“I agree Sire. Though I fear there might be reinforcements inside the city that very well might be too much for our army alone. What was the last word of Count Angrel from the south? Or the border forts?”
“Does your heart hold so little courage that it would bulk at the horrors we now face?” Leupold shot Winslow a glare that would have withered paint before it was dry. The Count laughed, lightly patting his friend on the shoulder. “Levity, my friend. I hear your counsel for what it is, wisdom. Angrel has met with a host that was sent out of the city not two days ago to the south. Roughly the same size as this one according to his messages.”
“I remember the report. We have not heard from him since?” Count Winslow shook his head sadly. “I had hoped that you had merely forgotten to inform me.”
“You are my field commander. I would not keep such important information from you, Leupold. The border forts are not much better, I am afraid. Two companies only, and they are a few hours’ ride north of here.”
“Then we are alone,” another knight said. It was a younger voice, filled with courage and fear.
Winslow thought for a moment, thinking on the young mans words. Putting away the spyglass, as the sky above him lightened further, the count stepped in front of his men. He kept walking a few paces until most of his forces could see and hear him. He activated his Voice of Command ability and his words carried over the empty, still wind.
“We were nearly five thousand strong when we set out from Harvesters Vale! We have taken every man of fighting age within two days’ ride of the city. And every petty lord, hedge knight, and hero along our travels has joined our cause! It has been nearly a week our trek, and our numbers and strength have grown to nearly eleven thousand! Cavalry, monstrous gryffs and powerful warhorses alike. Skyriders on griffons, and even a few of the Eyrie’s of Roc’s have joined our cause! Men-at-arms with the best weapons we can muster, mages of nearly every kind, and two of the most powerful master magi in the entire realm now swell our ranks!” The men mulled about uneasily as the light illuminated the sight behind him.
“And do not forget, the holy magics of four gods now support us. Dominus God of Light and Men, Pyra goddess of Vengeance, Tempest God of Storms, and even the Dead God have sent their best to purge this taint from our lands! If any army is fit to end this misery, to cleanse this corruption, it is us! Let us not bulk now from our duty. Let us purge this filth and retake the duchies capital!”
Count Winslow’s words carried over the empty pale darkness of early morning. After a moment, a great cacophony rose among his men. Warriors banging shields, swords, and armor, shouting prayers, or simply adding their voice and courage to the men around them. Their battle cries filled the silence as the sun peaked over the horizon behind them.
Leupold had followed Winslow and as ever was at his right arm. “And if they have breached the keep, and activated the city’s defenses?” He whispered, worry and concern clear.
“Then the north is lost. And the darkness has a citadel from which to strike at the heart of man.” The words weighed heavy between them for a moment. “But look, the oil fires at the top of the keep are still lit.” Leupold did and found that the fires burning at the very heart of the city were orderly and contained. Not the rabid, almost desperate flames that consumed the city, but ones tended too by living hands.
“Then there is still hope.”
“Then there is still hope. Let us see it grows into something more.”
---
Gerold dipped down below a thermal. The great griffon’s wings flared to stabilize its flight as Count Winslow watched the infantry line engage. The center, the heart of the nearly four thousand infantry, was his two thousand men-at-arms, bolstered by dismounted knights. Those who specialized in dismounted combat rallied the men as they engaged the undead. Steel met teeth and feted flesh as the first disorganized column of loosely formed zombies was butchered. It took only minutes and Winslow hardly thought it a worthy battle. They were little more than a screening force to prevent my scouts from getting too close; he thought as he scanned the horizon to the south. Hoping to spot a glimpse of his ally and sometimes rival Count Angrel.
The man is an up jumped hedge knight, but he can fight as well as any of us in the north. The Count shook himself out of the thought as he refocused on the battle below. The main battle line was about to engage all across the field. At the heart of it, his men-at-arms had formed a deep wedge, with three knights, two of which glowed nearly as bright as stars in the pale morning light. They were the first to engage the disciplined and organized skeletal ranks.
