by Dan Neil
Scipion led Eritar to Matalo, who was now dressed in full armor as well. He only recognized his friend in the steel suit because of his raised faceplate. Matalo beamed upon seeing him.
“There’s the commander voice I heard so much about—impressive, I’d say.”
“Thank you, brother,” Scipion said with a smile. He handed Eritar’s reins to his friend.
Matalo’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I have thought about it quite a bit. I can’t ride Eritar and command the soldiers,” Scipion said quietly. “I need to stay here to coordinate our movements. She knows you well enough to ride for you, spirited though she is. Take good care of her, friend.”
Matalo nodded and took the reins. “I will, brother. Should I join the cavalry?”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. If Zel Ilear’s reputation is half-true, she will not lead you astray. Ride true, and let the old gods be with you.”
“Let them be with all of us,” Matalo replied as he mounted Eritar, who took two nervous steps backward. One glance at Scipion, and she calmed.
Anxiously shifting his weight, Scipion said, “She likes it when you whisper to her. It helps to soothe her when she’s afraid. You’ll find no better steed than her if you do so, in terms of courage.”
Matalo gave a confident smile. “I will make sure to do that.”
“And Matalo?”
“Yes?”
“Bring her back alive, please.”
“I will,” Matalo said as he turned to join the cavalry.
“One more thing,” Scipion demanded, and his friend turned back.
“Yes?”
“Take care of yourself, too.”
Matalo smiled and lowered his faceplate. He then whispered in Eritar’s ear, and the horse glanced at Scipion before galloping ahead. The Valkhars parted as Matalo rode past. Scipion watched his two best friends ride beyond the wall together.
After a moment, he walked to the best vantage point on the wall. He stared out into the distance and saw New Dawn’s host forming up. They had an impressive number of soldiers, enough to be visible from a mile or two away. They assembled into a packed formation, clearly intending to crush the enemy with the weight of their superior numbers.
Why would he do that if he’d accounted for our mages? Unless he hasn’t.
The sun slowly ascended as both armies stared each other down, each hoping the other would come to them. It was Scipion’s forces, however, who could afford to wait, and he committed to their plan.
He will have to come to us. Or he can wait until his men starve. Either way works for me.
After a rather tense hour, Anton spurred his forces forward. His army moved slowly as they advanced and spread out into large squares. His cavalry stayed on his infantry’s wings; no doubt they took notice of the Oathsworn’s cavalry in front of Scipion’s wall.
“Now, Zel Ilear. Draw out their cavalry!” Scipion shouted to the Valkhar below. With a bloodthirsty war cry, Zel Ilear raised her lance and spurred the mounted warriors onwards. She led the charge, while Matalo followed closely behind.
The sound of one hundred and fifty horses carrying armored soldiers rang out in the air. New Dawn’s ragged infantry seemed surprised.
Whinnies, hooves, and battle shouts filled the air as Scipion watched his cavalry ride toward their enemy. His heart thumped in worry for his friends. Anton dispatched his own cavalry to deal with the charge, having no choice in the matter after dividing his men. His fifty horses screamed toward the Oathsworn; they met closer to Anton than Scipion with a mighty crash. After the initial engagement, Zel Ilear and Matalo began to lead their cavalry away from the battlefield; Anton’s forces followed.
New Dawn’s infantry marched across the Rolling Plains and into Bottleneck Pass. Anton led them on horseback, raising his sword to rally his troops forward.
Scipion turned to Echo and said, “Prepare to attack. Reach Mathieu. As soon as their soldiers are past him, he will open fire. Once they pull into range, you give them hell, too.”
Echo nodded. A stone on his armor plate glowed as he reached Mathieu, and in a few moments, the message was sent.
Echo turned to his leader. “He is ready.”
“Excellent. As soon as they come into range, you know what to do.”
