A Knight's tale

[DL_Snake]

“By the Sun, I really hate magi! Why they can’t stop warring I just don’t understand!” declared Horace, his face red from the exertion of climbing up the steep mountain trail.

 

“Well, you may say so, but you’re still here stuck with me under our lord Archmage Pooper,” observed his companion, Elviras, a slight-looking scout serving under Horace’s knight company.

 

The duo were scouting the enemy over a high ridge: an invading force from the north. Elviras studied his commander, noting the shiny sheen of sweat over his scarred visage. The years have not been kind to the man, with the endless battles fought under the banner of their mutual overlord. He was made commander of the company of knights just after 3 years in service, a testament to the survival rate of his unit. Elviras was seconded to the company just two weeks ago, in preparation for this coming campaign. He wondered what his own chances of surviving this campaign would be.

 

“This is interesting, the motherlovers seem to be taking things too easy. Seems to think they won’t meet any opposition and can just walk up MY country,” growled Horace, interrupting Elviras’s thoughts.

 

Shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, Elviras returned to the task at hand and studied the invaders. Columns of phalanx with huge shields held the van, archers marched steadily behind them, followed by what looked like children carrying large battle axes and warhammers and trailing the rest of the army, what looked liked giants with massive clubs brought up the rear. He squinted, not quite believing his eyes.

 

“Commander, mark you those creatures at the end of the column? What do you make of those?”

 

Horace looked towards where Elviras pointed, and swore aloud. “Curses, they’ve brought the dwarves and ogres. Either alone is a handful for us. Have you not met them in battle before?” he asked

 

“Never. I was just part of the town militia until I joined your company, commander. Never met more than disgruntled peasants before that,” came the reply.

 

Horace grunted and studied the opponent for some time. When Elviras thought to ask his commander of his thoughts, Horace stood up and motioned for them to start walking back to the camp.

 

“The dwarves are fearsome fighters. Fighting in mountains and caverns, likely none may be their match. Their individual prowess and stamina on the battlefield are superior than us humans. But I’ve taken their measure before. Those ugly giants in the end are ogres. They are stupid creatures, but if you point them in the right direction, they can raise a merry hell among the enemy. Unfortunately, that seems to be us,” said Horace.

 

As they hurried back to the camp, Elviras took the time to observe his commander. The scarred visage seemed almost alight with an inner fire, as if eagerly anticipating the coming battle. He found it strange, for had he not heard for himself how much the commander detested the continuous fighting. He commented on this to Horace, who laughed.

 

“Lad, if we are going to war, it is best to go about it with fire in your eyes and murder in your black heart. If you’re going to die, best not be moping about it and cursing what you can’t change. We live at our lord’s whim, and we die at his pleasure. To die now would only release me from that life, and that may not be such a bad thing, after you’ve lived such as I.”

 

The scout was quiet as he considered his commander’s words. He wondered if he would ever obtain this outlook to life, and wondered if it was a good thing if he did. Shrugging, for philosophy was, to him, a waste of time, he turned his thoughts to the coming battle and wondered if he would survive to return to his family.

[DL_Snake]

That night, the company held council…

 

“We should hold here and send runners back for reinforcements!” declared a young lieutenant, fresh from the training grounds. “Our forces are not numerous enough to withstand an assault of this scale; we should fall back into the valley and find a defensible position while waiting for Lord Pooper to direct reinforcements through.”

 

“If we fall back to the valley, we will be making our first stand where we should be making our last. If we should fail to hold the valley, what’s left to stop them from arriving at our high villages? Our people will die!” argued another, a veteran sergeant of the city militia.

 

“What hope do we have of defending against such a large host? They will arrive here in four days, and even if we sent our fastest runner now, it would take them at least that long to arrive at Lord Pooper’s court,” countered the lieutenant. And so on, the discussion continued.

 

The commander sat apart from his officers, listening half-heartedly to their discourse. He did not look up as Elviras sat down heavily beside him.

 

“Commander, what are your plans? I have just eaten and talked with the men, and most think we won’t be returning home, the morale is low,” said Elviras. Horace did not answer.

