Read Those Below: The Empty Throne Book 2 for Free Online

had been true before she had mentioned it, though now that the thought had been introduced he had to admit that it held a certain interest.
    ‘It is one of the many things that I do not understand about your species – Those Above would be ashamed to demand a thing of another, rather than to accomplish it ourselves.’
    ‘Your slaves would likely dispute that point.’
    ‘My slaves are too well-trained to dispute with me upon anything.’
    He could never tell if she was joking. ‘Fair point.’
    ‘The gate seems well defended.’
    ‘We’ll take it,’ Bas said, a pinprick of pride for his army and his men. ‘Theophilus knows what he’s doing. And the Salucians have no love of war.’
    ‘And you, Legatus? Are you so enamoured of that mistress?’
    ‘She’s always been good to me.’
    ‘Let us hope her affection remains undimmed,’ Einnes said, purple eyes still as the surface of a stone. ‘Watch yourself, Slayer of Gods. Die today and I will lose the chance to kill you.’
    ‘We wouldn’t want that,’ he agreed, watching as she slipped back to her tent, then stalking off to the front of the camp.
    The great western gate of Oscan, where once long trails of caravans had entered on their way to the market, where pilgrims and travellers had received their first view of the great border city, had long months earlier been closed, garrisoned by men with short bows and curved blades. It was the most obvious point of attack and therefore the most heavily fortified; there would be nothing clever in today’s battle, no stratagems or tricks, only muscle against muscle and steel against steel. The hoplitai getting ready to force it had traded in their customary long pikes, were making do with the short stabbing swords that were their secondary weapon. A picked contingent of the largest and strongest had been assigned to shoulder the turtle, a giant aegis of beaten steel and hardened leather, proof, hopefully, against the arrows and stones and heated oil of the Salucians. Chalked up and down its sides were clever blasphemies in Aelerian and vile profanity in gutter Salucian, and at the end was an iron-beaked ram. Driven with sufficient force this might be enough to cause a breach in the gate through which the rest of the force, and the army behind them, might enter. Such, at least, was the hope.
    There was no horn to sound their charge, the Aelerians still holding out some distant hope of surprise, only a sudden bellow from Theophilus, deeper and more forceful than Bas would have credited him. And then the turtle – well, it did not surge forward, being large and ungainly and vastly heavy, but it went forward at least, half-giant Aelerian hoplitai churning the mud, the rest of the thema following close behind, drawn swords and half-shields. A howl from the walls in answer, a howl and a rain of arrows; Bas could not see them but he could hear the chorus of bowstrings and then the screams of his countrymen, a steady and odious depletion, but it did not slow the charge.
    In the still-black morning and past the mass of hoplitai Bas could not see the gate breaking, but he could hear it, the clatter of the turtle’s head, the squeal of metal sounding strangely like the screams of men. And then the screams of men as well, not so loud bur protracted, as the hoplitai and the Salucian garrison met at last, sharp things drawing blood in the dark.
    The dawn came slow, and Bas could not will it on faster. Battle was joined but the outcome yet uncertain. A crowd had gathered, neighbouring hoplitai and pentarchs waiting expectantly, cheering occasionally – though at what Bas could not be sure; it was still too dark to have any idea who was winning. Some ways back, a head taller than the rest of the crowd, Bas could make out Einnes, purple eyes taking in the carnage.
    War is a sluggard, war is a lumbering, shambling, slow-footed behemoth, war is a thousand men making a thousand small decisions slowly and generally unwisely. Nothing