Chapter 3

Persenia stood at the edge of the outcrop, staring down at the trail of smoke that rose from the ravaged outpost some distance below. Tonight had an eerie calmness to it, with a clear and star-ladened sky. The moon’s ghostly nimbus radiated softly, crowning the darkened heavens with its tame, yet unsettling, glow. It had been a week since her army had arrived in Boubalia – the great city being the closest major point of contact between Tauria and the Allerian Plains to the west. Immediately, upon her arrival, a report had reached her: a skirmish force from Taj’Khinjaha had crossed over the border into the City States Peninsula, attacking one of the encampments that housed a fortified toll-gate belonging to Minos. Though this attack was close, still flush against the border between the two regions, it sparked concern in the Gorgon nonetheless. Coupled with the recent naval raids from the Sorcerer Kings, it was clear that the hostilities from Taj’Khinjaha and its forces were ramping up. The final crescendo of such efforts was war, and it seemed inevitable.

“The men are ready, my lady,” came a gruff voice from behind her, interrupting the natural stillness of the night. “We await your command to begin the charge.”

Persenia turned to face Ionas, leader of Boubalia’s cavalry core. She was grateful for the Ipparchos’ assistance; the man was skilled in the art of war, and skilled warriors seemed to be in short supply these days.

“Good,” responded Persenia with a nod, the serpents attached to her leathery scalp bobbing in accordance with her head’s movements. Most humans – for Persenia doubted if she was still human after her transformation – were unnerved by her appearance and of the multitudinous serpentine gazes that accompanied her own. Yet Ionas was no such man; he always met her eyes head on – embracing her and respecting her as a warrior and general. For that, the Gorgon favored the Ipparchos. “Take your riders and head towards the enemy’s flank. I will approach them by foot and draw them out. Stay far away and out of sight. Commence your charge at my signal.”

The force sent to deal with this incursion was small, but, under her command, the Gorgon knew she could accomplish much. The main army was left at Boubalia – ordered to prepare for the upcoming war that was now certain. Persenia left the promontory and headed back to the bivouac, barking orders at her ground troops without delay and setting a brisk pace as they trotted toward the lowland. They were few of them, fewer than the enemy she reckoned: victory was assured nonetheless.

Outside the toll-outpost, they stopped, the Gorgon and her cortege of warriors clearly visible over the simple wooden walls that encircled the site – drawing all the attention onto them. “Enemies of Tauria!” cried out the Gorgon. “Cowards! You attack merchants and civilians without honor. Come out and face true warriors – or do you fear us so?!”

The ensuing silence was only allowed to stretch for a few moments, with a stout, hog-like man emerging from the outpost’s main opening along with a slew of warriors. The man, the commander of the enemy force, was covered in gilded and ornate armor, his wide-set face contorting with glee as he grinned. “You threaten us, bull-worshiper, yet there are so few of you… Do all the sons and daughters of Tauria share the insanity that you display?!”

“Odd,” the Gorgon retorted. “When we culled your kind from Tauria’s outskirts, they did not seem so confident.” Persenia allowed herself to smile, the gesture feeling unnatural on her thin lips. “No… They cried and they begged – some even soiled themselves when we uprooted them. Yes… That is the only legacy of the Sorcerer Kings that I know of: a bunch of groveling cowards stained by their own impurities.”

The enemy commander gritted his teeth. His face was now ruddy and taut with anger – Persenia had struck a nerve. “You foul-mouthed cur… You lack honor!”

“You speak of honor, mage-thrall, but it was you and your men that attacked this outpost filled with travelers and merchants. We simply banished your kind. Your spineless lot raised your weapons against the unarmed and the vulnerable!” The Gorgon spat toward the direction of the Sorcerer Kings leader, her disrespect evident for all to see. “Let us settle this dispute then, your honor against mine, or are you afraid that I can best you even when at a disadvantage? Is your kind only capable of fighting behind walls and charms? Are you so cowardly that you would not fight an enemy that you clearly outnumber?!”