 

“Commander, we need your guidance!” urged Elviras heatedly.

 

Horace stood up suddenly, causing the chatter to die as his officers noticed his movement. “Alright you murderous dogs, the next person who talks about falling back I will personally hang from the nearest tree.” The men remained quiet.

 

“Elviras, I want you and another scout to ask Lord Pooper for assistance immediately. Kill the horses if you must, but I want Lord Pooper informed and I want you there yesterday.”

 

The scout nodded, saluted his commander and left the command area. Horace looked at his officers and saw mixed expressions: some fearful, others expectant. Unexpectedly, he grinned. In the dancing shadows from the campfire, it was not a pretty sight.

 

“Here’s what we’ll do, men. We do not fall back, we do not dig in. We will attack them!”

 

The young lieutenant looked at his commanding officer, aghast. “Attack them? Commander, with all due respect, are you mad? What chance do we have against them? We have less than a thousand against, what, ten?”

 

Clapping the man on the back, Horace barked a coarse laugh. “Toljar, you have served with me how long? Four months? I gave your brains better credit than this,” he said, shoving the young man back into his seat.

 

“We attack before dawn, when their watchfulness is at its weakest. We muffle the horses and clothe their shoes, and we strike from all directions, one at a time. They do not think they will be challenged, and their arrogance will be their defeat. The enemy post a small and negligent watch, we will take them, release their horses and then burn their baggage trains and archers will cover our retreat. Without horses they have no hope of catching us, we will be as the wind!” said Horace, his eyes aglow from the firelight, and something else.

 

The lieutenant stamped his approval, eager to make up for his gaff. The other officers and sergeants grinned and started making plans. Horace drew diagrams in the sand, and when all the officers had their respective assignments, they dispersed to brief and ready their men for the oncoming assault.

 

“I’ll give those invader scum an arse-whooping they will never forget. Nobody invades my protectorate!” whispered Horace to himself, fists clenched.

[DL_Snake]

“Hey Todar, see anything interesting tonight?” asked the sergeant, moving towards the watch fire.

 

“Not a blood thing. This gods-forsaken land is lifeless. I haven’t seen a single sign of game or man,” grunted Todar, holding out a mug of coffee to his sergeant.

 

“The captains say to keep a look out. We are deep in enemy territory, bla bla. Do you see any enemies around? Who wants to defend some stupid hill village anyway? This is just a waste of our time and a good night’s sleep,” muttered the sergeant.

 

“Heh, yeah. We’ve been here for days and nobody has opposed us at all. I’m just wasting a night’s sleep, and burning more wood,” chuckled the sentry in reply, as he pushed more logs into the fire he had going.

 

The sergeant sipped at his coffee, as he looked out towards the darkness. “Aye, you got the right of it, lad. It’ll just be a stroll in the park, and in a few day’s time, we’ll have hot food and women. I have heard that these highland wenches are-”

 

Todar glanced up to see what interrupted his sergeant and was rewarded with the scalding contents of his superior's coffee mug. The sergeant clutched at his throat, making choking noises; tearing at a barbed arrow head that protruded through his neck.

 

Todar flattened himself on the ground, looking in vain into the darkness for the unseen attacker, his night vision was ruined from staring into the fire. He rolled behind his bench, ready to raise the alarm when a rough hand covered his mouth, pulling his head back and choking off his cry. Then the scout felt pain.

 

“Silently now, me lad, you won’t be raising no ruckus this night,” whispered Horace as he lowered the dying scout into the ground. Looking back, he waited for his other assassins to give him the signal that the sentries were similarly neutralized.

 

A cry from another part of the enemy camp told him his plan of stealth was undone, and reacting quickly, he signaled his cavalry for the charge, before all advantage was lost.

 

The horses had been muffled prior to the attack, but now the coverings on their hooves were removed and the sound of a thundering charge broke the silence of the night as the mounted knights rushed into the enemy camp; laying about them with their swords, overturning watch fires into tents, setting them alight; running down any roused enemies who thought to respond to the ambush; cutting loose enemy horses and herding them away from the camp. The attacks came from every quarter, raising confusion to the hapless invaders.

