by Kal Spriggs
When she looked back to the front, Hector stood before her. The Usurper Duke had a bleeding cut across the left side of his face and he stood with a weary, resigned expression. "We cannot hold forever," Hector said.
"More soldiers come to us the longer we hold," Katarina said. Neither of them had mentioned their truce or if it would last beyond this threat. She didn't have the thought to spare it.
Hector gave a nod, but his gaze went to the flaring white light that they had fought towards. Others, it seemed, had the same idea, for they had stumbled across lone soldiers and squads and even companies moving towards that light.
Katarina still couldn't get any grasp of direction, between the fog, the ongoing storm, and the general confusion, she didn't know what was going on. The Armen's attacks shocked her, for these men fought and died with unthinking ferocity, without any effort at self-preservation. She almost longed for the battle-cries of the Norics or the other Armen she had fought, just for a sense that she fought real opponents.
"Here they come!" Someone shouted.
More Armen boiled out of the fog, weapons raised as they rushed forward, as quiet as the fog which had spawned them.
Katarina raised her blade and her armsmen fell in around her as she moved forward to cut them down, Hector and his men in step next to them.
***
Lord Garrel of Olsztyn
Garrel stumbled through the fog. He had struggled to keep his company together as the storm broke, but many men had simply panicked and fled as the unnatural fog rolled over the field like a wave. He had managed to keep a cluster of them together, but the screams and shouts out in the fog suggested that the battle had taken a turn for the worst.
He had led them in what felt like the right direction. Now and then figures appeared and disappeared in the fog, but most often they ran when they saw his group.
To the side he saw glowing lights, beacons against the darkness... yet something drew him in another direction. At first he had thought he had gone mad, yet the pull had become only stronger, something he felt in his very bones.
I'm almost there, he thought. Surely, whatever had drawn him here would help, would help him to turn this fight around, to save the men under his command. It felt as if whatever it was lay here, almost within reach... yet as he looked around, he didn't see anything, just bodies and fog.
A looming figure charged out of the fog. Garrel acted without thinking, stepping forward and running the man through. He found himself face to face with an Armen warrior, nearly seven feet tall, his dusky skin hot to the touch and his breath foul, smelling of carrion and rotten meat.
The warrior hacked at him, despite three feet of steel buried in his stomach. The blow glanced off his helmet and Garrel dropped to his knees, stunned. Blood gushed onto his face and hands from the wounded warrior and there was a meaty thunk as Bulmor hit the Armen raider again.
The warrior fell away, but more of them charged out of the fog behind him and Garrel was without a weapon. Garrel’s new armsman stepped in front of him, ready to sell his life for him. He heard the men who’d followed him shout in dismay as warriors swarmed at them. Garrel’s hand grasped desperately through the mud and then his hand found the hilt of a sword.
He grabbed it and rose to his feet and the world exploded with light. The fog recoiled, as if in pain and the Armen raiders paused as their cover vanished. As the soft golden glow drove the fog away, his men stood straighter, and Garrel felt stronger and more confident.
Garrel brandished the weapon. He knew he was no warrior. He was a scholar, a naturalist with a love of books and old scrolls… yet as he held up the weapon he recognized his family’s blade, his father’s blade. Thirty nine generations of the Lords of Olsztyn had borne this blade. Now that number is forty, he thought.
“At them!” Garrel shouted, “Cut down the invaders!” Emboldened by his father’s blade, he led the charge into the Armen and his men followed behind.
***
Captain Aerion Swordbreaker
Two spears and an ax raised, carried by Armen warriors who had not yet even uttered a single war cry, but who didn't seem to feel fear like any normal human. Aerion stared up, unable to stop the blows, yet trying to get his shield up in time.
All three Armen fell back as a burning blade swept through them, exploding with heat and light so close that Aerion felt his eyebrows wither with heat.
A moment later, Kerrel Flamehair swept her steed in front of him, blocking the advance of more Armen warriors and hacking down any who drew within reach.