The enemy commander’s face had now ballooned with anger, his cheeks inflated with rage. A few orders were given, and more soldiers emerged from within the toll-outpost – some of elemental origin – spreading their numbers wide and forming a neat line. Most interestingly, the Gorgon noticed, the Sorcerer Kings were accompanied by foreign warriors. Unmistakably of the Hundred Kingdoms, these were mercenaries paid for and imported from Gerona, making up approximately one third of the enemy’s numbers. “You will pay for your insolence!” proclaimed the head-warrior, his voice seething with the promise of violence and revenge.

Persenia’s smile remained pinned onto her serpentine features, the woman mockingly spreading her arms as she spoke. “Make me!”

The soldiers of the Sorcerer Kings and their allies charged, accompanied by an elemental outburst of fire and wind. Persenia raised her fist, and her warriors gathered around her, forming a tight shield wall. The enemy crashed into them like a great wave, surrounding the Gorgon and her cadre like a swarm of wasps. Patience, Persenia thought, we need to hold out a bit more. Once the Taurian ground force was sufficiently surrounded, close to buckling and dispersing, the Gorgon spat out a command, and a warrior by her side reached for a war-horn hanging from his waist, sounding it.

Hidden by a nearby thicket and the slanted soil of the lowland, Ionas soared forward, followed by his elite entourage. The riders from Boubalia crashed into the tender flank of the Sorcerer Kings like a butcher’s cleaver through fresh meat, slicing deep into their ranks and breaking their carelessly formed mass in a matter of moments. The enemy now discombobulated, Persenia ordered the shield wall to unravel, lurching forward and slicing through hostile soldiers effortlessly. Akin to a master painter, who caresses bare canvas with the lightness and affection of a lover’s touch, Persenia embraced her enemies, painting a scene of elating bloodshed with each flick of her wrists.

Soon, the Gorgon came face-to-face with the commander that had opposed her, pointing both of her blades at the man. The request for a duel was clear for all to see, and those that surrounded them made room to honor such a sacred rite. The man, a deep gash above one of his eyebrows, had tears of blood rushing down his portly features. He raised his two-handed, curved sword and charged, lunging towards Persenia and swinging his weapon in a wide and powerful arc. At the very last second, right before the blade would have taken her head, the Gorgon ducked, splaying one of her legs while crouched and kicking the foot of her enemy. The man fell, landing on his back. He did not have time to react, for Persenia leaped atop him without giving him room to regain his composure, planting one sword forcefully into his gut and dragging it across his belly. As the man screamed and convulsed, trying to push back his slinking entrails into his body, Persenia looked up – those of the enemy that had survived were now dropping their weapons, resigning themselves from the concluded conflict.

Ionas dismounted and approached the Gorgon, a sliver of pride resonating in his voice. “The outpost is once again Tauria’s, lady. What of the prisoners?”

Persenia turned her multifaceted serpentine gaze towards those that were captured, noticing the shame, fear, and defeat that shimmered in their eyes. “Those of Taj’Khinjaha are to be put to the sword for their crimes…” The words that followed were filled with disgust and contempt. “Show them Minos’ love. Make them suffer as they die – an eye for an eye and all of that.” Without pause, Persenia addressed Ionas directly. “We are to head back to Boubalia and prepare the main army – I will march for the Allerian Plains once I’ve settled on my final plan. You will stay in the city until further notice; I fear Boubalia herself might be under threat in the chaos that is sure to come…”

As the Gorgon made to move away, Ionas called out to her, walking hurriedly in an effort to catch up with her. “Lady, what of the mercenaries? They might hold important information about Jahan’s relationship with Gerona – Taj’Khinjaha has attracted many hired blades, their origin might prove of use!”

Persenia hissed, her forked tongue peeking through her non-existent lips. She approached one of the captured men, his blond hair caked with sweat and blood. He was young and fresh-faced; this was probably his very first contract as a sellsword.

“We know nothing! They never told us who sold our services to the Sorcerer Ki—” the man groaned as a Taurian soldier struck him with the haft of his spear. “You will speak when you are spoken to!”

The Gorgon, a rarity, felt indecisive. These were common soldiers, mercenary chaff that would not be privy to knowledge of strategic importance; though, she could be wrong – however miniscule the chance. Persenia lifted her head, the command regarding the fate of the mercenaries finally breaking free…

What will Persenia the Gorgon do with the captured mercenaries?