 

The enemy camp was huge, and even as confusion reigned on the edges of it, a call to quarters was made in the centre, and the elite dwarven warriors were already armed and pushing outwards to repel the attackers. Slumbering and confused ogres shambled towards the fringe of the camp, swinging their giant clubs randomly, more often than not, killing their own allies.

 

“That’s it, lads. Fall back! Fall back!” cried Horace, and the trumpeter picked up his call by sounding the retreat.

 

The horsemen rallied and made a final sweep towards the centre of the camp, and as one, pulled around and started their withdrawal. Pursuing ogres and dwarves alike were shot down by archers hidden in the shadows, ready to cover their comrades. A few ogres, enraged from the hidden attackers, rushed towards the darkness and were impaled upon the long lances of entrenched pikemen.

Finally, the withdrawal was complete, and the knight commander took stock of his forces. Of those who participated in the raid, only 3 were lost: pulled from their horses, and a few mildly injured. The raid was a success.

 

“Well done, men! We’ve bled the scum and they won’t be in such a hurry to come forward now. We will break them,” he declared to his troops and was greeted with a wild cheer. They have taken first blood, and suffered minimal losses against a much larger army. The sweet taste of victory was in the air, and the men celebrated.

 

They bought time for reinforcements to arrive from the south.

 

Horace’s company attacked again two nights later, when the enemy was finished regrouping and once again on the march. This time, they dropped boulders from high cliffs and rained arrows upon the invaders, forcing them to hurry disorganized through the defile, into a prepared area of deep pits with sharpened stakes and oil. Archers sent lighted arrows into the pits as soon as they were filled with the dead and dying, slowing them down even further.

 

Spying the enemy commander rallying his troops, Horace let fly from his longbow with an audible twang, a prodigious shot that took the target between breastplate and helm. A victorious cry came from the ambushers as the enemy commander fell from his horse, his head nearly severed from the shot.

 

Twice now, they have bled the enemy. Yet still, they came.

[DL_Snake]

Elviras wiped the sweat of his brow, leading his horse to cool it down after a hard ride. His companion, Korval, was doing the same, and they studied their surroundings in silence. The snorts of the horses were the only accompaniment to the merry tinkling of a brook nearby. The duo have ridden hard for the last three days and made good time, for they will arrive at the Archmage Pooper’s court before dusk.

 

“I think half an hour’s rest ought to do the horses some good. We will sight the fortress in a couple more, me thinks,” said Korval as he settled himself down on a rock.

 

“It’s not the horses I’m concerned about, Kor. I’m about done in myself,” smiled Elviras at the senior scout.

“Aye, but we made good time. I hope Horace and the others have managed to hold the enemy back long enough,” came the reply.

 

“That’s what has me worried. I hope they are still alive.”

 

“Don’t be so hasty to consign them to death, lad. Horace is a survivor. You know what they call him back at the village?” asked Korval.

 

Elviras shook his head in reply. He looked at Korval and saw a grim smile on his face. “I can’t say I have, actually. I just joined the company a few weeks ago, and before that it was all town militia duty for me. Though it would appear to me that the Commander has risen in ranks quickly.”

 

The elder man barked a harsh laugh. “Risen quickly, you say? Lad, life in the Knight’s company is not where one serves if one wants longevity. Those of us who survive for a year are considered veteran, and those that do not fall from service don’t expect to live beyond two. Our commander is simply the longest survivor of his batch, but don’t let that make you think it was all luck either.”

 

“In his first mission for our overlord, he was part of a small squad of men, near two dozen strong, and they were ordered to hold the southwestern bridge and defend it until reinforcements arrive or they were killed. They held it for one night against orc raiders, come morning less than a dozen men remained. On the second night, only he and the corporal remained standing. The corporal died in the morning, and when Lord Pooper arrived with his magical beasts, Horace was fighting for his life against the remaining raiders. One year ago, the commander had to defend the village against a wyvern attack, and he took twenty men with him to drive the beast off. Only two returned, the commander, and the other man was me. He saved my life, Elviras. He threw himself between me and the wyrm, and drove his spear through its eye. The villagers think him invincible. If anyone can hold the enemy at bay, it is Horace. Everyone listens to him in this army.”

