Tides of Blood and Steel (5 page)

“There, Skuld! Quickly, go and grab the book!”

The thief climbed over a broken table and found a massive tome alone on a marble pedestal. He hesitated. The book looked new, as if waiting for his coming. Better judgment warned him not to proceed. Nothing good was going to come from this.
Could it be a trap?
He doubted the wizard’s ability to protect them. A strange new energy seeped into him; his muscles, his resolve. Skuld reached out and ran his fingertips over the ancient volume. He suddenly realized how wrong he had been.

“Did you feel that?” Argis asked.

Dorl swallowed hard and clenched his sword that much tighter. It wouldn’t mean much if they were attacked, but it helped soothe his frayed nerves. He shivered slightly. All of the warmth left him. His breath turned to vapors. That old sense of dread flowed through him, offering promises of violent demise.

“What in the…”

Dorl never got the chance to finish. The ground trembled and shook, throwing them violently down. Dust rained down so thick he could barely make out the others. The torches snapped and hissed. Dorl struggled back to his feet and immediately began searching for the source of danger. The far wall exploded outwards as dozens of skeletal hands shot up, clutching desperately at Maleela. Still on her knees, she barely rolled away in time.

Dorl Theed swore to himself. The skeletons pulled and clawed their way free of their eternal tombs. Nothol dropped into a low guard and waited. His eyes hardened. Of the many foes he’d faced over the years, this was a first. The undead continued to break free around them. Dorl managed to overcome his fright and pull Maleela to the relative safety their group offered. Nothol grinned savagely. He didn’t know what it was going to take to kill a skeleton but he decided not to wait to find out. He attacked. Within the confined space only one man was able to wield a sword effectively. Dorl and Argis fell back to protect the princess.

Nothol Coll’s first strike ripped a broken skull from the neck a moment before he kicked the remains to dust. The skeleton collapsed in a ragged heap, taking three more with it. This might not be so bad after all. He swung again, this time splitting one at the waist. More came. And more. The skeletons now numbered more than fifty. Even with Nothol Coll hacking and slashing, the dead soldiers continued to break free. Bones piled around them.

Dorl Theed watched the situation worsen. He desperately wanted to help but there simply wasn’t enough space for both men to maneuver without cutting each other. Frustration made him tremble. He watched as a skeleton burst apart from the force of Nothol’s boot in the ribs. The skull rolled to rest at Dorl’s feet.

“We have to help him,” he told Argis.

The former captain stood with his mouth agape. Shock immobilized him. Never in his wildest thoughts could he imagine an army of the dead. His knees were weak. His mind refused to obey his body. Twice he almost dropped his sword. Delranan had had no foe like this, ever. He struggled to comprehend what assailed them, but his mind failed to rationalize any of it.

Dorl snarled and slapped the man on his back. “Damn it, Argis, snap out of it! We’re all going to die down here if we don’t act.”

Recognition flashed in the back of his pale eyes. “What can we do against this?”

At least he still has his tongue.
Dorl frowned. “Send them back to the underworld and hope for the best.”

Dorl Theed only managed to take a small step forward before being violently jerked backwards. The force made him drop his sword. Bony fingers gripped him tightly, trying to rip him apart. He let out a strangled cry as they dragged him to the ground. Dorl struggled with all his might. He punched and kicked. A bony arm ripped away and became his only weapon. Dorl used the arm to lash out at his attackers. Blood seeped from a dozen scratches, but the skeletons only clung tighter.

The sudden attack finally forced Argis into action. His resolve strengthened, the old man clenched his sword and attacked. Dust and bones flew wildly about the small chamber. The Delranan noble fought like never before. Vague ideations of what would happen to him should he fail pushed him harder. His muscles soon screamed and began to ache. The old man didn’t have much left. Skeletal warriors broke to pieces wherever his sword touched them.

