Despite the death toll of the monsters around them, one ogre managed to push its way forward, coming directly at the prince, roaring maniacally and swinging a club as large as a sapling, striking Riker’s steed and connecting so solidly with the animal’s neck that it cracked like a dry twig. The horse spun around, crumbled, and fell to the ground, throwing the young prince from its back to land amidst the enemy hoard.
“No!” Kromm screamed, as he saw his son fall. Frantically he tried to get to him, but instead he came face to face with two ogres himself.
“Protect the prince!” Allindrian shouted, simultaneously sending three arrows toward the ogres. The Tarsinian king and prince were surrounded by the enemy, and Allindrian was worried that the knights, who were frantically trying to cut their way through to help them, would not make it before the enemy's superior numbers overwhelmed the warriors. “Watch your aim! Don't hit the king or the prince!” she screamed, worried that a stray arrow from the inexperienced archers might hit one of them.
More than a hundred of the female archers had been killed, with an almost equal number wounded. But, remarkably, they were proving their worth, grittily holding their positions on the wall, despite enemy fire from below. The remaining archers, nearly six hundred strong, fired their missiles into the monsters surrounding the king and his son, killing or wounding enough of them to keep them temporarily at bay. But then the prince was thrown from his horse and he disappeared into the midst of the enemy.
Allindrian swore under her breath and did the first thing that came to her mind. She had to get to the prince. Just to her left, ten paces from the wall, were the smoking remains of a siege tower. It had been badly damaged but was still standing, supported by charred and unsteady beams. The Blade Singer dropped her bow on the wall and raced along the narrow battlements, leaping gracefully off the edge toward the damaged tower. It was an incredible distance to jump, but the agile ranger cleared it, grasping a round support beam and flinging her body through a burnt hole in the structure. The structure on which she landed was so damaged that it would have never been able to support the weight of an orc, nor even an armored man. But it held Allindrian's weight as she ran, dexterously jumping and leaping from beam to platform until she descended the tall structure, landing lightly on the ground below. She quickly hid behind a pile of rubble and tried to ascertain her next move. She’d only thought as far as getting to the ground. “Now what?” she whispered to herself.
Janniss leaned over the edge in complete shock. What was Allindrian doing? She had just leaped off the wall, swinging like an acrobat onto the charred skeleton of a tower, only to land on a battleground swarming with monsters.
Riker tucked his shoulder and rolled across the ground, bouncing quickly to his feet, knowing that his life depended on it. He was surrounded by a myriad of beasts, their stench nearly overwhelming him as they attacked with maniacal glee reflected in their yellow eyes. The prince repeatedly blocked their strikes with his magical shield, while swinging his sword in great arcs, slicing through weaponry, armor, and flesh. Tihr-Alliam seemed to relish the blood, glowing increasingly brighter, literally blinding the enemy around him. The blade turned warm in his hand as it hissed through the air, cutting through everything like a warm knife through butter. The young prince actually felt himself become stronger as new energy coursed through him from the handle of the blade. The magical sword was somehow feeding off the darkness of the creatures it destroyed, creating new energy for Riker. He didn’t know if the sword was taking the energy from the creatures, or if it was their blood feeding it, but there was an obvious transfusion of energy. He felt as if he could fight forever; and by the looks of it he would have to if he wanted to survive.
Suddenly, warning horns sounded from the battlements above, startling Kiln to action. He spun away from a recently dispatched orc and hurried back, leaving the formation and heading towards the rear where the cavalry was located. Several warriors immediately jumped in and took his place. The commander made his way through the formation, breaking free and running through the chaos behind it. Mounted knights were fighting furiously to destroy the enemy that had managed to break through the gaps, a strategy that seemed to be working just as Kiln had planned. However, it took him only moments to discern that they were in danger, hence the warning bugle from above. He was dismayed to see that groups of ogres had broken through the formations near the walls. The cavalry and infantry were dangerously close to caving in, which would allow the enemy to completely encircle them. They could not let that happen.
Kiln brought a horn to his lips and blew the retreat signal. They had practiced the maneuver many times but never while being pressed from all sides by hoards of murderous creatures. Instantly the square formations broke apart and hundreds of men filled the gaps creating a solid V formation two and three men deep. But the formation was not holding; the base of the V was buckling under the pressure from the enemy, and it wouldn't be long before they would close off their retreat.
Jonas, Tuvallis, and Seli were slowly moving backward, which was inevitable considering the large numbers of screeching orcs and goblins that were hammering into them. They had been fighting hard and their arms were beginning to tire, sweat was filling their eyes and their legs had begun to feel like lead weights.
A giant orc jabbed a serrated sword towards Jonas’s belly. Jonas reacted by tucking in his stomach and turning the blade away with his sword, simultaneously drawing his other weapon across the orc’s face, slicing through its open jaw to the base of its brain. Gurgling, the beast fell back into the hoard of his enemy comrades, while more immediately surged forward to take its place.