Echo nodded. The rumbling footsteps of Anton’s army filled their ears, growing louder as the enemy drew nearer. The Oathsworn held their positions as New Dawn advanced. At first Anton’s army walked, but quickly, more of his soldiers began to run toward them.
Finally, they were nearly in range of the archers. Echo shouted, “Nock!”
The archers placed arrows on the strings of their bows. Douglas was the first to have his ready. They waited a few more seconds for the enemy to pull into range.
Scipion watched with gut-wrenching anxiety as his cavalry wheeled back and crashed once more against Anton’s. Horses were upturned as the sound of clashing metal rang out. From a distance, the Oathsworn appeared to be winning. Many New Dawn horses reared or kicked their riders off so that they could run away; men screamed in pain and fear of being trampled as they lay injured on the ground.
The sounds of war and anguish were haunting. Scipion said another quick prayer for Matalo and Eritar before turning his attention back to the advancing infantry.
The enemy had passed the cavalry skirmish by now.
Come on, Mathieu. Now would be the perfect time.
“Draw!” Echo shouted. His archers pulled the arrows, aimed, and held.
“Loose!” Echo screamed. A hail of some hundred arrows launched into the air, and it was a sight to behold. They arced in the sky and descended into the desperate foes below. Many New Dawners lacked shields and so were helpless against the incoming arrows.
It mattered little; Mathieu chose the moment just before impact to unleash his mages. Thirty spheres of fire emerged from the trees and rocketed toward the New Dawn infantry. They exploded with breathtaking force, killing or injuring some hundred men at once. Screams of agony harmonized as soldiers burned to death. Those who were lucky were instantly incinerated by the blasts, but they were few. Many were missing limbs or singed, or trapped in melting armor. The grass of the Rolling Plains caught fire in several places, forcing the New Dawners forward. What was not taken by the blaze was stained red with the blood of the enemy where once there was vibrant green.
“Fire at will!” Echo grabbed his bow and set about shooting. Storms of arrows filled the sky and pierced the less heavily armored enemy as salvos of flame spells peppered New Dawn’s flanks, wreaking fiery destruction and havoc. Scipion left the top of the wall to join Zel Yano and Zel Daved on the front lines below. Despite the harassment, Anton’s infantry was simply too much for the archers and mages alone. The wall had to be held at any cost—now came the time to fight for it.
As their commander walked to the front lines, some soldiers stared, pale-faced and wide-eyed, while others tossed out jabs or jokes. Scipion maintained his demeanor. The Valkhars nodded out of respect and stepped aside.
Zel Yano nodded and asked, “Finally remembered where you belong?”
Turning, Scipion asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You stayed up on that wall longer than I thought. You couldn’t resist the fight—being here. With us. Just like the Scorpion Knight I know.”
Before Scipion could reply, the Valkhar placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Whether or not you’re one of us by name, you’re one of us at heart—where it counts.”
Scipion nodded and returned his attention to the battle. Terror and chaos unfolded as fire decimated the enemy. He saw the devastation Zel Ilear’s cavalry wrought on Anton’s horses from afar: burned men, who would soon be corpses, crawled through the wrecked battlefield.
Anton’s archers fired from New Dawn’s flanks. Echo ordered his soldiers to d
uck as the first salvo came in, but an unlucky few were struck. One punched through the chest of an archer as he tried to get one last arrow off; he fell backward and clutched at his wound. The poor man screamed for help, but everyone was pinned down. They had no choice but to listen to his shrieks. Finally, a second arrow struck through his eye, ending his misery.
Arrows bolted over their heads, and the unsuspecting soldiers on the other side were defenseless.
“Shields!” Scipion shouted to his exposed reserves. They raised their shields and hid under them, though a few outliers were struck by lucky shots. The curt sound of arrows hitting metal shields rang through the air as Scipion drew his sword and prepared for battle. “Hold them here!”