Dorl used the distraction and managed to break free. The sell sword rolled to find his sword through the mayhem and unleashed his pent-up fury. Every beating and taunt from Harnin’s guards came back now. Hatred, agony, embarrassment, and fear burst from the inner well of his soul. Dorl attacked and attacked, with sword, fist, and boot. He didn’t stop until Argis placed a weary hand upon his shoulder.

Dorl looked around. His breath was ragged, clogged with dust and bone matter. The battle was over. All of the skeletons were destroyed, sent back to the decay of their eternal death. Argis dropped to a knee. He was much the worse of the two. Nothol leaned against the far wall, head hung low between his shoulders as he struggled to catch his breath. His tunic was shredded in places and smeared with his own blood. Maleela sat huddled in the corner. Even with all she had been through she couldn’t bring herself to accept a battle against the dead.

“What just happened?” Argis asked through strained breaths. His body ached from unexpected exertion.

Nothol sheathed his sword. “This place is cursed.”

“I have seen much in my life, but never anything so foul. Those creatures should not exist,” Argis added softly.

“Should we go and get the wizard?” Dorl asked hesitantly. The rage was gone, leaving him numb. He had had enough of magic and having Anienam around made him queasy.

The ground trembled and shook violently. Huge chunks of ceiling crashed down. The walls shattered and started to collapse.

“Cave in!” Nothol shouted.

Argis forced himself back to his feet. “We must flee!”

Dorl passed a desperate look to the empty doorway. There was no sign of Skuld or the damned wizard. Duty and honor urged him to go and look for them. Reality screamed otherwise. The very walls were coming down around them. Waiting was not an option.

“Run!” he tried to shout above the roar.

He pushed Argis ahead and ran for his life. Dorl Theed gave a last thought to the others and kept running before they all died. Large chunks of the ceiling continued to drop.

The War Begins

“Archers!”

Piper Joach clenched his jaw in anticipation. He wanted to smile. The simple thought of extracting a measure of revenge on the same enemy who had thoroughly embarrassed him made his blood hot. Prince Aurec deserved an arrow through his heart and more for that alone. This was a matter of pride, but deep inside he knew it wasn’t enough. Skirmishers and ambushers were one matter. This was the Wolfsreik’s first real test against Rogscroft infantry battalions. His expression soured. Aurec was not on the field.

The battle, which shouldn’t have happened, developed over the last week. Wolfsreik scouts hounded the enemy out of their hiding places, forcing them into the open where they’d be vulnerable. General Rolnir used the diversion to push his main body ahead of the retreat, effectively cutting off the disorganized Rogscroft soldiers from reinforcements. Or so they hoped. War was always the fickle bitch.

Piper failed to understand how Aurec let his heavily outnumbered forces get caught in such a simple trap. Trained to an extent yet hardly seasoned, Aurec’s army was better suited to hit and run guerilla tactics. Meeting the enemy on the open field in rank and file was tantamount to suicide. It left Piper with an uneasy feeling. The trap had been too easy to set, as if Aurec allowed it to happen. He briefly contemplated abandoning the field just to see how Aurec would respond.

The battlefield was good ground. Neutral, but good. There was a slight slope of almost negligible grade that would serve a heavy cavalry charge but, as Piper had already learned the hard way, the snows were too deep for the effective use of heavy horse. Fortunately the Wolfsreik was primarily heavy infantry. Lightly forested hills formed a natural barrier on the right flank and a small river babbled softly on the left. The only way for Aurec’s army to escape was straight through the Wolfsreik.

He watched the enemy infantry crouch down behind their heavy wooden shields as the flight of arrows sped down towards them. Piper had been there many times as well over the course of his career. It was an unpleasant feeling. The panic and the fear. The surge of adrenaline as the whistle of incoming arrows built to a screech. It was capped off with a symphony of screams and cries from the dead and dying. An archery assault was, in Piper’s mind, the worst fate on the battlefield.

He gave his field commander a tight nod.

“Fire.”

The first flight perforated the air. Piper almost wished he’d order the shafts to be set on fire. Fire was much more demoralizing than a simple attack.

“Nock!” the field commander ordered.

