by DB King
“I’ll deal with the Pale Haunter if it shows up again, Bjorn,” Sylvia said. “You focus on the bigger picture.”
Bjorn nodded, then turned to address a runner calling for him.
“Captain Falx on the easternmost wingtip reports that his war party has been engaged by a vanguard force, but cohorts from the enemy’s main battle line have swung wide of his position and will be situated to flank soon,” the runner cried. He was a slender youth clad in the same type of leather armor Raphael and Eliza had worn to Vitoria.
“Activate Hector and Adara from reserve and have them take their war parties to intercept,” the High Captain instructed.
“Yes, sir!” The runner snapped off a salute before sprinting away.
The ranks of the skeleton warriors pressed closer, and the monsters at the forefront locked their shields into a wall. Raphael swept his gaze across the line of advancing Hell Drakes. None of them had made an attack, be it a hurled javelin, throwing axe, or spell. They moved in a loose formation, each war party spreading out from one another, leaving gaps in their battle-line.
The two hundred paces separating the monsters from the Hell Drakes became a hundred, and as it shrank down to fifty, the skeleton warriors picked up their pace. The heightened tempo of their tread shook the ground beneath Raphael’s feet. In contrast, the Hell Drakes maintained the speed of their advance.
Several mages put up spells resembling Fenix’s Spirit Shield in front of their war parties, just in time to catch the first spheres of fire, shards of ice, or bolts of lightning that came hurtling from the ranks of the skeleton warriors. The distance continued to close, and Raphael felt a chill run down his spine. The difference in numbers between the monsters and the Hell Drakes was simply too immense. How wouldn’t the skeleton warriors overrun everyone that stood in their way?
Bjorn raised his hammer. It pulsed with white light. Sweeping his gaze over those held in reserve, Raphael noticed a line of runners spread out as far as he could see to his right and his left. As they caught sight of the High Captain’s glowing hammer, they held up shining rods as well. In turn, those further down the line did the same.
A signal! Raphael realized. But for what?
The answer soon came in the form of massive columns of ice, each wider than a full-grown man was tall and ten times as long, manifesting in the gaps of the advancing battle-line. They hit the ground tip-first, and then they hurtled downward, away from the Hell Drakes and into the midst of the skeleton warriors, crushing the foremost monsters beneath their weight.
Using the light of the Dragon Meridian, Raphael traced the conjuration of these ice columns to mages among the Hell Drakes held in reserve. The closest one within eyeshot was a robed woman wearing a pointy hat. She was on her hands and knees, gasping for breath. Raphael recalled how Fenix had been exhausted after casting his Banish spell. Though mages used Spell Dust to fuel their spells, it seemed that spellcasting also took a toll on their bodies.
“Well done,” Sylvia commented. “Each of those ice columns must have required at least two or more mages capable of Intermediate Order Ice Magic casting in concert. Bjorn is notoriously demanding about those under his command being able to do that, and it paid off today.”
The monsters crushed by the falling columns were incidental victories, Raphael saw, as the true purpose of the ice was to break up the ranks of the skeleton warriors and funnel them into corridors through which they had to advance to reach the Hell Drakes.
This allows each war party to fight fewer monsters at a time, which means that they won’t get overwhelmed so easily! Raphael thought, filled with admiration for Bjorn’s battlefield tactics, but he soon noticed that something wasn’t quite right.
Thirty-three. There were only thirty-three ice columns, but there are a hundred war parties, which means at least sixty gaps. Those not protected by the ice will face immense numbers! He opened his mouth to speak, but the High Captain was obviously aware of his concerns, as was Sylvia. Bjorn raised a hand to forestall the elf from flying away on her sword and casting more ice spells.
“Lost too many mages already to conjure enough ice,” he said, “but don’t worry. I’ve placed the strongest captains and war parties to face the biggest numbers. They will prevail. Save your strength, Sylvia.”