 

Elviras was surprised, for not only was this the most that Korval had spoken to him during their mission, it was the first time he has heard of the commander’s history. The men were very closemouthed of the past of others, including the commander’s, and they did not share many tales with a newcomer like Elviras. He considered the senior man’s tale, and hoped they lived long enough for him to witness the prowess of his commander’s strength himself.

Korval returned to silence after the exchange, and busied himself gnawing at dried trail rations. The food was tasteless and tough, but nutritious enough to keep a man’s strength up while campaigning.

 

When the horses were judged sufficiently rested, the duo mounted and resumed their journey to the fortress. Two hours later, the tall spires of their lord’s keep came into view and with as sigh akin to relief, both scouts pushed their horses to a gallop and approached the gates.

 

“What business have you to approach the Spirit Keep?” a challenge came from the guard tower.

 

“We are from our Lord Pooper’s Knight company of the Valley Villages of Jalmiah. We bring word of invasion from the northern country and request immediate assistance!” said Korval.

 

There was a pause, and a middle-aged man dressed in formal office attire appeared. Korval dismounted and bowed, Elviras hastened to do the same. The man regarded them, his expression neutral.

 

“Lord Pooper has left to visit with his allies two days past, he will not return for another week. I am Seneschal Grahan, and you will speak to me about anything that matters.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” replied Korval.

 

A guard sergeant motioned for the two scouts to turn their horses over to him, while the duo followed the seneschal into the keep.

 

“Tell me more about this invading army, and while I may not be allowed to approve sending relief, perhaps there are some things I can do to help,” requested Grahan.

 

Korval signaled that Elviras should brief the seneschal, and the younger man proceeded to inform him what they saw of the enemy, describing in detail the size and disposition of the troops and how the defenders would fare against them in combat.

 

The seneschal was silent for long moments as he considered his words. Finally, he spoke, “This is indeed grave news, I fear that I have no authority to send you any part of the city’s garrison to aid your comrades, until Lord Pooper’s return. You are sure that they cannot hold the enemy at bay for another week?”

 

“No, my lord, we can’t hold them back that long. Even if we obtain reinforcements now and ride back to them, it may already be too late,” replied Korval. “Can’t you somehow communicate with Lord Pooper and seek his help?”

 

The seneschal replied in the negative, and started pacing around the room. He turned around abruptly and said, “They may be something I can do, but I do not know if they are willing.”

 

Korval and Elviras listened to Grahan’s suggestion and paled at the implication…

[DL_Snake]

the last part is coming along slowly, I'm having a little trouble ending this the way i want to, so be patient =]

[DL_Snake]

“The bastards are planning something, I only wish I knew what it was,” said Horace to his sergeant-major, a veteran topkick named Pral. The commander had ventured forward with a patrol of scouts to keep an eye on the enemy while they planned their next move.

 

“Aye, no army that size would stay still so long. Moving or not, that army is trouble, for us and themselves. Them’s probably running short of supplies ‘ready,” agreed the veteran.

 

For a week, Horace’s company harassed the enemy and the net result was that the invaders were delayed for just that long, buying the defenders more time for reinforcements. After the fifth strike, the invading army remained encamped at a clearing, with numerous sentries that discouraged raiding, and yet appeared reluctant to continue with the attack, perplexing the commander with their seeming inactivity.

 

“That young scout should’ve arrived at the fortress and on the way back with reinforcements by now. With luck, these motherlovers won’t try something funny for a few more days,” continued the sergeant.

 

Horace nodded and signaled for Pral to follow him back to their camp. The patrol will continue keeping a watch on the enemy, reporting any signs of movement.

 

They obliged the next day, breaking camp and once again, the juggernaut was on the march.

 

The knights were a flurry of movement, packing up their equipment and smothering fires with sand, preventing over production of smoke. Baggage trains were sent moving, and a scout relay was set up to continue their spying on the enemy and keep the mobile headquarters up-to-date.