Aerion stumbled to his feet. Around him, he saw that Kerrel's mercenaries had rushed forward, and that had bought the infantry time to regroup. Here and there, sergeants snapped out orders. Aerion barked out at the nearest men and he saw them snap into a ragged formation. “Forward!” Aerion shouted, “They don't defend themselves, push them!” Not a single one of these Armen had even tried to block a blow. They attacked without reason, without any individual initiative.
He watched as one Armen literally speared himself, charging forward to impale himself upon readied spears. The man swung and hacked, unable to reach Aerion's men... until his arms went limp and he fell.
More Armen charged out of the green fog. Their numbers seemed limitless, yet dozens already lay dead. They continued to attack with mindless ferocity. We can't hold them forever, Aerion thought.
The cavalry needed momentum, he knew, else they'd bog down. The infantry moved up as Kerrel's horsemen withdrew and Aerion pushed and shoved men into place to block gaps left by the cavalry. Here and there he saw a horseman pulled from his saddle or a horse cut down, but it looked like most of them had withdrawn in time.
Aerion looked up as a horse came alongside him, Kerrel Flamehair's face was drawn with worry, but her green eyes showed determination. “Get me some space,” she shouted, “My company will hit them!”
Aerion nodded, though he didn't know what they could do to change this fight's outcome. This area was clear of the fog and they'd put some order into it, but elsewhere he could hear shouts and screams as men panicked and died in the face of their inhuman foe.
They are human, Aerion reminded himself, they bleed and die like any mortal man.
“Forward men!” Aerion shouted. He saw a man stumble from an Armen blow and he reached out to strike the Armen warrior down. Only as he gave the stunned man a hand up did he realize that he wore Hector's yellow and black. The two men stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, but then the mercenary leapt forward to run another Armen through, just before the raider would have stabbed Aerion in the back.
The light of the Starblade had grown brighter as more and more men clustered around Aerion and the fog bank drew back further, recoiling like a snake.
But while the brilliant white light shone like a beacon for the soldiers and mercenaries, it acted like a magnet for the Armen. Aerion hacked and chopped, taking blow after blow on his shield and armor.
The Armen just kept coming and Aerion's arm ached with exhaustion. Blood soaked him, to the point that his boots squelched as he walked. Yet there was no respite. The mercenary to his side went down and while Aerion killed his attacker, another Armen raider came to take his place.
Aerion heard a rumble, louder than the constant thunder, and he turned in time to see Kerrel's company sweep around the edge of the infantry. The cavalry thundered along the front of the line, riding down Armen in droves and then circled back behind the line of infantry.
Aerion stooped, hands on his knees as he took whooping breaths, as the Armen at the front of the formation were simply gone. One of the men to his side tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. The fog had drawn further away and Aerion saw more and more men flocking to their group. There was more than a company now, at least three hundred men, in red and white and yellow and black.
More than that. To the south, Aerion could see a red glow approaching, the fog billowing away from it, like a frightened herd of elk trying to escape. To th
e east, a new, golden glow erupted and the fog bank seemed to shudder, as if it had been dealt a serious blow.
We can win this! Aerion felt his confidence return, felt his spirits rise. He had not held the line in vain. “We are winning!” Aerion shouted.
And then Aerion heard a mighty shout and a thousand Armen raiders exploded out of the fog ahead of him, led by a giant of a man swinging a vicious ax.
***
Duke Hector the Usurper
The fog bank seemed to melt away as he stepped forward into a larger cleared area. Ahead of him he saw a line of men, holding against a host of Armen raiders. Unlike the others, this group fought and screamed like normal men.
Hector felt his heart race as he saw Kerrel Flamehair, her helmet lost and her red hair flying as she fought from horseback, right next to one of Katarina's men. Hector's eyes widened as he saw the glowing blade that man carried. The very air seemed to shudder around it and every blow cut through weapons, armor, and flesh with no resistance.
