Chapter 23
Dawn broke over the mountains behind the Point. The warm glow of the sun promised a hot day and the red light of sunrise promised that this would be a blood day, a day for war. The sun would continue its endless ride around the world, chasing its eternal foe, the moon, oblivious to the petty beings who struggled with their own battles below.
Wrend pulled himself from his musing about the sun as the garrison stood to. Everyone knew their place, grabbing bundles of crossbow bolts or stacks of javelins as they climbed the ladders to the battlements. Despite the coming heat, water was not going to be a problem. There was a well beside the barracks with cool, clean water. The barracks had enough food for a month and what appeared to be an ample supply of crossbow bolts and javelins. The barracks itself was also fortified and could be held for a time, but he intended to fight it out here for as long as possible.
Still, while it was good to know they were provisioned for the long haul, a part of him knew it wouldn’t matter.
Wrend climbed the rightmost tower behind the gate and squeezed his way next to the scorpion crew before finding a place that would give him a good view but not interfere with their operation of the weapon. The elves and their allies were slow to get started this morning. His men had eaten and were ready for battle at first light; the elves were just now lighting cookfires and moving about the camp. Undisciplined and lazy.
Wrend smiled; he would make them pay a price for it.
A group of elves was unloading one of the wagons, slowly pulling out scaling ladders and distributing them to the forces arrayed around the wall. The second giant wagon was placed farther back, out of range unfortunately, while whatever must have passed for elf engineers began to construct some device.
“What is that, Private? Any idea?” Wrend asked the engineer next to him. The soldier squinted before shrugging.
“No idea, Sergeant. Some kind of siege engine, maybe? But it would have to be some device to hit us from all the way back there,” the engineer advised. Whatever was being assembled was placed on the roadway directly across from the gate. The device, whatever it was, stood over a hundred yards past the catapults’ newly enhanced range.
“Battery one, battery two, fire mission, standard shot,” Wrend shouted down.
“Roger that, Sergeant. Just let us know when to start the party,” the engineer replied.
“Send them their morning wakeup call, soldier,” Wrend ordered.
“Target, wagon holding siege equipment in the open, ten yards south, twenty east of marker three, solid shot,” the engineer in the tower with Wrend called down to the crews of the catapults.
“Confirm, target, wagon with siege equipment in the open. Ten yards south, twenty east of marker three, solid shot,” the battery replied.
“Splash over,” the weapon crew called as one of the catapults fired its first ranging shot. Wrend watched the large stone arc over the wall on its path toward the unsuspecting elves below.
“Splash out,” the observer called as the stone neared its target. The stone hit twenty yards to the right and about forty yards beyond the wagon, making a bloody smear of a pair of elves cleaning up from their morning meal. Wrend let the engineers continue; he only knew the basics of what they were doing and was content to let them have at it.
“Adjust fire, left twenty, down forty, two rounds each weapon, fire for effect,” the observer ordered. Wrend watched as the crew made minute adjustments and began to fire at a steady pace. The next pair of stones straddled the wagon, smashing into the mass of warriors who were unloading the ladders. The next pair of stones were dead on, crushing the wagon and its load of siege ladders to splinters.
“Rounds complete,” the weapon crews called as they finished their fire mission.
“Anything else you want killed, Sergeant?” the observer asked with a stupid grin on his face. Looking back toward the barracks, Wrend could see the small mountain of rocks off to the side of the building . . . hundreds of them waiting to be used. Raytak might have had some elaborate and militarily sound plan, but Wrend was a grunt at heart. Bring the hurt to the enemies and keep at it until they broke.
“Keep up the fire all along their line, but don’t tire out the crews,” Wrend ordered, waving at the Drebix raiders to move from behind the wall to help schlep stones from the storage pile to the smaller pile of ready ammunition the engineers had gathered. The stones flew out every minute or two, many missing anything of importance, but with the sheer number of forces arrayed against them, killing or maiming some of their foes was inevitable.
