Emperor Gaoja's army thrust upward on the horizon like a wall of impenetrable spears. Their armor gleamed in the morning light, and the breaths of both men and steeds fogged the chill air of dawn. Sarkon surveyed the swarm of warriors that spread out across the valley. They awaited the charge of the largest mounted army in Easteros. Sarkon's own horde was dismounted, disguised as the barbarian rabble that Sarkon imagined Gaoja was expecting.
Sarkon's warriors were bottled up in a valley with steep cliffs hemming in their retreat. They made an inviting target, one that even Emperor Gaoja and his suspicious advisors could not ignore. Vulnar stood to Sarkon's right and Malanya, Sarkon's First Wife, stood in full battle gear to his left.
"My Warlord, are you sure this is going to work?" Vulnar muttered, doubt coloring his tone. But Malanya's eyes swiveled with displeasure toward Vulnar, glaring like a slap in the face until Vulnar looked away.
Sarkon laughed softly. "You see, brother...it does you little good to provoke the wrath of my beautiful hellcat. Is that not so, Malanya? Do you feel the anticipation of victory coursing through your proud veins?" he asked her.
Malanya smiled, her hand gently clasping her Master's and squeezing it with warmth. "Yes, Master. More than you can know."
When a loud, deep blast echoed over the valley, Sarkon recognized the horn-call of the Wujanian charge. The Wujanian lancers sped down the slope towards their intended prey. The shock troops followed them, and in the midst of the heavy cavalry the Emperor Gaoja's banners fluttered bravely despite the harsh steppe winds.
The Easterosi horde waited to receive them. On the heights came the chanting of the Wujanian spell-weavers, Shan'ri leading them in the incantations of warding. As the Wujanian lancers tore into the first ranks of Easterosi rushing headlong to their doom, the wards held, pushing back the black magic of Sarkon's warlocks.
Sarkon stood in the middle of a symphony woven from blood and death. His rust-hued armor and horned helm marked him for death, and many of the enemy fought their way towards him, thinking to cut the head from the snake that was the Easterosi horde. But a new call dove from the heights, hidden in caves along the cliff sides. And from these caves a new mounted force rushed into the fray; Easterosi cavalry. Brandishing swords and bellowing war cries, they slammed into the flanks of the surprised Wujanian forces.
At nearly the same time Sarkon cried out in his bloodlust, his sword hewing to left and right like a sickle reaping a crop of men. So large was Sarkon's two-headed claymore, it clove a horse and man nearly in half. Ribbons of flesh and gore clung to the blade as he drew it back for another swing even as the lithe champion dodged a skewering lance. Sarkon hauled the Wujanian lancer from the saddle and crushed his skull with one well-aimed blow of his gauntleted fist. Then he was already re-grasping the hilt of his prodigious sword, swinging, blocking, and cleaving like a madman laughing at death.
Sarkon's men saw his example and took heart, pressing forward over their own trampled or skewered comrades. They created a bristling, deadly wave of flesh which caused the Wujanian advance to stall. White-cloaked Wujanian cavalry in their shining breastplates turned to meet the flanking assault of the Easterosi cavalry, and the clash of steel vied with the sounds of men's screams.
As the very outcome of the battle lay in doubt, Sarkon saw his First Wife, Malanya, sweep into the fray with deadly finesse. Her twirling form slipped between attackers like water. The brunette's saber flashed, biting deeply into the exposed side of a lancer's neck before she leaped up into the saddle and wrested the horse for her own. As she cried out, her eyes still feral with battle-lust, Sarkon roared like a bear and found himself face to face with the churning hooves of Emperor Gaoja's elite vanguard. Seeing Sarkon's stand, the Emperor had fought his way to the epicenter of the battle, and now his legendary sword, Watersting, slashed through the ranks of brutal Easterosi as if their armor were made of rotted wood. Gaoja's eyes met Sarkon's in the midst of the chaos, and at that moment the warlocks' efforts from the deep bowels of the caves on either side, their incantations booming through the valley, finally overcame the Wujanian spell-weavers and their protective wards.
A sudden shiver heaved the earth underneath both armies. Gaoja and his knights turned, watching in horrified disbelief as creatures from the nether-realms stepped onto the battlefield to make nightmare a reality. Many of the creatures were vaguely humanoid, but their ashen skin was tough, and their bones like steel. Razor-sharp talons tore through the Wujanians' helms, decapitating men with brutal swats before the creatures moved on to claim their next victims. Soon the entire complexion of the battle changed. The Wujanian forces quailed, hesitated, and then -- like fate resting on the edge of a knife -- everything reversed, and the white-cloaked army deteriorated into full retreat.
But there was nowhere to retreat to. Galal and a reserve force of cavalry had cut off the Wujanians' escape route on the heights, and now a horrible slaughter began. Galal and his mounted swordsmen cut down the Wujanians who tried to flee. Soon the battlefield itself was one mass grave covered in corpses which would soon attract the giant carrion birds already eyeing their meals from aloft.
Sarkon shouted at his men to find Gaoja and bring him the Emperor's head, but to his pleasant shock Sarkon found Vulnar standing above the Emperor's listless body.
"I stunned him, Master. What would you have us do with him?" Vulnar asked. With a grim smile, Sarkon gave out his orders.
*****
When the Emperor of all Wujania awoke, he realized that he still lay on the battlefield, but that a blanket had been placed beneath him. No, wait, it was not a blanket, but his own battle standard which covered the earth under him. He had been forced into a sitting position, his wrists tied to a post driven deeply into the earth. His clothes had been taken, and he reddened with anger at his naked and helpless state. He looked with hatred into the eyes of his enemy, but the Emperor's eyes widened when they saw who stood next to Sarkon.
Sarkon looked at the three naked girls who knelt beside him. Umika, Culiko, and Ishinai. All three gorgeous princesses had their wrists tied in front of them, dark leather collars snapped around their necks.
"Welcome back to the world of the living, old man. Take a good look at what your schemes of conquest have sewn. Your daughters are now my chattel, my slaves, to fuck or discard as I see fit. And you...your own life is forfeit. I can do with you as I please." Sarkon stripped from his battle gear, standing in his muscular, naked glory as a specimen of the male race.
"Would you like to watch a good show before I have your head lopped from your pathetic shoulders?" Sarkon growled. He pointed to Umika, whose pale breasts hung so deliciously from her slender form. He strode up to her, bringing her up to stand before him as his hands cupped her supple tits, feeling the nipples harden beneath his palms.
