Phoenix Rising

by Alec Peterson

  “Taintbrood armor is thick, but in poor condition; corroded by their own acidic blood and a lack of maintenance,” Pellinore commented, “We can afford to use lighter arrows sacrificing penetration for range.”

  The arrows fell upon the burning Taintbrood in waves of black, like a swarm of wasps. Few fell but almost none escaped without an arrow lodged into an exposed arm or leg triggering even more chaos.

  And then they started to fall to their knees, choking and vomiting.

  “And the poison doesn’t hurt either,” Pellinore finished mildly.

  “Poison? Clever.” Ceyrabeth commented dryly. Poison was forbidden as a weapon of warfare amongst most civilized nations as well as the Church. Sul, by contrast, did not seem perturbed by the taboo of such things and its efficiency could not be argued.

  “The Taintbrood now only have two options,” Pellinore replied, nodding, “Remain where they are and burn whilst being shot full of arrows and crushed by flying rocks or march through the flames and take even more losses,”

  Ceyrabeth was forced to admit, it was an elegant trap. She watched the fires burn…and then gasped as they suddenly started to flicker and go out.

  “Captain!” Ceyrabeth shouted and pointed.

  “Finally,” Sul commented.

  “Without the fire, how do you intend to control the terrain?” Ceyrabeth asked.

  “There are other ways to maintain the advantage in battle. In this instance, knowledge.”

  “What knowledge does having our trap fail grant us pray tell?”

  “Our trap has not failed,” Sul retorted coldly, “In extinguishing those specific flames, the Taintbrood reveal two vital pieces of information: where they intend to move their troops and, more importantly: the location of their mages,” Sul turned his eyeless helm towards her, “Their god does not forbid them from making use of magic on the battlefield,” He settled back against his saddle to watching as the Taintbrood began to advance through the freshly extinguished paths of scorched earth, “Fortunately, neither does mine.”

  Pellinore frowned. He’d not heard the captain discuss matters of religion on a personal basis before, “Begging your pardon Captain, but which god is that?”

  Sul smiled again, that chilling smile that would have looked like madness on the face of anyone else but him, “Why, the only god that matters in war, commander- victory.”

  Sul handed the spyglass to Ceyrabeth, “What do you see?”

  She took the instrument and adjusted the lenses until the front lines of Taintbrood snapped into focus. “The first few ranks of Taintbrood are in bad shape between the arrows, the fire and the giant flying rocks,” She reported, “But the ones behind them are looking fresh and angry.”

  “Range?”

  Ceyrabeth checked which lens was in position and counted the notches on the side of the spyglass, “Three hundred and closing,” she brought the instrument up to her eye again, frowning, “Their Brutes and heavy infantry are closing fast but I don’t see any mages.”

  “Mages are well hidden in any army, but sorcery is rarely a subtle thing,” Sul replied evenly as the third finger on his hand stopped counting, “The count is reached commander: issue the next command.”

  “Sir!” Pellinore adjusted the horn and added a thicker, heavier disk into the body and blew out a single long, low note followed by a short note that was even lower in pitch. The reaction was instantaneous; archers exchanged bows with the men behind them and took up shorter, thicker curved bows and readied larger arrows with oversized tips that gleamed wickedly in the sun. The men in the ranks before them readied great shields and spears and arranged themselves in a formation that Ceyrabeth had never seen before.

  “It’s called a ‘phalanx’,” Sul answered her unspoken question softly, “I came across a reference to it in a dwarven manuscript dating back to the fall of their last kingdom. There the dwarves arranged themselves in such a way as to delay the encroaching Taintbrood and buy time for the refugees fleeing the city.”

  “They’re sitting ducks, grouped together that closely!” Ceyrabeth countered, “One good blast from a mage—“

  “Your anxiety belies a curious failure to understand the ways of formal warfare,” Sul commented in an almost lazy tone, “No doubt an oversight in your ecclesiastical education.”