Wrend watched from the tower as the continuing barrage wreaked havoc among the Ikbose lines. As it became clear their camp was well within range of the catapults, there was a rush to the rear as the enemy sought a safe distance. In their rush, tents and equipment were strewn about. Nobody, not even an evil-hearted elves, were immune to the fear of large stones crushing them to death.
After pulling back nearly fifty yards, the elves and their allies began to set up their camp once again . . . still just inside the newly improved maximum range of the catapults. A final pair of volleys killed a half dozen reavers and the whole besieging army pulled back again, finally out of catapult range.
The scene of confusion was eventually forced back into one of order as the leader of the Ikbose force made her appearance. She killed a few elves who were too slow to follow her commands, and not a single one, so far as Wrend could see, had anything to say about it. The force sorted itself out after that, wasting more time as it prepared to attack the garrison.
“Looks like they’re about ready to make a go of it, Sergeant. Took them long enough,” the engineer beside Wrend commented, watching as the elves and humans gathered in a loose formation to begin their assault on the point. The siege engines had proven their worth, for damn sure. Not only did the barrage buy time, but it also killed a fair number of foes.
With a shout of rage, the Ikbose advanced and the device they had been constructing made its appearance. The wagon full of equipment had been transformed into a mobile siege tower. Not too large, but high enough to reach the top of the wall. The tower rolled forward slowly, being pushed from behind by a mob of soldiers. Most of the Ikbose force charged past the tower, anxious to get out from under the pounding of the catapults, which had resumed fire as soon as they entered range. Now the scorpion teams joined in, providing accurate fire into the masses of attackers.
“Use some explosive runes. Take out that tower!” Wrend shouted down to the catapult crews. The catapults fired but were less accurate when shooting at the slowly moving target. The first pair of explosive runes landed in front of the siege tower, doing no damage. The next pair landed behind. Screams of pain reached them even over the din of approaching warriors as the troops massed behind the siege tower were showered with burning splinters of rock.
The next pair of shots hit right on target. The explosive force of the runes and the kinetic energy of the stone shot tore the wooden tower apart. At this point, the elves made it to bow range and began a loosing constant stream of arrows at the defenders as they advanced on the wall. The men atop the wall crouched down, covered by the wall and protected by their shields from the worst of the fire. The cover was not perfect, however, and more than one man fell from his position, dead or severely wounded from Ikbose arrows.
If a soldier wasn’t killed, he was pulled back to the barracks, where one of the medics treated him. The newly upgraded healing aura along with the enhanced bandages slowly knit their wounds back together. The shaman also jumped in, using his more powerful healing abilities if a soldier was bleeding out too quickly for the slower Imperium healing options to take effect.
The attackers entered range of the Imperium crossbows and the fire from those weapons joined that of the siege engines, trying to push back the attackers. At fifty yards, a volley of javelins from the soldiers arced out, devastating the mob of attackers and ripping gaps in its ranks. From behind a protective screen of warriors,
an elf covered in robes stepped out; a caster had joined the fight.
The mage raised his arms and hurled his magic at the wall. A ten-yard-wide section to the right of the gate was cleared, and the soldiers defending that section fell to the battlements, writhing around in pain. The magic ate at their health and prevented them from doing anything to protect themselves as the Ikbose capitalized on the opening, raising a pair of ladders against the now undefended section of wall. Once finished with his casting, the mage huddled behind his protective screen of warriors once more.
Wrend signaled for first squad to fill the breach. It moved quickly from its position against the wall, the soldiers climbing up to the battlements in order to help their fellows. The elves beat them there, and the first pair that hopped over the wall began stabbing into the defenseless, writhing soldiers. More and more elves hopped over even as first squad struggled to close the breach.
