Then the tremors faded and the dust clouds settled. A torn field greeted Tyler. Crevices and stone spikes marked the plain. The numbers of the enemy had been lessened, but they still had an overwhelming numerical advantage. The infantry had suffered the most though the cavalry had also been reduced. The mage assumed that the gaps in their ranks were due more to frightened horses than actual casualties, which meant a large host of riders would be back once they get their mounts under control. But what remained of the High King’s army was swiftly reforming. Warriors were picking themselves up from the ground. The mage could see leaders rallying their men and reforming companies. Their mages had also recovered and had started casting offensive spells once again at the armored circle.
By the volume of conjurations he could see, Tyler could only conclude that plenty of mages survived. Or the High King brought with him a lot of the hooded and robed priests in the first place. Yet the young mage could only admire the competence of the High King’s battle leader. The army’s recovery from the unexpected debacle was unbelievably quick, and the magical attack to keep the schiltron in place was swiftly ordered. The remaining attackers on the engaged flank of the defenders swiftly reformed and the survivors from the other side of the schiltron quickly reinforced their ranks. Tyler was amazed at the speed of their recovery and the swift shift in the attacking mass’s weight. He surmised the commanders at the front were veterans and excellent battle leaders. It probably did help that there were still plenty of enemy mages to go around.
Then a sudden rush of magic flared up on the field and a shimmering, spectral form appeared. It was Curavali. The exile had finally released the murderous bull. But this time, it was gigantic compared to its size back in woods above Hedmark. The mage concluded the magical creature adapted to its location. Here, on an open plain, it could become as big as it wanted to be. It looked the same, except for its massiveness. Nonetheless, it was stamping, crushing, and goring death personified.
The spirit charged the newly assembled yet substantial remnants of the attacking host. The mages of the High King were competent and quick enough to react against the latest entry. But the efforts were wasted. Whatever magic created Curavali was impervious to the spells cast against it. The bull smashed against the speedily arrayed shield wall bristling with heavy boar spears with the fury of a sledgehammer crashing through a shoji. It crashed through the ranks of warriors, flinging many into the air and leaving behind a trail of crushed bodies and bloody remains.
Then it sprinted back, using its momentum to return. Curavali hit the dazed and disorganized mass, resulting in more figures thrown everywhere. This time, it stopped in the middle of the army and started to stomp its way through the fleshy block. It used its massive horns from time to time, but mostly, it was the enormous bulk and the devastating hooves that dealt death and injury.
Damned tofu in a blender, thought the mage instinctively as his attention was caught by the murderously vicious scene. Crushed, unrecognizable, and gory bodies were left in Curavali’s wake. The few minutes it was allowed to exist on the material plane was enough to wreak unbelievable havoc on the High King’s army. Tyler could see some warriors had broken ranks and were streaming to the rear.
After a few more minutes of watching the mayhem at the front of the defending circle, Tyler saw the entire host of the King, including the mages, move forward. The cavalry had also started their walk toward the schiltron. The enemy had placed all its bets on the table.
Then Curavali disappeared.
***
What made things worse was the young mage could see the attackers at the front lines had started their assault on the shield wall once again. With all the death and destruction around them, Tyler was astounded how they were able to maintain their morale, much less recover that quickly from the confusion around them. The enemy had lost a lot of men. Yet even now, fighting was still going on between Asag’s creations and those surrounding them. One or two of the stone golems had succumbed to violent hammer blows delivered by warhammers and maces. With the numbers involved, the losses were to be expected. But the demon merely created a new one in a different location whenever one was smashed to bits.
I wonder if this world has an RPG-like spell similar to gaming staples such as “encourage,” “clear-minded,” or even “enrage”? The early Norse were renowned for their battle prowess, but this… this tenacity could only be fueled by magic. Note to self, inquire about company morale-boosters, considered the young mage. At the same time, he wondered whether any of the companions had used such spells in the past. Come to think of it, there were several instances when I couldn’t believe I did the crazy things I did, he continued to muse.
The makeshift barricades have mostly been destroyed, either by the enemy or by the ground fissures. But it became evident that the commander of the High King’s army was going to take advantage of that hole in the defenses. The positioning of the cavalry on both flanks indicated the direction of their coming charges. The mage hoped the exile could see what was developing. It appeared two cavalry assaults would strike the schiltron on opposite sides. Then the incoming wave of fresh warriors would take over the infantry attack. The defenders, even with their rotation of fighters, would be exhausted by then. Tyler’s worry about the archers running out of arrows was becoming stark reality judging from the alarmingly lessened volleys from the schiltron.
The cavalry was now moving at a trot. From what the mage knew, that preceded the cavalry charge. But their formation was spread out. The enemy leaders obviously expected another deluge of Asag’s rain and quakes. Tyler expected the horsemen to close ranks at the proper time and hit the defending shield wall as a clenched armored fist. The enemy warriors in front of the incoming attacks had moved back and to the sides, creating the needed opening and yet adding their weight to the other engaged sections of the circle. A short, furious rain of magical spells crashed against the barriers protecting the defenders. A few now pierced the shields and exploded within the ring. The jarls’ mages were at their limit. The significantly weakened magical shields left no doubt about the paucity of their magical reserves.