The battle-line immediately in front of Bjorn’s perch was one of the gaps left unprotected by ice columns. The three war parties advancing along that section linked up, tightening their formation. Raphael could easily make out their respective leaders: a white-bearded man in a flowing green robe, a woman in plate-mail armor adorned with spikes, and another man in blue robes and a white skullcap. Armsmen and mages swirled in their orbit, with the former moving to the front and the latter hanging back as the monsters neared.
And then battle was joined. A tremendous clamor shook the air, one of metal ringing against metal, shattering bones, cloven flesh, war cries, and agonized shrieks. Armsmen cleaved and hewed with their weapons. Skeleton warriors lashed out with crumbling blades and axes. Bodies and limbs flew. Mages chanted their spells. Bale-wights unleashed their wrath. Fire, ice, and lightning flashed. Monsters fell. People died.
With gouts of flames fanning from his fists, the Hell Drake captain in the green robe burned down a cluster of skeleton warriors, setting the bale-wight in their midst ablaze as well. Two armsmen, each of them armed with a sword and shield, guarded his flanks, cutting down any monsters that approached. Another robed mage chanted in the middle of their formation, just behind his captain. Tendrils of white light swarmed from his palms, disintegrating skeleton warriors and bale-wights on contact.
Then a rusted axe whistled out of nowhere, splitting the skull of one of the shielded armsmen. As he went down, a shower of spears whistled through the gap in the formation left by his demise. They skewered the mage who’d conjured the tendrils of white light. The war party’s captain turned, distracted by the mage’s screams, and a barrage of ice shards and lightning bolts from four bale-wights overwhelmed his Spirit Shield and blasted him into pieces. The remaining armsman was swiftly surrounded and hacked apart by skeleton warriors.
Raphael felt sick to his stomach at the sight, knowing the fallen were beyond the reach of any Healing Magic.
Reeling with rage and grief, the rest of the green-robed captain’s war party advanced, eager to avenge their leader and comrades. They tore into the monsters, but having lost what were obviously their most powerful members, they met with little success and were forced back, losing another two armsmen and a mage in the process. The other two war parties, led by the armored woman and the mage with the skullcap, were faring a little better, cutting down a dozen skeleton warriors and bale-wights every heartbeat while having lost only three armsmen and two mages among them. But now, with the green robed captain’s war party buckling and on the brink of annihilation, all of them faced being flanked, cut off, and wiped out.
Seeing this, Bjorn ordered two of the reserve war parties forward to bolster that front. Runners ran to and away from him, continuously bearing messages from all across the battle-line. The High Captain listened to one breathless report after another, issued his orders curtly, and resumed his survey of the battle. All this time, Hell Drakes fought and died, screaming and bleeding their last moments out on the dirt.
But they were holding. Using the Dragon Meridian, Raphael counted skeleton warriors and bale-wights falling by their hundreds across the battle-line with every passing moment. And then, as if some inexplicable lever were pulled or lamp was lit, the battle tipped past a turning point, with the Hell Drakes decisively in the ascendant, even as armsmen and mages died in droves, cut down by rusted blades or eviscerated by spells.
The sheer brutality and scale of the carnage shook Raphael to his core. Something within him wanted to scream and hide, but he drowned it out with the light of the Dragon Meridian and looked to the members of his own war party. Fenix was shaking at the knees, and his mouth was working soundlessly. Eliza had her fists clen
ched and her gaze locked on the battlefront, but through the bars of her visor, Raphael could see that her face was pale and her eyes were wide with barely suppressed panic.
He reached out and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. They turned to face him, and in that moment, Raphael felt that their souls opened themselves to his. Without thinking, he cast the light of the Dragon Meridian on them as well.
Fresh resolve flooded into their eyes. Fenix pounded his left fist into his right palm. Eliza tightened her grip on her mace. They nodded in unison to Raphael.
“Well, nothing that we haven’t faced before,” Fenix said. “It’s just that now, there are slightly more monsters to tackle, but they’ll all go down as easily as the treants did to my spells and your blade, Raphael.”
“We will win here and go find Koshi,” Eliza told him. “Then I’ll make the two of you that apple pie you enjoyed so much.”
