakening their numbers. It would not take many assaults across the river. Within a month, possibly even a week, our victory would be assured. We have the forces to spare. Small losses would mean nothing to our army.”
    The general sat very still, appraising the man, his back ramrod straight despite his size. A slight tinge of gray touched Bayuan’s temples, but his skin was smooth and taut, his bearing rigid and powerful. His black eyes had a ruthless cast.
    “You surprise me, old man,” he said unkindly. “There is no honor in warfare by attrition.
    There is no glory in it. It is not the way of General Bayuan.” The man cringed visibly, his head bowed, his eyes facing the floor.
    “And more, Ulzhan,” Bayuan said, his voice softly deceptive, “there is no need for it.
    We have enough forces to overwhelm Arystan’s poor excuse for an army. We will simply crush them.” He brought his hand up into a fist, his knuckles whitening.
     
    “Forgive me, General,” said the man sitting in the middle, directly across from Bayuan.
    He was the youngest of the three advisors, his hair a lighter shade of black, almost dark brown, the hint of a mustache forming over his youthful mouth. “But is it wise to split our forces across the river? Perhaps we should send our entire army across or wait for Arystan to come to us.”
    Bayuan stared at him. “The river is no danger to us, Jalus. Even halved, our forces outnumber theirs. Besides,” he spat, and a small pool of yellowed spittle gathered on the hideskin floor, “Arystan is young and inexperienced. He is no match for me in strategy or in combat.”
    A dangerous mien suddenly crossed the general’s face and the tent seemed to noticeably chill. The three men glanced about anxiously, drawing their robes to them. Bayuan’s eyes became distant, unfocused, vicious . . . almost evil. “I have spoken to the divine forces and they have assured me success is mine. I shall not fail.”
    There