  Ceyrabeth turned on him, dark eyes snapping. “Witchhammers are not soldiers.” She informed him frigidly. “We are not cannon fodder. We are highly trained and specialized professionals that can bolster armies, destroy demons, or remove dangerous idiots with delusions of grandeur before they hurt people as the case warrants it. Idiots like-.”

  “Have you found any enemy mages?” Sul asked calmly.

  “Not since they extinguished our fires!” Ceyrabeth got the hint and brought the spyglass up to her eye, scanning the swarming ranks of the Taintbrood. It was impossible to see anything through all the smoke and chaos; their sheer numbers were giving her a headache. Thinking quickly, she traced back the line of trajectory from where the last wall of flame had been extinguished hoping to find its point of origin…

  And found a dead Taintbrood mage, distinctive for its ornate headdress, its’ throat neatly slit.

  “How?” She scanned again and found a second body, an arrow buried in its eye. A third with the same, a fourth with a sword buried in its side. A gloved hand materialized out of the chaos of the horde to wrench the weapon free of the body and neatly sliced off its head before diving to the ground, disappearing amidst the dirt and smoke.

  No, not disappearing... blending in with the surroundings with a dirt and grass colored cowl and cloak, patterned to the shapes and hues of the wild.

  “Camouflage,” She whispered softly. Ceyrabeth lowered the glass, turning to Sul, “How did you get rangers that far into— “A stray memory clicked. “You didn’t!” she gasped, “You just had them lie in wait for the Taintbrood to arrive after they finished spreading the pitch and oil about!”

  Sul’s helm tilted fractionally to the side, “Well done Ceyrabeth,” He said, “Very well done indeed.”

  Ceyrabeth could not keep the warmth from spreading within her: The captain’s compliments were rare as diamonds. “Thank you, Sir,” She mumbled and was grateful that he couldn’t see the furious blush spreading across her cheeks.

  “And Ceyrabeth?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “My soldiers are not cannon fodder,”

  She swallowed once and nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

  A roar, echoed several times over, tore her from her thoughts and back to the present. She brought the spyglass up to her eye and gasped, “Those hulking Brutes will be on us at any moment,” One had succumbed to its injuries from fire or arrow but three more continued to rampage forward, seemingly undeterred by the multitude of burns covering their body and arrows protruding from their enormous deformed bodies.

  “The phalanx formation will not hold against a combined onslaught by three Brutes,” Pellinore cautioned their captain.

  “Fortunately, they will not be called upon to do so,” Sul answered evenly. He turned his attention to Ceyrabeth and continued tapping his fingers rhythmically, “Range?”

  “One hundred and closing awfully flaming fast,” Ceyrabeth cried.

  “Do I give the order Captain?” Pellinore asked.

  “Hold,” Sul instructed. Tense moments went by as fires burned in the distance and arrows descended upon the ravenous horde bearing down on them, “Sound the count.”

  Ceyrabeth couldn’t spare the seconds to remove the eyepiece from her eye, she just twisted the device until things came into focus and counted the notches on the side by touch.

  “Eighty.”

  “Seventy”

  “Sixty!”

  “Captain!” Pellinore cried.

  “Hold,” Sul replied calmly, continuing to tap his finger at a steady pace.

  “Captain, the ogres will be in melee range of our front ranks in seconds,” Ceyrabeth cried “Fifty!”

/>   “Sir!” Pellinore shouted.

  After what seemed an eternity, “The count is reached commander,” Sul said softly, “Sound the charge.”

  “Forty!” Ceyrabeth shouted. Pellinore brought the war horn to his lips and blew three short rapid bursts.

  The forward archers raised their bows and fired level to the field directly into the oncoming Brutes whilst the rear archers continued to rain death upon the advancing Taintbrood infantry.

  “They can’t stop them!” Ceyrabeth cried as she readied to charge to their aid.

  “Hold, lieutenant. Your courage does you credit, but what you lack is patience.”

  “Patience?!” Ceyrabeth spat, “Those men will be slaughtered!”

  “That is possible,” Sul conceded, “All war is risk and in every battle losses are inevitable.”