“I can hardly wait.” Raphael smiled. He looked at Gabriella. The princess was pale, but to her credit, she stood tall and resolute, her fists clenched.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I am fine, armsman,” Gabriella replied curtly. “Four years ago, I fought alongside my father when he went to see off an ogre incursion on our northern border. I’m no stranger to warfare.”
She would have been little more than a young girl, then, Raphael thought, as it soon became apparent to him that despite Gabriella’s resemblance to Eliza, the princess was several years younger. He sketched a quick bow to her. “Alright. Get ready to move though. You’re part of our war party now, and Sylvia might have orders for us very soon.”
The princess placed a hand on her chest and tossed her head haughtily. “Rest assured that you’ll not find me lacking in battle… I weary of calling you ‘armsman’. Have you not a name?”
“I’m Raphael.” He gestured to Eliza and Fenix in turn. “This is Eliza, and this is Fenix.”
“I see.” To Raphael’s surprise, Gabriella gave the three of them a short but stiff bow. “I, Gabriella di Lucario, greet you, Raphael, Eliza, and Fenix. It will be an honor to fight alongside those bleeding and dying for my people. I regret any… prior unpleasantness among us.”
“This is where you apologize for being a boor,” Fenix hissed at Eliza.
“In your dreams!” she hissed back.
“Well, glad to meet you too, your Royal Highness, I—”
“Gabriella, Raphael,” the princess interrupted. “If I’m to be your comrade-in-arms, we should address each other as equals. Using my name will suffice.”
“That’s still quite a mouthful,” Raphael said. “Since we don’t need to bother with your title, let’s call you Gabby, then!”
“…Gabby?” the princess choked.
“Beheaded! For insolence! Is that what you want to happen to us? Beheaded! Like capital criminals!” Fenix hissed, cuffing Raphael across the back of the head.
“At least your nickname isn’t going to be Windy or Lizzy,” Eliza said, chuckling. “Gabby sounds far less silly than those. It’s adorable, even.”
“It is…?” A shaky smile crept across Gabriella’s face. She nodded. “Fine. Call me Gabby, then, for as long as we fight together.”
“And that’s going to start quite soon, if I’m any judge,” Sylvia chimed in. “Things look bad, but we are winning this one. Apparently, this wave has been the most formidable so far. The skeleton warriors are far more skilled and their weapons and armor are wreathed in Martial Magic. Also, the bale-wights can actually cast spells of the Intermediate Order. If I’m not mistaken, the Pale Haunter will appear soon, once the last of monsters begin falling.”
“What’s a Pale Haunter?” Raphael asked.
“It’s an extremely powerful undead creature, fast, strong, and able to cast a variety of Higher Order spells. It’s also immune to most of the common things that hurt undead, such as sunlight, silver, and even many Holy Magic spells. The only way to best it is through open combat. Anything it kills with its fangs, claws, or spells will rise again and turn into a revenant under its control,” Eliza explained. “And a revenant possesses all of the skills and spells of the person it used to be. Lastly, anyone killed by a revenant will also become one, subject to the will of the same Pale Haunter.”
“Bjorn said that the Pale Haunter killed quite a few Hell Drakes and their bodies were lost. This means that we could be facing several captains and their war parties,” Fenix said grimly.
A sudden clamor arose around Bjorn. Raphael saw several runners shouting frantically, on the verge of panic. The High Captain listened to them stoically, but his fists were clenched so tightly around the shaft of his hammer that his knuckles had turned white.
“What’s wrong?” Sylvia asked.
“We’ve lost all contact with the war parties on our westernmost tip,” Bjorn replied. “Our remaining reserves in that area have made contact with the enemy, but the runners assigned to them have stopped reporting in as well. I can only assume that all Hell Drakes on the battle-line there have been wiped out. That can only mean one thing.”
“The Pale Haunter has appeared,” the elf said. “I’ll head over right now with my war party.”
“Take Cyrano’s, Van Heim’s, and Marco’s war parties with you too.” Bjorn pointed to each of the reserve Hell Drakes in turn. The armsman and the captains raised their fists in assent.