Three ranks of archers obeyed. Three flights of arrows sped away. Piper was disinclined to wait for a response from his foes. He immediately ordered a battalion of pike men forward while the defenders were still in disarray. Ranks of swordsmen followed with cavalry waiting on the flanks should the attack stall. Piper Joach dispassionately watched the battle unfold. He had no love of the enemy, but where there had once been nothing, utter contempt had grown. He wouldn’t stop until Rogscroft burned to the ground.

The distance between the two armies closed quickly. The defenders were in a simple linear formation. Four ranks sat high on sloping ground. Basic wooden barriers had been hastily erected. They clearly had not been expecting the speed with which the Wolfsreik marched. The underestimation was going to cost them dearly. Piper scanned the tree line on both sides of the enemy position half hoping that Aurec and his murdering army would magically appear at the last moment. Vindication fueled his rage.

“Commander Prost, advance the archers so they can range that tree line. I do not want any surprises once we are fully committed,” he ordered.

Prost stopped giving an order to one of the message runners and took a quick glance to where Piper pointed. “Sir, I don’t think that is a good idea. It will take away the advantage of our long bows and place them within enemy range.”

“Just do it. I accept full responsibility for any consequences.”

Prost nodded, against his better judgment, and issued the order. He was about to stalk off when Piper stopped him.

“Never question my orders in front of the men, Prost. Never.”

Prost took the warning for what it was worth. He hadn’t gained his current rank by meekly obeying every command blindly. That got men killed more often than not. “Sir, what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t have the concern of my men in mind?”

Piper cracked a thin smile. “A poor one indeed. We must remember the mission comes first though. It is impossible to bring them all home alive. The campaign must come first.”

“I understand, sir.”

Roars went up from across the plain. Piper opened his spyglass. His pike men were fiercely stabbing over the barricades. A new man stepped into the gap whenever a man fell. Piper watched his enemy cast spears and crossbow bolts into the lightly armored pike men. He and Rolnir willingly sacrificed armor for speed. Unfortunately it meant that men would die. There was nothing glorious or romantic about it. Hot blood splashed the once pristine snow. Viscera and body parts flopped down. Screams howled across the air, weakening knees and worse from those not yet engaged. Piper watched the battle unfold and snarled. His infantry was getting mired down.

“Now, Prost. Send in the cavalry. Both wings, double assault. We break them here.”

A full hundred heavy horse launched their attack. They were the heaviest forces in the Wolfsreik. Rolnir like to call them his line breakers, and Piper agreed. There were very few formations capable of withstanding a charge of heavy horse. Piper relished the feeling of the ground trembling beneath the charge, silently thanking the infantry for breaking down the snow enough. Enemy commanders caught the incoming riders and frantically tried to shift their defense. It didn’t matter. There was small chance of success.

Time slowed. Piper never bothered with the why or how of it. Another twenty meters and the cavalry would make contact. Piper shifted his focus back to the fighting. Men from both sides were steadily dropping, either dead or wounded in the melee, but his forces were getting the better of it. The enemy center was slowly breaking. He allowed a tight smile. Several of the barricades were already lying broken on the ground. He guessed he outnumbered the defenders by at least three to one. The sheer weight of his numbers was driving them back.

The cavalry on the right wing struck a fraction of a second before the left. Rogscroft defenders were trampled and speared. Horses and riders smashed into them from both pincers, each driving towards the center. Piper watched as his counterpart was trampled under the wall of horseflesh. Satisfaction entered his thoughts. This battle was effectively finished.

“Commander, bring me my horse. I am going to the front,” he told Prost.

The few enemies alive and unharmed broke free of the press and ran for their lives. Dozens more were either run down or hacked to death before the Wolfsreik calmed down enough to take prisoners. A handful escaped over the low rise. Piper didn’t care. Those few would tell others of the defeat and spark the terror for him. The road to Rogscroft would lie open and waiting. He passed a glance at a file of fifty prisoners being escorted away. None of them bore the look of defeated men. He sighed. The capital city was still many weeks away. Until then it was one battle at a time.