The three glowing figures chewed through the line like a saw through wood, carving their way to the heart of the enemy formation. Allowing their men to open up the center of the enemy with a powerful charge and their brutal, heavy, blunt weapons. Maces, morning stars, even simple clubs were effective at breaking the enemies’ bones and rendering them ineffective. Allowing the magic that animated their frames to seep out like water from an upturned bowl.
Two of the undead stitched together abominations roared their challenges in the morning light and charged. The scorpions mounted on their backs fired javelin sized bolts at the two silver knights. One cut the projectile in half, exploding it and casting shrapnel over himself, and friend and foe alike. The other silver knight dodged the attack, only to have the bolt’s magic explode behind him in purple flame. The magic devoured a handful of the men he led and leaving a hole in his own ranks that he had to fill himself.
The third knight had yet to activate any abilities. All across the battlefield weak lights of red, blue, gold and green sprang to life as men-at-arms and low ranked knights activated abilities and enchantments at their disposal. The surge of minor magic allowed them to keep the ground they had just taken despite the counterattack by the enormous beasts. And yet, this lone black clad knight was just as effective at anchoring his men as the other two. When the two bolt throwers targeted him and loosed their deadly projectiles, a stream of darkness leapt from the man’s armor and consumed both bolts as they grew close.
The crews grew visibly frustrated, which, if Winslow was being honest with himself, looked rather comical. A handful of skeletons chattering angrily at one another was a sight to behold. The crews pointed their massive creatures at the dark clad knight. Their charge disrupted both battle lines, breaking the bones of the living and the dead with equal abandon in their efforts to destroy the warrior.
When the first beast got within sword range, the knight turned and met it. Stepping to the side, he raised his two-handed sword in a powerful swing, cutting one of the beast’s arms into splinters. The knight’s black magical armor activated, sending a tendril of magic swamping over the abomination and the crew that controlled it. A moment later the miasma of magic disappeared and the bones and flesh of the undead lay in a mount of unmoving debris.
The second stitched together monstrosity crashed into the back of the knight, sending him sprawling. “Down!” The count shouted, squeezing with his legs and ankles in the right places to signal to Gerold to dive. Through his magical connection to the Griffin the count marked his target. Gerold let loose a powerful screeching roar that pierced the sounds of battle. Gerold’s hunting cry was echoed by two gryphon riders that composed his bodyguard.
Claws extended, wings flared out to slow his descent. Gerold hit the abomination with the precision of an eagle hunting a mouse. The angry gryphon lifted it off the ground briefly before dragging it a dozen yards. Gerold flared its wings again before turning down on its prey and shattering the bones of one skeleton after another with powerful pecks from its serrated beak. The other two gryphons landed among the skeletons and zombies to both sides, scattering them like rice. And giving Winslow and his mount room to grapple with the powerful stitched together undead.
The beast reached a hand up and grabbed at Gerold’s wings. But the gryphon was an experienced hunter and knew the tricks of prey. Gerold pulled his wings in, leaving nothing bu
t feathers behind in the enemy’s grasp as he tore at the feted flesh with his talons and beak. Count Winslow lashed out at the creature’s spine with his own sword whenever he had the opportunity, but mostly he let his trusted companion do his work. What felt like hours later, but what had in reality only been a few moments, Count Winslow knew, the undead thing lay still. Half a heartbeat later it seemed to deflate, decomposing as the magics that had held it together dissipated.
“Fly!” the count ordered and Gerold beat his powerful wings. They took off into the sky as the two gryphon guards followed, beating their wings hard enough to send skeletons sprawling. Count Winslow looked back and found the black knight re-engaging with the now shattered enemy column of undead. Winslow could see more undead advancing on their position, but the knights and the center forces had plenty of time to finish the enemy and regroup before that happened. To the north and south the flanks had held. Not nearly as well as the center, which was practically untouched in terms of casualties. The scattering of dead and wounded warriors being carried to the priests and healers in the battle's rear attested to that. But they had done a serviceable job. Enough that the next stage in the battle could begin.