“That’ll leave you with nothing here,” Sylvia protested. “What if the skeleton warriors break through the battle-line right in front of you?”
“I’ve got me.” The High Captain of the Second Seat twirled his hammer. “Now go!”
“You heard the man!” Sylvia bellowed to the war parties Bjorn had pointed out. “Let’s move!”
They roared and began racing down the battle-line, heading to its westernmost wing.
“Kill for wealth. Slay for glory. I’m counting on you to win this, Sylvia,” Bjorn said, extending his hand.
The elf clasped him wrist-to-wrist once more. “Of course. Have I ever let you down?”
“…yes.”
“Hey!”
Chapter 27
A scene of horrific carnage greeted the Hell Drakes as they neared the end of the battle-line. The corpses of nearly a hundred armsmen and mages lay strewn across the dirt, trodden beneath the fleshless heels of skeleton warriors and bale-wights. As Bjorn had feared, all the war-parties stationed here, including the reserves, had been wiped out.
But what truly set Raphael aback were the armored and robed figures behind the monsters, all of them sporting the Hell Drakes insignia on breastplates, cuffs, or cloak pins. He noted the grayish pallor of their flesh, the glowing spheres of red light that had replaced their eyes, and the masks of manic hate riveted onto their faces.
Revenants. Raphael inhaled sharply. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as the undead mercenaries brandished their weapons or raised their hands in spellcasting.
“Ladies! Silence them!” the captain named Van Heim shouted. He wore form-fitting leathers and wielded a short, curved sword in each hand. The three mages in his war party, all dressed identically in sturdy, dark blue robes, thrust their hands forward and uttered a single arcane syllable in unison.
A wave of invisible magical energy rippled forth from them. It rolled over the monsters and revenants alike, enveloping them in a momentary shroud of soundlessness and quashing the arcane words spilling from their bloodless mouths. The undead spellcasters reeled in disarray, unable to stop the trails of magical light and swirling elemental energies over their hands from dissipating.
“Silencing Pulse, eh?” Sylvia said. “Nice one, Van Heim. Can your mob pull off another one?”
The captain shook his head. “No. The Casella triplets can’t use such a powerful Sound Magic spell more than once every few hours, even when they cast in concert.”
“We’ll have to make this count, then!” The elf grinned, seizing her massive sword from its perch in the air and holding it high. “Charge, Hell Drak
es! Crush the enemy! Destroy them all!”
Cyrano took the lead, then, pounded his way to the front of the Hell Drakes’ advance. A heavy, spiked metal ball dangled on a chain from his fist. He whirled it in his grasp. The silver-robed mage on Cyrano’s heels gestured and chanted before placing her hands on the immobile section of the chain stretched between the armsman’s fists.
He cast the metal ball forth into the ranks of the skeleton warriors. Just before it hit the monsters’ shield wall, it quadrupled in size, becoming larger than Raphael’s torso. The massive projectile smashed through the overlapping layers of rusted metal and the yellowed bone beneath, sending broken skeleton warriors flying.
“Their formation is broken!” the armsman bellowed, unhitching a heavy war-pick from his belt. “Follow me in!”
The front ranks of the Hell Drakes, Raphael among them, crashed into the scattered skeleton warriors. The fleshless monsters were fast and strong, their limbs and weapons wreathed in a field of translucent magical energy not unlike that encasing the Hell Drakes’ armsmen. Still, with the Draconic Braziers burning hot, Raphael was swifter and mightier by far. Smashing through their shields with his glaive and fending off their weapons with his draconic armor, he cleaved and struck down one grinning, fleshless monster after another, scattering their broken bodies in every direction.
A dark robed figure barred his way, flames dancing across its fingers. Before the bale-wight could unleash its spell, a crossbow bolt slammed into its forehead, hurling it to the ground where it twitched momentarily, then stopped moving. Raphael glanced over his shoulder. Slinging her crossbow back over her shoulder, Eliza gave him a grim nod. A skeleton warrior slipped through the front ranks of the armsmen and swung its blade toward her. She parried the blow deftly with her buckler before smashing the monster’s skull to shards with a looping swing of her mace.