Between the destruction wrought by the mages and archers, eight hundred remained in Anton’s army, though he was still alive and coordinating the attack. His soldiers ran for the wall at full speed to avoid death by fire or arrow, while his archers stayed back to continue raining death upon the Oathsworn. This made them prime targets for the mages, who released their fury onto them and drew some into a ranged battle.
Mathieu wasn’t exaggerating, Scipion thought, awed by the Gaion’s power. Explosions scattered across the enemy lines; in desperation, they quickened their advance. New Dawn’s light infantry, mostly wielding short swords and shoddy leather armor, arrived first. Those on the sides were stopped by the spikes and forced to cram into the small opening. The others pushed further in to avoid arrows. They were met by a solid and unbreakable line of armored defenders.
Just before impact, Scipion shouted, “To battle, brothers and sisters!”
Scipion cut through the first of the enemy to reach their walls with a horizontal slash across his unarmored belly. Another hacked at him, but the rusted sword glanced off his armor, and the man was quickly dispatched by a stab from Zel Yano. Scipion caught a strike on his shield and used his sword to disrupt a stab at the Valkhar to his left. He shield-punched the New Dawner and stabbed his heart with a mighty thrust, killing him instantly.
There was no time to think, only to react. The fighting was furious for how few could engage at a time. And New Dawn was piling through the stakes.
Scipion was exhausted by the heat trapped in his heavy armor. With every deep breath, he took in the horrifying stench of feces, blood, sweat, and metal.
Scipion slashed an attacker’s arm, while Zel Daved beheaded another. The Valkhar parried a strike from an armored foe and half-handed his sword, gripping the blade and thrusting the point through a gap in the enemy’s faceplate with lethal precision. The New Dawner fell immediately. Scipion deflected a spear thrust with his sword, but another struck his helmet and glanced off.
Scipion shouted, “Shields!”
The entire front raised their shields as the crush worsened, thrusting or parrying as they held the line. So many enemies were packing themselves into a small space and now threatening to push through the wall. They had to hold them back.
The Oathsworn began to chant, “Hold! Hold! Hold!”
Zel Yano’s sword was a blur from behind his shield, mincing enemies in seconds. “Cut them down! Cut them all down!”
The Valkhars behind him clamored and cheered for their comrades as Scipion stepped on one of his wounded comrades and nearly lost his footing. The air filled with war cries of the living, desperate screams from the wounded, and blades colliding with shields and armor, but also that same stench.
Scipion was barely able to make out the numerous shouts of his comrades, unable to distinguish who any voice belonged to. It didn’t matter at the moment.
From afar: “Get him out of here!”
Closer: “Get back!”
“Spears, incoming!”
Some New Dawners were shoved to the front by the crush behind them. Some were paralyzed with fear, dazed by the heat, and shook while loosely gripping their swords. There was no escape or mercy for them. Deep gasps erupted from the New Dawners near the front lines. They were packed in by their comrades’ desperate attempts to hide from the archers and mages. Many could not breathe, and some suffocated where they stood, corpses that could not fall because of the density of their panicked attack. They, like their living comrades, were hacked to pieces.
All that weight fell on Scipion’s line, but they managed to hold their ground. Scipion stabbed a begging enemy through the throat and withdrew his blade. One of his comrades was speared between the plates on his leg and fell to one knee; a second Valkhar pulled him back and jumped forward to block a New Dawner with his shield, keeping the line intact.
Scipion used his commander voice. “Push forward! Push forward!”
Weary and weak were the attackers, and many injured defenders were quickly replaced. Facing a unified front, New Dawn’s forces began to lose heart. Now the momentum had shifted, and the Oathsworn’s front line advanced into the mass of enemies.
Scipion and the Valkhars pushed their enemies back so more of their own could join the battle. A few Valkhars charged past and carved into a disheartened enemy. New Dawn helplessly hacked at the Oathsworn with little success—only an accurate or lucky strike was able to make it between their shields and armor.