Count Winslow raised his sword and activated an ability, allowing his weapon to pulse silver so those on the ground could see his commands. A few heartbeats later and the calvary all along the flanks advanced. They would circle around the infantry line and strike the enemy in the extended flanks. They would charge in causing massive damage, before the roc’s and other gryphon riders would dive and engage the enemy along the rear of their ranks. This would allow the traditional cavalry to disengage for another cycle charge. When the second charge would hit, the sky riders would disengage while allowing the bestial cavalry, the gryphs and other bird mounts to engage. It was a system of cycle charges between the three types of cavalry, and while complex if executed correctly it would inflict devastating losses on the enemy. If they did it right, they would constantly pressure the undead on all fronts. Eventually pinning them against the walls and crushing them there.
The count scanned the first cavalry charge along the northern flank and found that a large force of the more heavily armored undead, bolstered by nearly a dozen of the large monstrosities, had been moved to blunt their charge. The count pointed at them with his silver sword, signaling to his bodyguards their next target before squeezing Gerold again and sending him a mental image of the creatures.
As the three powerful gryphons made their attack run, Winslow couldn’t help but think that the battle was going to be long. That is just the way when fighting undead. But we will overcome, he thought, just before Gerold slammed into another of the abominations.
---
Horns blew, and the earth shook familiarly as the count sat on Gerold who parched contentedly on top of Gulhaven’s main gatehouse. The other two griffons that made up his wing fought exhaustion but Gerold, being much higher level and an extraordinary specimen of the species, had not tired of the fighting. Yet. Thousands of undead still teamed inside the city, but the threat they posed outside the walls, and in the first district, had been eliminated. “My lord, Count Angrel has finally arrived.”
Winslow grunted as he watched the force slowly appear over the hills that ringed the bowl that they had built Gulhaven at the center of. They were gentle hills, but they prevented long distance siege engines from getting into range of the city. At least, not in such a way that Gulhaven’s defenses could not respond. If the city’s defenses had been activated.
Angrel’s army crested the hill and entered the bowl, and Count Winslow winced at what he saw. Knights with armor battered and bent, shields dented in. With more broken bones than gleaming swords visible among the men, he thought as they slowly marched closer. Nearly half their number, possibly more, broke off from the column of warriors heading towards the triage and healer’s tents that Winslow had established before the battle. That was where he had also stationed the late, and rather ragged, border fort forces that had arrived to answer the Duke’s call.
More knights walked or were dragged by their friends in litters for the wounded, then rode their mighty gryphs. And there were virtually no horses left in the force as far as Winslow could see. This was a ragged and devastated force.
“Winslow! Get your arse down here, we need to have a chat!” Angrel’s voice came from the courtyard down below, as the vanguard of the force arrived in the city’s first district.
“We’re about to launch our attack on the central keep, Angrel. We hope to retake it and the city’s defenses from there.” He yelled down at the older, gruffer former peasant. Or so rumor said.
“Good! Then maybe you can do something about that group of nearly a thousand undead that just ran out of the northern gate along the shoreline!” The angry bear of a count yelled back at him. Neither count could see the other, but they could hear one another just fine. “Looks like it had a few magic users in it.” The count cursed and urged Gerold off his perch and into the sky. The two exhausted gryphon riders joined him but were much slower to react. He needed to see this for himself.
Gerold rode a thermal high into the morning sky, allowing him an undisturbed view of the entire city and the surrounds. A flock of sharp toothed bats had taken off from the ground to intercept him, but his bodyguards coupled with two more flights of gryphon riders had engaged the horse sized creatures. They would handle that threat easily enough, he knew, as he fixed his eyes on the retreating host. Damn it, that bastard was right. Nearly three hundred of them, though, not a thousand. They circled around a passenger cart pulled by two black horses that snorted smoke and fire as they pulled the cart forward. Their black coat stood out among the green grass of the rolling hills around the city.