Another series of quakes and stone showers rained on the incoming horsemen who now increased their speed. The spells caused casualties, but the momentum of the attack enabled them to press on despite tumbling horses and crushed riders. The thunder of thousands of racing hooves on the plain was frightening. Vibrations from the incoming mounted attacks could be felt by the hillside audience.
The booming drumbeats really are hair-raising, thought the mage. The sounds reverberate through mind and body. It does psyche out a waiting opponent. It sounds and looks like death coming.
Tyler could just imagine Asag’s frustration. The demon could easily create his own army of murderous stone warriors, but the mage guessed Kobu was trying to continue fighting without the risk of involving deities and other magical spirits of Skaney.
He stared at his staff and immediately dismissed the idea. If Asag’s open participation was risky, his wards’ direct involvement in the battle would be foolhardy. It will expose their existence to all, mortals and deities alike. He doubted if the idea or even the possibility of a new and conceivably more powerful pantheon would be welcomed by the existing gods. If it came to that, Tyler would find himself battling not only his old enemies, but also new ones, who otherwise would have been on his side.
No. I am not going there, thought the mortal mage. Revealing them would create far more problems. Bigger ones. Their existence goes beyond the need to resolve a raging civil land in this land.
“Something’s happening with dwarves,” alerted Astrid.
Tyler turned to look. The combined dvergar and svartalfar army had reformed into two columns with shields at the sides. And they were moving at a fast rate. Not directly toward the battle but at an angle that would take them to the rear of the attacking cavalry. Even then, at its nearest point, the maneuvering dwarven army would be about less than half a mile to the defend
ers. Given the legendary stamina and hardiness of the race, Tyler could see that they’d be able to reach that optimum range by the time the riders were embroiled in heavy fighting.
The mage surmised that, right now, it would be difficult for the High King to determine the intention of the approaching dwarves. Apparently, he believed what story the dwarves fed him. Considering the history of the dwarves, any account other than being involved in a human conflict would be easier to accept. The involvement of the race in the Battle of Hedmark could be interpreted as a manifestation of their grave concern about the gathered undead. The dwarven army’s movement could easily be explained as the desire of an impatient host eager to continue toward the mountains. Not that the King had the luxury of having horsemen available in sufficient numbers for scouting purposes. All were committed to the attack on the schiltron. The few remaining with him could be intercepted by the small waiting company of mounted defenders.
***
The watchers on the hillside held their breaths as the cavalry swiftly closed in on the waiting defenders, all waiting for the terrible sight of men and horses crashing through the serried ranks of shields and spears. Tyler could only admire the courage of the waiting warriors as they watched charging death headed straight for them. Not that they had any option except stand where they were. The mage grimly mused that they could break and fold as the mental pressure became unbearable, but Kobu was working with sterner material. Even most of the archers were now holding spears, though they were positioned at the rear of their armored brethren. Still, a few arrows flew to greet the coming enemy.
As the horsemen were but a few feet away, walls of stone suddenly erupted from the ground only a few feet from the front ranks of the armored circle. They only existed for several seconds, enough time for the leading ranks to smash into them, and then crushed by the weight of the following ranks unable to control the momentum of their own attack. The sickening crunch of pounded flesh and breaking bones echoed up to the listening hills. It continued for some time as the subsequent waves piled on top of those ahead of them. Only those in the rear were able to swerve and halt their progress toward the bloody mounds of horses and warriors.
The stone barricades vanished. Yet fighting stopped for a few seconds as those in the field took in the horrific sounds and sights. All along the frontage intended as the targets of the cavalry charge, the pitiful whinnies of gravely injured mounts and painful cries of dying men cruelly sliced through the shocked silence.
Then a rain of steel-tipped, armor-piercing bolts flew through the air, heading toward the stunned attackers – infantry and cavalry alike – on the schiltron’s left flank. Dwarven repeating crossbows were firing, and even at such a long range, their accuracy was impressive. The deadly bolts tore through armor and flesh, shredding their way through bodies with wicked, barbed heads.
Then the dwarves charged.
***
While the crossbows did their bloody work, the first volley of the ballistae struck the paused cavalry at the rear of the enemy’s attacking mass. The rain of projectiles cut them down like a mechanical thresher run amok among grain fields. Unlike the heavily modified repeating weapons, the light artillery made use of more unusual missiles – bolts with scythe heads and twirling steel chains decorated with large, sharp spikes with flat surfaces. A few even had fiery warheads that spread sticky flames when they detonated. Bereft of any magical protection, what remained of the King’s cavalry on the left flank of the defenders was quickly decimated.
