Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons

by Doug Dandridge

  * * *

  The First Regiment of the First Brigade of the First Legion marched forward, shields held at the ready, javelins in hand. They were in a column thirty wide, forty deep, those three ranks back and further holding their rectangular shields overhead against arrows. Forty meters to their left side marched the Second Regiment of the same brigade, while to other marched the Third Regiment. All had been brought up to full strength by levies of natives, humans, elves and dwarves. Just behind marched smaller units of archers, all elves consisting of the Ellala and Conyastoya peoples. Behind them were aligned the forces of the Second Brigade, further back the Third.

  The brigade came to a halt five hundred meters from the gates of the fortress. Lines of oxen now pulled the engines forward, large catapults and ballista. The engineers unhitched the draft animals as soon as the machines were in position, moving the oxen out of harm’s way while others prepared the machines for action.

  "Do we really need all these people standing around out here?" General Delgado asked of the man who was his top adviser on ancient warfare. "I don't see them doing anything. If the enemy rallies to attack our machines, we can send the cavalry out to cut them off."

  "It's psychological warfare, General," said Ismael Levine, nodding toward the ranks of troops. "The Romans terrified their enemies with their discipline. Many of those they fought joked about the Romans, who were small men for the time, and wore more armor than any respectable barbarian would be caught dead in. But in fact, the sight of their disciplined ranks moving and standing was enough to unman the people they fought, and won many of their battles before the first javelin was thrown."

  "Very well," agreed Delgado, whose own training tended toward deploying troops in a manner that took advantage of cover and concealment. This marching people out in the open went against his instincts, but it was the way of warfare on this world. "And just why are we going to throw rocks at them through the day, when we have mages? And the cannon will be here soon?"

  "The mages will be needed for the main assault, General," said the immortal, shaking his head. "I'm hoping they'll let their mages have a go at trying to strike back. They won't have as much magic to use against the main assault. The guns will have a role to play, later. If the damned things ever get here."

  A flag waved up near the center catapult. Delgado looked over at his standard-bearer and nodded. The soldier raised and waved the banner. A moment later the center-most catapult, the largest on the field, went into action. The basket rose on the central pylon until it hit the cross bar, sending the large stone into the air to hit the wall of the fortress just to the right of the gate. It hit the hardened dwarven stone and bounced away with no appreciable damage.

  Within ten seconds the forty catapults had all cycled through their first shots, most hitting the wall, a couple going over, which were actually more of a success as they came down on the heads of the defenders. As soon as each machine’s operators gauged their shot they wrestled their machines into more suitable setups. As soon as that was done the engineers went to work ratcheting the arms back down, while other men wrestled stones out of wagons and dropped them into baskets as soon as they were set. This time the engineers lit the stones, that had been wrapped in straw and covered with oil soaked cloth. As soon as they were lit the catapults fired.

  Forty balls of fire were in the air within seconds of each other, flames flaring as they flew. Over thirty made it over the wall, trailing black trails of oily smoke. As they hit yells came up from the fortress, and larger spurts of black smoke, the sign of flammables caught up by the fireballs, rose into the air.

  This time there was a response. Balls of fire, bolts of lightning, blue rays of cold, they all came from the walls and flew toward the siege machines. It was a terrifying sight, destructive magical energies that would destroy the engines and the men who worked them. Those men started to run from the machines, but the bolts of power would reach them first. Or so it seemed, right up until the bolts of power splashed against a shield that had been erected in front of the machines. Fireballs hit and squashed into the barrier, flowing along both sides, burning bright for a moment before fading. A bit made it through, some to land on the machines and start small fires. One engineer was hit in the back, falling to the ground with the clothing over his armor flaring into flames. The same held true of the other bolts, electricity branching along the barrier, a few sparks forking through. One catapult took the partial power of a bolt of cold and iced up, the arm cracking and falling.

  "Not what they expected, I'm sure," said Brigadier General James Harris, the man responsible for getting supplies to the army, standing to the right of Delgado.

  "Nope, not at all," said Delgado with a smile on his face. Every priest and mage in the army was currently chanting spells, while all of the soldiers stood with closed eyes and mumbled the words of the protective mantras they had been taught, reinforced through hypnosis, one of the products of science the humans had brought with them. That was except for the protected in their ranks, who had no need of magical protection when their own immunity served well enough.

  There had been some damage, a couple of people injured, a machine destroyed, but the enemy had surely figured they would have knocked out at least a third of the engines. Not only had they thwarted the enemy magic users in their intent, they must have hit them hard in their faith in their powers.

  The engineers rushed back to their engines and started to go through the firing cycle again. They threw more flaming rocks over the wall, just before the magic users of the enemy sent another wave of arcane and divine attacks. This time there was a little more breakthrough as the shield weakened. One catapult shattered as electricity struck and ran through the structure, superheating the moisture still within the cured wood. Two of the crew caught flaring bolts, one falling dead to the ground, the other landing while his muscles quivered. Another machine burst into flame as the flaring of a fireball came through, torching four of its crew. The flames of all were quickly smothered by their fellows, and none were killed, though a couple would have need of much healing magic.