  “I won’t stand by and allow my men to die needlessly!” Keiran was down there somewhere. Even Evric, boy though he was, had been assigned to a battalion. The thought of them falling to the Taintbrood made bile rise up in her throat.

  The Brutes were upon the forward ranks, their war clubs raised high and their red eyes filled with hatred.

  “Yer mother was a half penny whore!!!!!!” a familiar voice called out.

  Ceyrabeth jerked her head back and gaped at the sight of Reaper Maul riding some sort of wheeled vehicle being pulled by a pair of enormous bears clad in barding. He was screaming at the top of his lungs and the forward ranks stepped deftly aside, granting him and those that followed him, a clear shot at the approaching ogres.

  “Neither will I.” Sul answered her coolly.

  The brutes managed a look of bestial astonishment before Reaper Maul plowed headlong into the largest one. The two bears pulling the vehicle savaged the brute with their massive paws as Maul leapt from the vehicle landed upon the ogre’s chest and began to pummel the creature senseless with his fists, which were encased in massive spiked gauntlets.

  Ceyrabeth’s mouth opened and closed several times as she attempted to form words.

  “Our berserkers have been successfully deployed,” Pellinore exhaled with more than a little relief.

  Sul nodded, “So it would seem.”

  Ceyrabeth exhaled hard as she observed four wheeled carts, each loaded with men and women howling for blood and wielding enormous weapons, descend upon the Brutes and run them down, “What are they riding?”

  “An older form of transportation,” Sul replied, “It is called a ‘chariot’. I learned of the design from a children’s toy in the east and adopted it for combat.”

  “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “They are rarely used now. They require flat terrain to be most effective.”

  “Targeste accommodates them rather well,” Pellinore commented, “Especially with the ground freshly scoured by fire or frozen over by Taintbrood frost magic.”

  Ceyrabeth watched the onslaught in awe. The chariots bore several large men painted in strange designs and garbed in clothes made of animal hide, adorned with blood and the gory trophies of former victories. “Who are they?”

  “The Crimson Vanguard: Berserkers and warriors adapt at war frenzies” Pellinore answered, “In addition to growing stronger from their injuries, they have the power to inflict a type of curse upon the feeble-minded that paralyzes them with mortal terror.” He turned in his saddle to address Ceyrabeth, “The captain discovered that Brutes, whilst physically powerful, are vulnerable to any form of mental assault.”

  “Why not use mages?”

  “Our mages are otherwise occupied and not so numerous that we can afford to pit them against Brutes in such a direct manner,” Sul replied patiently.

  The death-cry of the final Brute falling to the weapons of the Berserkers drew Ceyrabeth‘s attention and she could not repress a grin, “That’s the last of the Brutes,” She said, then frowned, “What are they doing?” Rather than retreating, the charioteers formed up and were pushing deeper into the ranks of the Taintbrood, “They’ll be overrun,” She commented, “And our archers can’t offer any support without running the risk of hitting them.”

  Sure enough, the Taintbrood converged on the charioteers, swarming their position. For every two or three slain by either the bears or the enormous weapons the soldiers wielded, more swarmed to fill the void. The horde moved with a singular purpose.

  “They’re going to die!” Ceyrabeth cried out and though her feelings towards Maul were mixed at best, he had proven himself a valiant companion and worthy of a better death than this.

  “A possibility faced by all warriors,” Sul commented calmly, still rhythmically tapping two of his fingers.

  “Damn it!” With a growl of equal parts frustration and anger, she brought the spyglass up to her eye and found Maul amidst the swarm of Taintbrood. He was covered in wounds yet still grinning madly as he brought up his war horn, carved from the skull of the first dragon he had ever slain he had once informed her, and blew a last call of defiance and tribute befitting his courage.

  And then the forward ranks of the Phoenix Legion answered the call with their own and charged the distracted Taintbrood.

  And she understood. Maul’s vanguard was not just a single strike against the Brutes: they were a distraction.

  Ceyrabeth gaped as the forward line charged the spawn. The front line collided into them with the force of a storm: shields bashing aside the confused spawn and swords drawing blood with every blow. Arrows arched up and rained down on the heads of the Taintbrood infantry, well short of the charioteers who had reached the rear echelons of the Horde.