 

Try as he might, Horace was unable to find suitable openings or ambush points to further slow down the invading army. They have set up vigilant sentries and used trail-breakers to scout the terrain to avoid pitfalls and other traps. It was obvious that a change in command has occurred in the enemy camp, though what other changes occurred during the interval was not obvious to the defenders.

 

“Damn, I was hoping they’d remain stupid for another day or two, but obviously that’s too much to ask,” groused Horace. “Looks like we have to plan our stand at the valley after all,” he said, speaking of the final stand that Toljar suggested before they engaged the enemy.

 

The company of knights arrived at their destination by nightfall, and immediately started building a wooden breastwork was built with spikes facing upwards to prevent a charge, serving as a temporary fortification at the mouth of the valley. Sappers continued deeper into the valley to set up the retreat point and next line of defence.

 

By dawn, a respectable fortification stood ready to greet the invaders, who were still a day away from the valley mouth. Horace ordered his men to stand down and get some much needed rest, before the brutal hand-to-hand fighting starts.

[DL_Snake]

When dawn greeted Horace, so too did the masses of invaders. Rows upon rows of heavily shielded phalanx soldiers stood facing them, their iron-tipped spears glinting in the rising sunlight. Behind them, too large to be hidden by the shields stood mighty ogres, their inhuman faces seemed perpetually drawn up in a combination of a sneer and a frown.

 

The knights stood ready for them behind their fortified wooden breastworks, their armored bodies made an impressive wall. A solitary knight stood before the fortification, holding a shield with the device of a medusa, a broadsword in its sheath at his sword belt.

 

“Who dares attack Jalmiah valley?” challenged the lone knight.

 

The enemy broke rank in the middle to allow a Dwarven chief through. He was arrayed impressively with a warhammer at his belt, two axes on his back and a horned helm on his head.

 

“I am Jorthgar, and I will crush you and take your pitiful village and enslave your women if you do not put down your arms immediately and cease this pointless opposition,” he declared.

 

“Do you for a moment think that your threats will have an impact on one such as I? I, called Horace the Gorgon-slayer, will succumb to your meaningless threats? Why, you don’t even reach my chest, you little runt,” shouted Horace.

 

Snickers could be heard from the enemy camp, but the knights remained expressionless. Jorthgar gestured angrily and silence once again ensued on the battlefield.

 

“For that, you have earned a lingering death, human,” growled the incensed Dwarven chief.

 

“First you have to reach here, climb over my walls on those piddly little legs, and not trip when you land, runt. After that, you can crawl all the way up to me so I can use you as a footstool to better look at the battle field,” rejoined Horace as he turned his back on the enemy and returned behind the barricades.

 

Jorthgar gave a mighty bellow and signaled the attack. The enemy phalanx marched at an even pace towards the barricade, their boots thundering in tandem.

 

“Archers ready, let fly on my mark. MARK!” shouted Horace, and the longbows of the defenders sang as they showered the enemy with their iron-tipped shafts. The enemy archers, caught out of range, fell to the bombardment while their phalanx brothers continued their march with their shields raised high.

 

As the enemy marched farther, the ogres at the back of the army started feeling the sting of the longbows. Enraged, they started charging towards the defenders, seeking the author of their pain. Bulldozing through their marching comrades, they rushed at the defenders. The foremost of them were impaled by the sharpened wooden stakes dug into the barricade, while the ones following after were killed by arrows as they ran, and others were cut to pieces by the strong shields and long swords of the knights.

 

The enemy phalanx, still reeling from the unexpected ogre charge, tried to restore order but were scattered by the routed ogres, who ran back towards their encampment. They met their Dwarven comrades, who did not take kindly to their retreat, and were whipped back into position, causing some infighting among themselves while the defenders continued to rain arrows on the invaders.

 

The attack was broken and routed.

 

They came again three hours later, the ogres conspicuously absent from the march this time. Once again, the defenders’ longbows wreaked havoc in the enemy lines, but failed to rout them. The enemy’s archers finally came within range and their arrows soon joined the defenders’ in the air. Dedicated shield bearers tried to protect the longbowmen, and the spearmen and knights readied themselves for some blood fighting.