Hector led his men forward, aware of Katarina and her men to his left. They kept step with him and the Armen they had dispatched as well as the brutal fight with them earlier told him they were capable enough to hold his flank.
Hector's gaze swept the Armen line and then caught on something. At the center of the line was a massive Armen warrior, wielding a brutal ax with deadly efficiency. Hector's blood went cold as he recognized the man. "Tarjak!" Hector shouted.
Despite the noise and chaos of the battlefield, his old enemy heard his voice and looked up. With little effort, Tarjak hacked down his current opponent and waved his ax in the air in challenge. " Hall Prakka! I'm coming for you!"
Hector saw one of Katarina's soldiers step in the Warlord's path, but Tarjak simply backhanded the man and sent him to the ground.
Hector raised the Ducal Blade and led a charge to meet him. The battlefield seemed to recede as Hector closed. He saw his murdered wife, saw his orphaned and tortured son... and Hector felt rage boil up inside him.
Tarjak bellowed a challenge as Hector came in, but he didn't bother to respond. The Ducal blade was hot in his hands, tremoring with energy and Hector didn't slow as he came up.
Tarjak swung his ax, but Hector ducked low, anticipating the blow. He swung the Ducal Blade up, the blade shrieking as it cut through the head of Tarjak's ax and then through Tarjak's chest piece, through his sternum, up into his heart. Hector didn't even slow as he ripped his blade through his enemy's body, showering smoking blood in a broad fan before him.
Hector didn't slow, didn't even look behind to see the man who had destroyed his life fall. The Armen had attacked his home. They had come here to kill and enslave his people.
He would kill them all.
***
Captain Aerion Swordbreaker
Aerion kicked an Armen warrior in the chest, feeling the impact and the shatter of ribs all the way up his leg. As that raider tumbled limply to the ground, another took his place. This warrior's face was drawn back in a rictus of fear and hate.
A mercenary to Aerion's right shoved his spear into the warrior's face and the Armen went down with a scream, hands clutching his face and blood gushing forth.
Aerion stepped to his left and cut down at a warrior as he tried to get under Kerrel's horse and hamstring him. Aerion looked over as he heard shouts of dismay. The Armen leader, a great big man, had fallen and a tall soldier in armor had begun to cut his way through the Armen. The raiders began to stumble back, as shouts of " Hall Prakka" began to echo through their ranks.
Aerion drove the edge of his shield into the throat of the nearest warrior and then slashed across the chest of another. The enemy began to fall back, first in single groups and then in larger numbers.
"Forward!" Aerion shouted, even as he saw Kerrel and her horsemen push into the retreating Armen. "Drive them, push them!"
The Armen force seemed to shatter like glass all at once. One moment there were warriors edging backwards and the next all were in flight. Aerion and the others pursued, cutting down the northerners as they tried to flee. Somehow he knew that if the Armen had time to regroup, they would come back in strength to overwhelm those who had stood against them.
And then, as the fog rolled back still further, line of horsemen, dressed in archaic armor thundered into the rear ranks of the Armen. As they struck, every bit of fight went out of them and fight became a slaughter.
“For the Order!” A big man shouted at the lead of the knights. His blade and the weapons of the others around him glowed with energy. Every strike sent bodies flying. Armen scrambled to flee, yet with enemies in front and behind, they had nowhere to go. The mindless ones continued to fight, but the others cast aside their weapons and fled in all directions.
***
Xavien Tarken, Herald of Andoral Elhonas
Xavien hissed in displeasure as Hector struck down Tarjak. It seemed that he had relied too much on the dead man's savagery and not enough on the cunning that a better leader might have brought.
He felt coldness in his stomach as he realized that the attack had failed. Failure was not something that his master took well... and the Consort would take it even worse, he knew.
I can salvage this, Xavien thought.
Just then, an Armen rushed up to him. "My Lord!" He gasped, panting for breath, "The sea... our ships!"