A single bat latched onto Gerold's leg and began suckling blood from the puncture wounds its unnaturally long fangs had bitten into the mighty gryphon. Gerold screeched his rage as he landed a mighty claw strike along the bat’s spine, tearing it to ribbons but causing Gerold to lose a few dozen feet of altitude before he could correct.
Count Winslow looked down on his forces and saw the enemy had launched a full-scale counterattack on their defensive positions at the front of the city. Knowing what the enemy was doing, and unable to do anything about it, was a feeling Winslow had rarely experienced. And though his attention had to turn to defending his men and retaking the city, it was one he was determined to never experience again.
Interlude 4: The Assassin’s Blade
“Often those that criticize others reveal what he himself lacks.” - Confucius
Sorcerers Tower, Outskirts of the City of Sowers Vale, 9th Novos, 2989 AoR
Ke’dra Bronson
Ke’dra Bronson, daughter of Karl’el Bronson, a paper-maker and wood cutter from the northern district of Sowers Vale, crept through the char-wood. Char-wood was a new name for what had just a week ago been known as the Apple Wood. The portion of the woodsy area outside the city walls where mainly apple and pine trees grew. There had supposedly been some mage who had lived in the Apple Wood, guarding it and tending the small orchards that grew in neat little rows here and there. But Ke’dra who had grown up as a wood picker and herb gatherer in her younger years, had seen no one like that. At least until today.
Two old men and a young woman stood together just outside the damaged grounds that surrounded her employer’s estate. When they started casting spells and shaking the ground with their raw power, Ke’dra knew this wasn’t a fight for her. At least, not yet. She stayed behind what was left of the tree line, keeping among the desiccated corpses of evergreens coated in ash and decay. Staying out of sight and watching as her boss began retaliating.
The pompous, entitled and powerful mage who the locals and labeled a sorcerer, was not one to be trifled with. Ke’dra knew this, she had experienced his ire nearly two years ago when she had entered his employ. The scar from his displeasure at her first, and only failed mission still marred her body. It ran straight down her back, al
ong her spine. He was going to use her as an experiment in his little house of horrors. At least until he needed her and her little guild again.
A green and black ball of iridescent magic in the shape of a laughing skull streaked through the air between the tallest room in Jekkel’s tower and the two mages. It was her employer’s opening salvo and the two elderly magic users simply lifted their hands in response. A moment later the ball of dangerous magic was drained of its power and even Ke’dra whose magical abilities were limited, could feel the energy being grounded. Drained into the earth by sheer will.
“You didn’t have to help, you know Po’tak, I could have handled that one on my own.” The younger of the two robed figures said. The other did not respond except to lean harder on the young woman with fire red hair visible even from where Ke’dra hid among the trees.
“Then feel free to defend us, master mage,” the young woman said. She helped the eldest to lift his arms. Po’tak, that was what the other mage had named him, began moving his fingers in a complex rhythm. Streaks of light wove themselves together in front of him.
“Very well, young lady. I will take up our defense.” The mage attempted to bow but had to right himself in time to stop another attack from Jekkel. This one green and black bat constructs made entirely of mana that burned with an eerie green fire. The mage raised his staff in time to intercept the first of the bats, and the creature disappeared. A white and gray light burst forth from the staff and suffocated the mana constructs.
“This is something I learned when I was young, you know? Anti-magic is nearly all about the manipulation of Force Magic in such a way as to destroy the opponents will around their mana constructs. Then its just a matter of syphoning away the excess mana to protect you from—” A beam of green fire shot from the top of the tower and the gray bearded mage cursed as he raised his staff and cast a spell.
Ethria 3: The Liberator Page 24