  "I think we can take one more volley," said Colonel James Drake, looking over at the mages he commanded to gage their strength. "Then we'll have to pour some more power into it."

  Delgado knew the plan. They were holding back their big guns in the magic department, waiting for the enemy to weaken before using them. But if they started hitting his forces with magic themselves, he would have to loose his own mages. It would not matter if they hit the first ranks of his legions. Those men were all believers in the deities of Earth, manifestations of what the people of Refuge called the Overgod, the actual creator of the universe. As such, they were immune to all the magical manifestations of this world: harmful and helpful. That was not good when they were injured and needed healing, but it sure came in handy when someone was trying to set them on fire from a distance. Nevertheless, this magic could destroy all of the engines they were using, and that was not what they wanted. They needed those machines for this attack. They weren't the primary weapon, but they were still necessary.

  Another volley came in and more of the power got through, this time destroying four of the machines.

  "The next one will shatter it," said James, starting the hand motions of a spell.

  Delgado stared at the young man for a moment, who by being naturally wired for the art, controlled more power than that of the native-born archmages who had studied for decades, if not centuries. The ground under his feet was glowing as he pulled energy from the earth. Drake was a fire mage. Not meaning that he couldn't use other forms of magic, but fire was his affinity, just as other elements were the affinity of some of the other Earthborn. Fire was his power, and it colored his magic.

  Stephan Neigal, another firemage, stood a hundred meters away going through the same motions. Katherine Heidle, a weather mage, stood a hundred meters to the other side, while a number of other Earthborn were lined up to both ends of the army. Lt. Col
onel Lissara Glannassa stood further back, using her divine magic to enact a reinforcement spell.

  The bolts and balls of power once again flew through the air. All of the Alliance mages who were working on the reinforcement spells flung their hands forward. James and Stephan shot forth waves of flame that hit the shield from the other side and spread quickly to fill in the extent of the shield, glowing highlights making the field visible. Lightning bolts, along with a blast of wind. flew from Katherine's hands. The lightning hit and flared along the shield, mixing with the spots of fire, while the wind carried through and blew outward in gusts.

  The enemy bolts and balls hit, splashing off the shield, some missing completely as the gusts of air caught them and threw them off course. Nothing came through this time, and the shield glowed with power as it continued to strengthen.

  "That should do it," said James, looking over at the general, his eyes alight with fire.

  "How much do you have left?" asked Delgado.

  "I think that used about ten percent of what I can access today," said the young man. "Maybe a little more or a little less for the rest."

  The catapults fired again, sending their flaming rocks over the wall. This time about half were knocked off their paths and fell short, the enemy mages finally coming up with a working strategy. Only they didn't have enough of them to take out all of the projectiles, and they would eventually run out of power, unlike the mechanisms of the catapults.

  "General Delgado," called out an aide, Major Dolf Klausmier called out as he ran up to the command group. "They've arrived, sir."

  Thank the Gods! He had been waiting on the new artillery, but as it kept being delayed had decided to go ahead with the attack. But the damned Mercedes engineer had come through again. Or so it was hoped.

  "Continue the bombardment through the rest of the day," ordered Delgado, looking at his command team to see if there were any objections and saw none. "We'll bring up the artillery and place it during the night, under spells of obscuration."

  "What about the assault on the other fort?" asked Colonel Glarum na Turon, the leader of the dwarven engineer brigade that had been busy digging night and day.

  "They will lay low tonight, and go when we signal. Now, what's next on the menu?"

  * * *

  Dieter stood in the front line of the center brigade as the enemy magic users threw bolts of power his way. He had faith in his God, that he would protect his faithful servant from the massive power that was flying through the air. Still, he flinched as they came in. He would have to be inhuman not to, and Dieter was very aware of his fragile humanity at the moment. There were, of course, other concerns. God would not protect him from arrows, or even worse, catapult projectiles. A large rock would smash him to mush much like any other man in the army, and arrows would pierce him just as readily.

  At least we shouldn’t have to worry about hand to hand, he thought. The shrinking numbers of the protected were thought to be too valuable to waste on combats where their peculiar abilities didn’t help the army. Of course, the general could always change his mind and send them rushing in.

  “Here comes another one,” shouted Humphrey in a frightened voice.

  The man was scared out of his wits, but he was holding his place in line and his shield as steady as any of them were. The first barrage had done nothing to the shield the mages had erected ahead of them. What about the second, or the one after that?

  The mages had mostly aimed for the siege engines, the greatest threat to them at this time. But some of the balls or bolts were still heading into the infantry, and this time some of the power got through.