Xavien turned his gaze to the north and his stomach dropped. Black smoke rose from the Armen camp. His augmented eyes could pick out the ranks of Boir's Marines as they formed up and marched inland. In a heartbeat, Xavien could see that they would crush his forces as they tried to retreat. He looked over and spotted a unit of armored cavalry that had already struck the Armen. The Order of King Gordon, he thought with distaste, what brought those relics to this fight? It didn’t matter, each of those knights had armor and equipment fit to fight far greater odds than they faced.
The smart thing to do was to retreat; to leave the field to his father and to Hector. His bid for power had failed. His father had outsmarted him. He had no idea how he had done so, but it was clear enough that his forces were here, rather than in the south where his aunt expected them to be... and where she and her allies had prepared their ambush.
If Xavien acted now, he might preserve some of the Armen forces and perhaps that might earn him some clemency for his failures.
Xavien could picture his father's pleased expression, as his men under his command moved efficiently. No doubt the proper, righteous man would accept this victory with humility, another victory for him. Xavien's lips split in a sneer. "No," he grated. "No, I'll not let him win."
"Rally all those you can," Xavien spat. He pointed at the Boir Marines. "Hit them there, crush them, and you will be rewarded."
The Armen raider bowed his head in reply, but he hesitated.
"I said go!" Xavien snapped.
As the warrior rushed off, Xavien reached out to those he had changed. Many, far too many, had been crippled or killed. That idiot Tarjak had used them like a blunt instrument and Xavien doubted that enough remained of them for this task.
No matter, Xavien thought. He had the power to do it himself.
He activated runes on his staff and the shamans gathered nearby began to shudder and moan as the spirits they communed with thrashed in pain. Xavien had not planned to do this, but he didn't hesitate.
In close proximity to the shamans, the runes on his staff anchored the spirits in place. Still other runes activated and ruthlessly wrenched away the energy of the Armen spirits. Two of the shamans fell twitching to the ground, blood pouring from their noses and ears. The others stared at Xavien in horror and shock as he killed the spirits they worshiped.
"I do this for Andoral Elhonas," Xavien said. One of the shamans drew a jagged dagger, but Xavien blasted him from his feet with just a thought.
Above them, the dark clouds began to swirl. The spirits hadn't had enough power to charge the storm they created, not without sacrificing themselves.
&nb
sp; Xavien did it for them.
A column of green energy blasted forth from his staff as he activated runes all along it. The black clowds billowed as raw power flowed into them. Lightning erupted, at first random blasts of green lightning that smashed down upon the battlefield... but then Xavien smiled as he directed it towards the pitiful men who had stood against his army.
There, Xavien thought with a smile. He picked out the figure of Hector and next to him was Katarina. He felt not the slightest pang as he betrayed his promise to Covle Darkbit, drawing upon the power of the storm and then hurling a ravening bolt of destruction at the two leaders who should have killed each other and saved him the effort.
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Katarina blanched as the sky above them seemed to erupt. Bolts of green lightning blasted down and only fifty yards away a cluster of men exploded outwards from a strike. The flash seemed to sear her eyes and the instant roar of noise almost knocked her off her feet.
It seemed to take her an eternity to blink away the afterimage and her ears rung, voices and shouts sounding distant. Next to her, she saw Hector, his expression shocked as he stared at where fifty men had been obliterated.
"Beware!" A voice shouted behind her. Cederic stepped forward and pointed at a hiltop in the distance, "the wizard! Get down!"
A moment later, her hair began to rise. Katarina felt her entire body tingle. Too late, she turned to run.
Yet Cederic gave a shout and slammed his staff down upon the ground. Runes along its length flared into life and instantly it seemed that the tingling sensation passed. For a moment, Cederic's figure seemed to blur, yet then an achingly bright flash of light exploded from his staff. The shrouded wizard stumbled back, his metal staff steaming.
In the distance, the hilltop exploded as lightning rained down, bolt after bolt for what seemed like forever. Finally, however, the sky seemed to still.