One of the Valkhars strayed too far and was stabbed by a dagger in the ankle. She was swarmed and killed as the others fought on. The battle raged all around them. In such close quarters, it was personal. As madness broke out around Scipion, he took notice of just how thin and weak their enemy was. Each pair of gluttonous eyes told of hunger and desperation, which was what Scipion wanted.
Arrows once more began to rain down upon the enemy as they were pushed back.
Mathieu’s mages must have decimated their archers—or drawn their attention away.
Scipion had no time to contemplate the carnage around him. He sliced one man’s exposed throat and rushed another who had a mace raised to strike, knocking him down with a shield bash. He then parried another stroke from a rushing attacker, while the felled man staggered to his feet and tried to run.
Zel Yano was alight with fury, his swings the eye of a storm as he hacked his way through the enemy. His sword was always at the ready, taking the shortest possible path; the blade danced in the air, narrowly squeezing through gaps in the plate to pierce armored opponents’ flesh.
Scipion saw victory as more of the enemy began to flee.
Back across the battlefield. Echo and Mathieu should love the easy targets.
Scipion stabbed through another man, then parried a mace blow. He smashed his hilt into the man’s faceplate and stabbed downward between the armor joints atop his shoulder, killing the enemy instantly.
His gaze fell to Anton Day in the distance. As Valkhars flooded past Scipion and continued the massacre, the Scorpion Knight took a moment to stare down his enemy. Anton’s eyes twitched with rage and disbelief.
Scipion pushed or cut his way through the battle and charged at Anton. New Dawn’s leader smirked and turned his horse to retreat. Scipion shouted back to his archers.
“Shoot down the horse! Shoot it down!”
A few archers heard his command over the sounds of the raging battle and took aim at Anton’s steed. Echo took notice of the order and bellowed it, spurring more archers to shoot at the retreating foe.
Arrows landed all around Anton, who spurred his mount into a gallop. Eventually, a bolt pierced the creature’s backside, and it fell, spilling Anton Day with it. The horse, not mortally injured, scrambled to all fours and rose, all too happy to abandon its abusive master.
Rage was a fire in Scipion’s belly, driving him on. A few of Anton’s bowmen had turned to help their leader, but they were firing arrows into the trees. With a shout, Scipion drove his blade into an archer’s heart. The next closest gave a panicked cry and tried to hurriedly load a bolt but was cut down before firing.
The other archers took notice. One was struck by an arrow from a friendly
and fell to his knees; three tucked and ran. The last few were struck by spells from the trees and vaporized. Scipion tried to make out Anton through the smoke. Suddenly, he jerked backward. A wet crunching sound coincided with a sharp pain in his shoulder. Glancing down, he saw an arrow pinched between the plating of his armor.
He yelped. Of all the lucky shots—
Scipion’s rage redoubled. The pain brought him back into the moment—roaring, he ripped the arrow free and ran through the cloud of smoke. Upon emerging, he saw the same wounded archer about to release his next shot, eyes resolute. Scipion ducked the arrow and embedded his sword in the archer’s chest, driving him to the ground with a crazed shout. By now, Anton was running away at full speed, but his armor slowed him down—he was easily within range of an archer.
I’m no archer, but I know the next best thing.
With his one good hand, Scipion sheathed his sword, wincing in pain with every movement.
I won’t let this stop me. Anton Day dies today!
Scipion stooped to grab a small hammer off a dead man and threw it with all his strength. He cried out in pain and anger, but his aim was true to its mark. The hammer struck the back of Anton’s head, sending him tumbling forward. Scipion gave a mad, victorious yell, drew his sword, and ran toward his quarry.
Anton stood slowly and turned, readying his sword. The Day brother swung haphazardly to meet Scipion’s charge. Both landed hits on the other’s torso, but their blades glanced off each other’s armor. Scipion grunted as the impact ran up and into his wounded shoulder. They both took the measure of the other, relishing the chance for a small break.
“You said you would eat us,” Scipion taunted. “Come, let’s see if you can beat your prey.”