  Dieter felt the power of a partial fireball wash over him like a gentle warmth. None of the front line was affected, though some of the power got through to those behind them, and there were screams of pain and agony as men were burned. Still, it was not a full strength ball, and between the magic shield, the interposed bodies of the faithful, and the mantras the unprotected infantry chanted, none of the wounds were fatal. The injured were passed back through the lines as others moved up. Healers would go to work on them, and most would be back in the ranks before the end of the day.

  They were out of bowshot, but some of the defenders still had to try. Arrows arced out and fell point first into the ground a hundred meters to their front. One arrow came streaking over an impossible distance, to slice through the shield of one of the protected twenty men down the line. The arrow pierced shield and arm, but was stopped by the body armor. The man fell back so he could be tended by the medics. He wouldn’t be back this day, but with luck, he could return by the end of a week.

  So they have something with major magic in it, thought Dieter, his eyes narrowing as his heart beat faster. The magical component of the arrow would do nothing to him. But his protection would mean nothing to the bow that flung that arrow hundreds of meters farther than any normal bow, and with a penetrating power of hundreds of kilos along a tiny sharpened point. It could, with bad luck, pierce his heart or stomach, or even his face. His faceplate was down, but a shaft like that might go through it.

  The arrow came in again, the other archers refraining as they saw they weren’t going to do anything. This time it hit the helmet of a soldier at just the perfect angle and penetrated armor and skull. The man’s eyes went blank, and he fell like a poleaxed steer to the ground. The man was dragged away, while the line of protected closed up. The archer must have been satisfied with that shot, for another came in at head level moments later, striking the helmet of Private Humphrey. This time hitting at the perfect angle to glance off.

  “God is with you today,” said Dieter, glancing over at the other man. He was trying to keep his attention to the front so he could interpose his shield against an incoming arrow if he thought it was coming for him.

  Humphrey was dumbstruck, not even coming out with his patented, maddening phrase. The next arrow to come in hit something before it got to them, an inertial barrier, and came through like a gently thrown stick. To bounce off the shield of its target. If it had come through full force it looked to have hit the man in the visor, possibly killing him. The next four arrows came through the barrier in the same way, and the archer seemed to have given up.

  They stood there for over an hour, until people behind them started shouting.

  “The guns are here.”

  Now we’ll see what our own wizard has come up with, thought Dieter with a smile.

  Chapter Eight

  Colonel Baron Karl von Hasslehoff looked down from altitude as he flew over the river. The first legion was arrayed in the open, looking like toys from the height of several thousand meters. He could see the catapult stones trailing smoke as they arced through the air, most going over the wall, some striking the hardened dwarven stone and falling to the ground.

  Unlike the commanding general and the others, the battlehawk wing commander could see into the fortress, where the stones were coming down. One of the barracks, that against the central tower, had a partially collapsed roof where three stones had come down, crushing through the tiled roof and into the wood framing below. Flames rose through the holes, smoke billowed into the air.

  The rest of the large compound down there looked like it was a swarming ant nest. Just the right target for his birds.

  [You see the targets] he told the pilots of his wing, looking up to see the birds circling in the sky. Over sixty of them, the four squadrons that made up his wing. The acknowledgments started coming back, and one of the squadrons started to drop lower as it lined up.

  Von Hasslehoff had at first felt slighted that he had not been given dragons to command. The huge creatures were so much more powerful, so much more intelligent, the ultimate aerial combatant on this world. He reached down and patted the neck of his own mount, a large male of the species. Mallas was more intelligent than a raptor of normal size, carrying a larger brain, but he would never be accused of having the intelligence of a dragon. He wasn’t as strong, but he was much fast
er, much more maneuverable. After riding him for most of a year he had come to love the bird, and the others of his kind.

  The first squadron came in, wings pulled backed in diving posture, building up their speed as they fell toward the fortress. Each held a large rock in their claws, the mass of a normal human. Their commander watched them move in, his chest tight as he waited for the response he knew had to be coming.

  A fireball reached up from the fortress. Two of the birds veered off their courses, avoiding the ball that flew past and exploded a hundred meters above the squadron.

  [Now] shouted the colonel in his mind. Half the birds released their rocks, which arched through the air to come down within the fortress, crashing through the roofs of more buildings, some hitting the open square and slamming into some few of the soldiers below, crushing them to the cobblestones. The second part of the group released, just as another fireball and a flight of arrows came up, and the first group flared out their wings and braked, moments later flapping to gain altitude as they banked away.

  The fireball hit a bird, turning raptor and rider into a flaming mass that continued to fall until it landed in the river. There was no hope for that rider or his steed. Another bird took an arrow through a chest muscle and screamed in anger and pain. The bird veered off in a glide, making it out of danger. Von Hasslehoff knew that team was out of the battle. It would fly back to the nearby base, to be attended to by the raptor healers, and would be ready for battle again in the near future.

  Von Hasslehoff continued to wheel his bird in the air, assessing the damage the first attack had done. Not enough to destroy the fortress, not that he had expected as much. But it had caused casualties, and those were men that neither assault force would have to face.