But as Jonas readied himself to take on the next foe, he heard Seli scream. He glanced sideways and saw her clutching at a short javelin stuck in her thigh, while frantically trying to fight off a sword wielding goblin. Jonas quickly drew forth his cognivant energy. Using his left sword, he directed the energy forward like a fist, crushing the two monsters attacking Seli, hurling them backwards so forcefully that they tripped up a score of beasts behind them.
Taking advantage of the reprieve, Seli yanked the barbed weapon from her thigh, releasing a flood of crimson. She immediately cried out in pain as she fell to her knees. Tuvallis, who had never left her side, caught her, dragging her backwards as infantry soldiers, seeing the gap, jumped in to seal it.
Hagar had heard Seli scream and instinctively bellowed a defiant roar, so loud that the ground around him shook. He quickly dispatched three more orcs before moving back through the ranks of men frantically looking for Tuvallis and Seli. Finarthian infantry parted around him, filling the substantial gap that he left behind. Durgen continued to fight, every swing of his axe enforced by the focus of a dwarf who had lost his son. Yet no matter how much enemy blood Durgen spilled, it failed to wash away the memory of his dead boy moaning in death, an orc arrow jutting from his flesh. Jonas, concerned about the warning horn, withdrew his blade from the chest of a dying orc and followed the large form of Hagar to the rear of the line.
The gate began to open, as planned, but Kiln looked around frantically at what was happening with the retreat. The problem was the base of the V, where the formation was the widest. This section was supposed to hold the enemy at bay, while the point, or wedge, would fold in on itself and retreat through the opening. As they filtered through the gate the men at the base would slowly close the gap they had created until they too could safely make it through the gate. It was expected that some of the enemy would make it through as well, but Kiln was confident that they could close the gate before a significant number of the creatures entered. But the base was now caving in, making that plan obsolete, and potentially spelling out their doom. He couldn’t let that happen.
The officers had been ordered to move behind the formations when the retreat horn had been signaled, and that was where Kiln found Graggis. Though dirty, sweaty, and covered with blood, his fiery eyes reflected the intensity of the battle around him. “What ar
e your orders?” he asked the commander.
“We need to reinforce these flanks or we are doomed!” Kiln yelled. “Pull the men from the reserve line.”
“Sir, if we do that they may break through, trapping the tip of the wedge behind the enemy,” Graggis countered.
“I know, just do it, Captain,” Kiln said sternly.
“Yes, sir,” Graggis replied, then turned and ran to find the subordinate officers to pass on the orders.
The commander, hearing loud screams and battle cries coming from the gate, turned to see the source of the commotion. Hundreds of men wearing miss-matched armor and carrying an odd assortment of weapons were storming from the interior of the gate and rushing forward to reinforce the flanks. They were the refugees. Kiln smiled, realizing that General Gandarin must have recognized the danger and sent them out. They lacked skill and were ill fitted for formation fighting, but their numbers alone would bolster the infantry who were fighting for their lives trying to keep the beasts from breaking through.
Kromm had finally cut his way through the enemy to his son’s side. “Grab my hand!” he yelled. He reached down and pulled the blood splattered prince onto the saddle behind him. Seeing the large number of orc and goblin bodies piled high around the prince, Kromm couldn’t help but feel pride for his son. By that time, a dozen knights had fought their way through, and fresh infantry soldiers were running from the front wedge to reinforce the back, giving the knights time to escort the king back to the safety of their own lines.
For now the lines were still holding, and men from the rear of the wedge began to veer away from the fighting, slowly making their way through the gate, all the while the tip of the formation was beginning to disappear. The flanks were holding but fighting there was furious. Men and beasts alike were falling by the hundreds and the ogres that remained were doing serious damage.
Hagar and Jonas found Kiln directing men and overseeing the retreat. Tuvallis had carried the injured Seli through the gate to the healers as she had already lost consciousness from loss of blood. An endless stream of wounded was pouring through the gate as healers and boys too young to fight carried stretchers back and forth.
Then the sky turned suddenly dark, and ominous black clouds rolled in, swirling and seeming to appear from nowhere.
“I don’t like this,” Jonas muttered as he looked up at the foreboding sky. Lor-telliam ran from the melee with sword drawn and his previously immaculate armor splattered with blood. He had obviously lost his horse in the fighting as had many other knights.
“It smells of magic!” Lor-telliam shouted. “Powerful magic! It must be Malbeck!”
Suddenly the air exploded with the boom of thunder, shaking the very ground they stood on, followed by crackling blue bolts of energy dancing across the sky. Then without warning, bolts of electric energy shot from the sky and peppered the formation, striking men and then exploding outward in smaller but equally dangerous bolts. The lightning struck in hundreds of places throughout the battle field, killing three times that number, the electrical currents arcing from man to man, attracted to the armor and steel everyone had on their person. The smell of burnt flesh filled the battlefield.
Jonas instinctively dove as a bolt smacked the ground between him and Hagar, hot burning energy searing his flesh. Everyone was flung from their feet, including Hagar who suffered severe burns on his leg despite his thick skin. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and the clouds drifted away.
Lor-telliam helped Jonas to his feet and they quickly surveyed the damage. The power of the spell had been devastating; thousands now lay dead, their smoking bodies scattered everywhere. But most of the damage had occurred behind the main wedge of men.
