kill them all. What information they had was likely of little use, and there was less risk to his people with a kill order than with a capture-and-detain proviso.
He glanced around, standing now at the forefront of his corps. Ahead, the terrain was a barren mass of rocks and fissures. No vegetation, no sign of life. Not even a bird took flight at their arrival. Such a squalid, pointless bit of earth, he thought. How could there ever be anything here worth keeping?
His squad leaders crowded close as he repeated one last time the instructions he had given them twice already. Wait for the assault from the warships. Once it ceased, move forward into the gaps in the walls—swordsmen in the lead, spearmen following, bowmen in reserve, and heavy weapons as backup. Find those still alive and kill them. All of them. Ferret them out, if they were in hiding. Leave no one behind.
Then he moved them forward, taking up a point just behind the scouts as he led the way toward the peaks and the fortress they warded, the entire command spreading like a huge, silent stain across the landscape. They fanned out in two directions, forming a vise to imprison and contain those within the walls ahead, their lines staggered to prevent any escape. The roar of the ocean crashing on the rocks and the constant wail of the ocean wind hid their approach, muffling the clank and rattle of metal and scrape of boots.
When they were in position, Usurient sent up the agreed-upon flare, and the warships eased forward to begin their assault. Turning broadside, the big flash rips mounted on the decking released the power fueled by the diapson crystals, and waves of explosive fire hammered at the now fully visible fortress. Entire sections of the walls disintegrated in minutes, and the main gates went down in splinters of wood and iron. Cries of alarm rose from those within, and men surged onto what remained of the walls to fight back. They stood no chance. The warships attacked relentlessly, sweeping the men away, disabling their inferior weapons, and knocking out the ramparts and towers on which they stood.
When the airship weapons ceased, Usurient howled out to his five hundred, and the whole of his command surged toward the walls, flooded through the ragged gaps in the stone, and charged inside.
What happened next was predictably horrific. The killing was rampant and unceasing as swordsmen and spearmen took out what few remained of the defenders and then went after everyone else. Men, women, and children, old and young, whole or damaged, were cut to pieces. They died screaming and begging. They died fighting and running away. They died where they were hiding or as they were seeking escape. But they died all the same. None was spared and none escaped. Blood and flesh lay everywhere, a lifeless mass of what had once been a human population, decimated in less than an hour’s time. The entire assault was executed flawlessly. Less than a handful of the Red Slash soldiers were killed in the process, and less than two handfuls injured in even the most minor ways.
Even so, there were those who stood stunned in the aftermath, looking down at their handiwork, amazed at how terrible it was. The reaction was decidedly mixed. There were tears shed. There were muttered oaths and soft prayers asking forgiveness. There were wild excuses and insistences on the necessity of it all. There were boasts and sneers. A mixed pack, but mixed, all the same.
Usurient walked through the carnage wordlessly, his hard face expressionless, taking it all in. He was pleased at how well it had gone, but irritated that his troops did not seem to have found the sorcerer. Desset had seemed so certain he was there, yet there was no sign of him. A canvas of his squad leaders did not reveal Arcannen’s fate, and that meant, in all likelihood, that the sorcerer had managed to escape.
“Bring the men out,” he ordered. “We’re done here. A fine day’s work by all of you. The men get an extra ration tonight of any libation they desire, spirits or otherwise. Let them know.”
He stood outside the walls as his men filed out, noting the mix of expressions on their faces, noting those who would not look at him and those who stared boldly; noting how they behaved with the battle behind them and the killing done. All sorts of responses, yet every soldier had