  The Taintbrood quickly adjusted to this sudden attack and surged against the Legion. The Legion responded in turn by digging in their shields as the next line of troops fell into position behind them bearing those strange bows. The spawn charged the phalanx formation and the second line released a volley of arrows that streaked through the gaps in the line of soldiers before them to strike the Spawn head on.

  Undeterred, the Taintbrood collided with the phalanx formation, slathering and clawing at the shields trying to get to the men behind them. The soldiers held their ground against the Horde, held against the crushing momentum of the beasts. Held and continued to hold.

  And then there was a moment of near silence as both man and monster realized that the line would not break.

  The silence was broken by the howling of beasts as armored hounds raced through the ranks of the assembled Legion and streaked towards the Taintbrood.

  “War hounds!” Ceyrabeth cried out.

  “War hounds cannot stand against frontal assault,” Sul commented, “As the army at Velasgate learned.”

  There was a single cry and the front line shoved with all their might, knocking the Taintbrood back. The soldiers pivoted sideways in unison and a second volley of arrows streaked out from the line behind them and cut down the spawn. The front line then reformed and surged forward with their blades and cut the disoriented brood down.

  “However,” Sul continued, “When used in conjunction with close-quarter troops, they can force the enemy to divide their attention between two separate angles of attack: high and strong from the men, low and fast from the beasts and the end results are as you see.”

  Ceyrabeth did see as the hounds dragged the Taintbrood down to meet the blades of the soldiers, hampering the movements of the creatures so that the soldiers of the Legion could deliver the killing blow, before bounding away back behind the forward line. The Taintbrood regrouped and charged again only to be met with the solid wall of shield and muscle.

  At that moment the war horns from the rear of the Spawn sounded and Reaper Maul led his chariot vanguard directly into the backs of the Taintbrood bringing death to the spawn with axe and claw, sword and fist.

  Chaos erupted as the Taintbrood struggled to adjust. They turned their backs to face Maul’s onslaught. The Legion’s infantry took advantage of the Taintbrood’s state of disarray and pressed the assault; forcing the enemy to face them on two fro
nts.

  Slowly the forward line funneled into the main body of the Taintbrood horde, digging in their shields and providing cover for additional troops who penetrated the ranks of the horde and fortified their position with spear, sword and shield. Whenever a point within the formation looked to be overwhelmed, Maul would sound his horn and his charioteers would race to intercept and draw the enemy to them whilst the archers would focus their fire on that point with assistance from Yevvon’s carefully aimed boulders. When Maul or his charioteers were in danger of themselves being overrun, they would speed away and the infantry formation would push forward. Man and hound would work in unison to push deeper still into the ranks of the enemy.

  Inch by inch, the Legion invaded the Horde and fortified their ranks within the enemy army; shield and spear creating a corridor in which poured the remaining infantry.

  Ceyrabeth watched the battle unfold and a grin slowly spread across her face. Leave it to Sul to-

  Her thoughts came to a crashing halt as she watched the Horde, still vastly outnumbering the Phoenix Legion, begin to reshape its ranks in response to the incursion. She understood their plan and her blood ran cold.

  “The Horde is attempting a pincer!” Ceyrabeth yelled, “They’re going to try to outflank our forces!”

  “With the main body of their infantry divided and their superior numbers, a double envelopment is the only sound tactical option the Taintbrood have available to them,” Sul commented calmly. “Fortunately-“

  The arrow came from somewhere off to their left. It struck Sul in the shoulder, knocking him from his mount.

  “Drachaen!” Ceyrabeth cried out, drawing her blade as a group of Taintbrood materialized out of the shadow. Pellinore who was already off his horse and tending to their fallen Captain. That left her and the other elite to defend. “For the Legion!” She roared and bore down upon the charging Taintbrood. She didn’t bother to count how many they were. It didn’t matter- they would all die by her hand this day.

  “Die, you vile bastards!” She hissed, bringing her curved sword up.