The walkway along the battlements wasn’t very wide, having only enough space for two soldiers to fight side by side. The close quarters favored the Ikbose and their dual-wielding style, but there was no other choice. The soldiers of the Imperium were unable to assist each other much in the narrow confines, the fight on the wall resolving into one-on-one matchups for the most part. It was apparent Wrend would need more than one squad of soldiers to seal off this breach in their defense, so he ordered the raiders into the fight on the wall.
While the raiders ran to climb up and assist first squad, a large bolt slammed into one of the elves climbing off the ladder, knocking him from the wall to land atop the mass of elves waiting their turn to climb the ladder. The scorpion next to Wrend had scored the hit. All the scorpion crews were frantically cranking the arms back for another shot. Unfortunately, their rate of fire was too slow to hold back the elves climbing up two at a time, and the Ikbose slowly expanded their foothold on this section of the wall.
He was about to order the berserkers up when first one and then a full half dozen of the elves were hit by javelins. The javelins hit so hard that two of the elves were pinned to the side of the battlements. Looking down, Wrend saw the ogres grinning as they readied another volley.
When they had joined the legion, the ogres were imparted with all basic Imperium fighting skills, including throwing javelins. In the case of the ogres, the javelins sized to fit them were more like long spears. The power behind their throws at this close range slammed through the entire body of their target. Sometimes the javelin flew through one elf completely, only to hit a second. Unfortunately, the ogres had only been issued three javelins each; it had been all they could find that fit their stature. Still, Wrend watched as the powerful thrown weapons were joined by both scorpions, killing more elves and giving first squad the opening it needed to push the remaining elves back.
The pain afflicting the soldiers on the ground abruptly stopped as the spell ended, allowing the few soldiers not killed by the rampaging Ikbose to stand and join their fellows. After the fast, bloody battle, the soldiers were able to push the last elf down the ladder, knocking him aside even as more tried to climb up.
“Kill him!” Wrend shouted to the scorpions as the caster fled back to the Ikbose lines. His covering force had been thinned in the battle and the caster was vulnerable. Both scorpions fired. One bolt missed, digging into the ground on the mage’s left. The second bolt struck true, slamming completely through the back of the caster’s head. The elf stumbled a few steps before his body realized its head was no longer attached. The body toppled to the ground. This threat—at least—had been eliminated.
It was a small victory, but one that Wrend was glad to have; those casters were the most dangerous thing to his troops right now. Ladders were hauled up onto the wall in a dozen places, but without the support of the caster, the attacking elves made little progress. Their warriors were cut down by the waiting soldiers as they climbed the ladders one at a time. To their credit, they fought hard as they climbed to what they had to know was certain doom.
Another sound began at the gate, a steady drumbeat of blows, the gate rattling slightly with each hit. Worried, Wrend climbed down from the tower and up onto the wall near the gate to get a look. A scout next to him leaned over the wall and fired his crossbow toward the gate. Leaning over himself, Wrend saw a mob of reavers hammering at the gate with their axes. Each blow only chipped a small chunk from the stout planks that made up the gate, but the cumulative effect of the blows would soon breach the barrier.
Thwack!
Wrend pulled himself back from the wall, clutching at the arrow embedded in his neck. The last thing he noticed before he was hit was the groups of archers trying to cover the reavers. Whenever one of his men leaned over the wall to throw a javelin or fire a crossbow, a flurry of arrows chased him back.
Searing pain swallowed his mind, the wound his whole world, his lifeblood rapidly spurting away as he foolishly pulled the arrow out by reflex. His health bar was dropping fast, even after one of the medics slapped a bandage on the wound; something in the foul Ikbose arrows was resisting the healing properties of the field dressing.
Soft, as if from far away, he heard chanting, and then a hand slapped over his open wound. A burning pain seared through the wound as healing power was forced in, pushing aside any residual effect from the arrow. Looking up, Wrend spotted the Drebix shaman standing over him with a bloody hand.