“The formation is breaking!” Kiln yelled as all eyes turned toward the tip of the wedge, seeing the truth of his words. The spell had been concentrated in certain spots, specifically near the tip of the wedge and the base of the formation, and the hundreds, if not thousands, of dead men, created weak points in those areas. Ogres, orcs, and goblins were now breaking through the weak points and surging towards them in waves of bloody steel. The men at the tip of the wedge, now totally isolated, would be massacred in minutes.
“In Ulren’s name, Fil was fighting there!” Jonas screamed, terrified for his friend as he turned to face the enemy running towards them.
Durgen’s axe hit an orc so hard in the chest that it creased the beast’s breastplate, crushing its sternum and heart on impact. Fil fought beside the dwarf, working his shield and short sword as fast as he could, desperately trying to keep the enemy from overwhelming them. His arms were heavy with exhaustion and his mouth felt as dry as a cotton ball. The lightning had burst from the sky, striking the ground behind them in a blinding electrical explosion. The screams of the soldiers and the smell of burnt flesh assaulted their senses as they continued to fight, each strike becoming more difficult as the strength of their bodies was sapped. They were now fighting a losing battle with exhaustion.
At first Fil wondered why the lightning hadn't struck those in the front. But it soon became apparent. The men fighting near Fil were screaming and yelling that they had been cut off. And then Fil understood. The spell was designed to break their formation in two, isolating the tip of the wedge from the base, and then crushing the smaller groups individually. But he had no time to ponder his possible death as every ounce of remaining strength was being used to keep enemy steel from spilling his blood.
The howls, roars, and screeches of the monster hoard pressed in on them from all sides as Durgen and Fil fought side by side. Fil could feel their group shrink, as his comrades dropped to orc blades and goblin spears. The seriousness of their situation had already sunk in, but before he had time to dwell on it, a giant sword crashed into his shield, shaking him from head to toe. Instinctively, he ducked low, slicing his short sword across the thigh of an attacking orc, then reversing his swing while narrowly blocking the jab from a goblin spear.
There was nothing more to do. They would keep fighting, knowing they were cut off and would die to the last man. No one was coming to save them. Images of his family and friends flashed through his mind as he contemplated his last breaths.
But those ominous thoughts were fleeting as he was instinctively preoccupied with staying alive, desperately trying to keep the enemy from slicing into his flesh. An orc came at him, sword raised to strike, and he frantically blocked it with his sword, then, at the last moment, raised his shield in an attempt to block another attack from his flank. A large orc had swung a morning star and the heavy descending ball was nearly on him as he lifted his shield. But he wasn’t fast enough; the edge of the shield caught the chain and acted as a fulcrum point, the spiked ball snapping over the shield onto the top of his head. Even his helm could not fully protect him. The impact was so great that all he remembered was a flash of pain and then nothing. Fil went limp and fell amongst the countless bodies that littered the ground.
If he had been conscious he would have seen Durgen leap over him and ram the spike of his axe into the chest of the orc as the beast prepared another strike. The enraged dwarf yelled to his god as he stood his ground, cutting into the enemy, every swing, parry, and attack fueled by his sheer will, as he had finally exhausted the energy of his physical body. He smiled, blood splattering his face as he swung his axe through the throat of an orc. He was not afraid of the end, he welcomed it. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before he could sit with his son in Moredin’s great hall.
Allindrian glanced out from her hiding place inside the tower trying to figure out her path of action. She had planned to get to the prince but luckily his father had reached him first, hauling him onto the back of his horse. She could see their torsos above the orcs as they retreated back to the center of their lines. What could she do now? At the weakest point of the enemy line in front of her, there were probably ten to fifteen monsters separating her from her own men. She had committed herself now. The only way to safety was through
the gate and to get there she had to get past those beasts. The only good thing was they had their backs to her as they were concentrating on the Finarthian infantry in front of them.
Janniss leaned over the battlements looking for Allindrian. Orc arrows continued to zip by but the numbers were less now that they were concentrating on breaking through the infantry formation below. The young girl looked down the wall and saw that the stone pavers were covered with hundreds of bodies, women riddled with arrows or punctured by spears, sprawled awkwardly in death. There were probably only two hundred archers left, wearily firing the last of their arrows down into the enemy below.
Janniss looked back and saw Allindrian lift her head up from some smoking and blackened wood. She could see her looking at the orcs in front of her. She knew the Blade Singer enough to guess that she was likely planning on rushing those orcs and trying to break through them to reach their own men beyond. That would be crazy, but then again Allindrian had just leaped off a towering wall, swinging and jumping to the ground on a burnt and destroyed tower that looked as if it might fall down if you looked at it wrong. Janniss had an idea.
“Archers! Over here!” she yelled as she ran farther down the length of the wall to get a closer shot at the orcs below them. Thirty or so women that were near followed her, arms hanging tired beyond exhaustion, but newfound courage and blind determination carrying them beyond their limits. “Concentrate on those orcs there!” she yelled, pointing at the weakest section of the orc perimeter. “Kill as many as you can, we need to create a brief gap.”
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 40