The two dwarven infantry columns attacked at an angle. The leftmost mass continued on and struck the right flank of the incoming infantry. Part of the right host peeled off and crashed into the rear of those engaged against the front of the schiltron. The rest swiftly formed an armored wedge aimed at the junction between the enemy’s right and center formations. Just before the dwarven assaults hit, several magical spells hit the attackers. Though the first wave was deflected by the barriers put up by the King’s mages, the second deluge was accompanied by Asag’s spikes and quakes. That momentary, though deadly, distraction enabled the offensive spells to get through, incinerating and killing many of the enemy’s host.
Off-balanced and surprised, the High King’s army crumbled before the ferocious onslaught of the dwarves. Their left flank couldn’t change its direction and turn to face the new threat – the rock deity’s mix of fissures, spikes, and showers of boulders made sure they’d be distracted enough. Tyler could see the panic overwhelming the High King’s command tent. A large group of individuals surrounded by warriors carrying various flags was engaged in animated discussions. In a short while, a man stepped out and addressed a huskarl waiting in front of the assembly.
Companies quickly fell into formation and more than half of the huskarlar moved out at a fast pace, accompanied by several mages at their rear. The King had committed his elite troops to the battle. Tyler was apprehensive about the new development. He could see the dwarves, joined by men initially positioned on the left of the schiltron, were already gaining the upper hand. Ordinarily, it would mean that the enemy’s flank was being rolled up. As long as the rest of the defenders in the other sectors of the armored circle kept the engaged enemy forces pinned down, the outcome would have been obvious. But the commitment of the huskarlar could still change the tide of battle. They were fresh elite troops.
Some distance away from the High King’s location, several stone walls suddenly rose from the ground, disrupting the moving formation. Asag had created a grid of solid stone that trapped numerous detachments within individual squares. As quickly as the pens came into existence, they came together with frightening speed, crushing into pulp the warriors caught within them. The watching Tyler didn’t think the accompanying enemy mages had anything in their list of spells that could counter what the demon conjured on the field. From what he could understand, human mages in Skaney were more focused on magical spells that take effect above the ground. The mortal mage even doubted if dwarven mages could thwart demon’s spells. Asag was a deity after all.
Shit. I hope what Asag just did wasn’t something which would attract attention from any pantheon, thought Tyler immediately.
“That was another spectacular spell!” exclaimed Se-Osiris. “I don’t think I have ever done it that way.”
“You could raise walls too?” asked the anxious mage, reasoning that if Se-Osiris could cast such a spell, then Asag’s action would fall within what mortal mages could do.
“Of course! Though I have never thought of using stone walls as a mortar-and-pestle tactic. That demon fellow has experience,” said the apparition with admiration. The reaction and comments of Se-Osiris could tell Tyler that the ghost had been involved in a lot of wars during his time. The dead and wounded on the battlefield didn’t arouse interest, only the tactics, magical or not, caught his attention.
Millennia of experience, the thought rose in Tyler’s mind as a reply, though he didn’t say it out loud.
“Now, if I were the High King, it’s time to cut and run,” laughed Se-Osiris.
***
Tyler looked in the direction of the command tent. The cluster of chieftains and notables was clearly unnerved. He could see some were shouting and pointing fingers at others. While the ruckus was going on, he noticed an armored figure standing apart from the rest, surrounded by several robed individuals. The warrior had crossed his arms and was silently observing what was going on. The mortal mage knew it was the High King and wondered what was going on in the man’s mind. Defeat was looming, and knowing the jarls, many would cut their own deals and defect once the battle was over.
The King was finished, assessed Tyler. Even if his stronghold had high, strong walls, Asag could easily tear them down.
Finally, the High King walked a few steps forward and addressed the raucous crowd. It appeared to calm them down and then the man turned and went inside the tent, accompanied by his mages. That pricked Tyler’s suspicions. The King seemed composed and sure of
himself. Only players with a trick or two up their sleeves would act that way. He glanced at the ghostly form beside him. Se-Osiris looked tense.
“What’s wrong?” he asked the apparition.
“Power. Incredible. Ancient. I have never sensed such a level since I fought a being of this world which somehow escaped its dark confinement. But that was a very long time ago and nearly became the premature death of me. It’s not the same kind, yet it frightens me. Worse, what I detect now is far, far more powerful.” replied Se-Osiris, never taking his eyes off the tent.
“I should…,” the phantasm started to say.
But whatever Se-Osiris wanted to say was lost in the sudden blaze of eldritch blackness which lit up the High King’s tent. It was a gloom, a hue of darkness that had not seen the light of worlds—a color for which there was no name. Neither found in the physical world or in any dimension Tyler had visited, its bizarre, darkish hue burned beyond the spectrum mortal eyes could behold, forcing whoever gazed on it to avert their eyes. It didn’t radiate heat nor cold, but a vacuous emptiness which inflicted itself on the soul rather than on the body.
The Accidental Archmage: Book Eight (Where Titans Walk) Page 16