“I heal wounds and now I strike at our foes,” the shaman said, wiping Wrend’s blood across his face and chanting himself into a frenzy. Cracking wood indicated the reavers had finally hacked their way through the gate as they now began to widen the small gaps that were appearing.
“Crazy Drebix, nearly killed me with your cure,” Wrend croaked at the shaman, his voice still hoarse as his throat slowly healed from the arrow wound. The shaman took no note of his comment, continuing to chant and focusing on the barricade behind the gate. Wrend climbed down from the wall slowly. His health was beginning to creep back up from the regen provided by the medics, but it was slow-going. Motioning the remaining Drebix raiders and berserkers to join him at the gate, he waited for the enemy, blade in one hand, shield on the other.
There were six remaining reavers and a full section of five berserkers to hold the gate alongside the ogres. Wrend pushed against the makeshift barricade with his shoulder and it gave a little under his efforts. It wouldn’t keep the force banging at the gates away for long.
“Come, we hold gate,” one of the ogres said, waving his fellows over the barricade, an obstacle they vaulted over with ease. The six ogres lined up just behind the gate, covering the gap completely. Wrend had the rest of the defenders spread out around the barricade.
The chopping axes of the reavers breached the first beam of the gate, others soon following. One of Wrend’s scouts hopped down from the wall in front of the ogres and fired into the widening gap, killing a reaver. As the scout reloaded, several elves with their bows appeared at the gap and riddled the man with arrows.
Three boards, then four, were chopped through, creating a space that would allow a man to squeeze through. The reavers didn’t charge, though. They just continued widening the gap, chopping through the gap at the crossbeam that kept the gate secured.
“Here they come, boys. Give ’em a taste of the emperor’s steel!” Wrend shouted as the last beam holding the gate cracked through and the surge of reavers poured in. The reavers in the lead of the charge suddenly slowed as they found themselves faced with the six giant ogres in full legionnaire battle gear. The pause in their advance cost them dearly as crossbow bolts, javelins, and scorpion fire picked them apart.
The sheer numbers from the press of troops behind the lead ranks forced them forward, into the waiting blades of the ogres. The ogres thrust as one, a skill honed by Wrend over the last day, piercing one and sometimes two attackers with each thrust. The large size of their blades and the prodigious strength with which they wielded them ensured a kill with every blow.
Return strikes from reavers were me
t by huge shields and thick armor, their poor-quality gear having a hard time landing a damaging blow. The return strikes from the legionnaire ogres were devastating. Each powerful swing or thrust from an ogre resulted in another dead foe. The gateway held, the ogres a more formidable obstacle than any gate could be.
Wrend looked about the walls. The elves were still attempting to climb up in several places. His men were holding on the walls, but with no reserves left, he had little to respond with should the enemy force gain another foothold.
When he returned his attention back to the gate, disaster had already struck. The elves had arrived at the gateway as the reavers were cut down. Instead of standing to fight the ogres, the elves dodged, rolled, and leapt in an attempt to get behind the line of deadly creatures.
Most attempts ended in a skewered elf, or a shield bash slamming them to the ground, but eventually, first one, and then a few more, made it past the defense. The ogres were not prepared to defend themselves from behind and from the front. Elves slashed and stabbed at any unarmored ogre flesh they could find, drawing blood and slowly wearing down their health bars. Wrend fought the urge to jump over the barricade and help, only to stop himself after realizing he could inflict more damage on the enemies by meeting them behind the makeshift defensive barricade.
“Being in command should be listed as a form of self-torture,” Wrend whispered to himself, realizing he couldn’t rush to the aid of his new recruits if it meant weakening the defense of the Point.
The ogres’ tight line broke up as they turned about to get at the attackers behind them, only to find axes or blades at their backs whichever way they turned. One ogre fell under the onslaught. Then another. And another. With each fallen ogre, more opponents filtered through the opening.
Limitless Lands Book 4: Opposition (A LitRPG Adventure) Page 25