 

When the phalanx vanguard reached the barricade, they swept aside the planted stakes, and drove into the breastwork, to be met by efficient longswords of the defenders, cutting apart their spears and striking beyond their shields to take them in the unarmored areas. Hidden archers armed with short horse bows added their arrows into the fray.

 

Horace fought furiously from behind the barricades, his awareness of the battle never once fading. While directing a company of spear-wielders to stem a breach on the east, he launched a counter-attack in the centre, leading a sally through the collapsible wall and launching himself into the middle of the fight. Shield on his left, broadsword on his right, he dealt death with every blow. Catching a strike with his shield, he turned the opponent’s sword neatly towards the ground, while his blade snaked through the other’s guard and took him across the neck. Bellowing a primal war cry, he turned around and decapitated another enemy with his back-swing, only to find himself without an opponent as the enemy phalanx guard collapsed and fell back.

 

The defenders started cheering but soon encountered ferocious Dwarves who attacked with heavy battle hammers and double-axes. Their short frame presented a compact target, and many of the more inexperienced knights were caught flat-footed at the new opponents and soon fell victim to the Dwarven army. The short fighters made fearsome foes, and their hammers and axes spilled many defenders’ blood.

 

Parrying another blow on his now dented shield, Horace made a full turn and smashed the Dwarven warrior across his face with the side of this shield, and followed it up with a killing thrust with his sword. Drawing his blade back, he was caught on the side of his helm on the backswing of a knight, and fell to the bloodied earth in a daze.

 

“The commander is down! The commander is down! To me, to me!” shouted Pral, his bass voice one every knight knew well. Surging across the barricades, the knights fought their way to their fallen commander, with the reserve company now manning the breastworks. Fighting with renewed vigor, the knights pushed the Dwarves back while some others carried their commander back behind their lines. A horn blew in the distance, and the attackers gave up the attack and fell back to their lines as well.

 

The reserve knights set to cleaning up the killing ground, and replanting their sharpened stakes in front of the barricades while Horace was taken to a chirurgeon for examination.

 

“Must’ve hit that stone head of yours, commander. Any other man would be concussed or unconscious, but you just suffered some bruising,” chuckled the healer.

 

“Bah, I’ve taken hits worse than this,” growled Horace in reply.

 

“I’m sure you have, another two inches shorter, though commander, and you’ll be less a head. I’d have a word with your knights if I were you,” advised the chirurgeon grimly.

 

“Accidents happen, what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,” Horace thanked the healer and returned to the camp and, finding everything in place, tried to rest and plan the next day’s battle.

[DL_Snake]

The next day, the enemy came again. Once more, the phalanx in the front took the arrows on their shields, while their archers waited to get in range to respond, and Dwarves took the rear. Again, the slaughter reached the defenders’ lines and fierce hand-to-hand fighting ensued. This time, however, after the attackers broke off, the defenders received no respite. Learning from the previous day’s attack, Jorthgar ordered the ogres to charge the defenders before they replaced their stakes.

 

“Ogres! Spearmen, move into position now!” shouted Horace.

 

Men armed with 7-foot long spears ran to the fore and braced their spears on the ground for the charge. The shambling creatures ran towards the defenders, and enraged from the arrows, charged the spearmen in abandon. Most were impaled upon the hardened spears, but others retained their sensibilities and swiped at the defenders with their huge clubs, killing men with each swipe.

 

Pral shouted at the men, exhorting them to better efforts. He was armed with a long bastard sword, and swung it with good effect. Hamstringing one of the giants with his sword, he leapt over it and struck another from the air, nearly cleaving its head in half. The sergeant-major laughed maniacally and engaged another of the ogres, turning to give Horace a thumbs-up sign only to be swept into the air by a club, his body landing on an outcropping of rocks, broken and lifeless.

 

Horace roared in fury at the death of his long-time comrade, and threw a javelin at the ogre who killed the sergeant-major, catching it between its shoulder blades, a fatal blow. His bodyguards struggled to keep up with him as he chewed his way through the ogres, using his smaller frame and agility to his advantage. Rolling between the giants’ legs, he cut at their ankles and knees, bringing them down and letting his soldiers finish the kill.

 

Jorthgar, sensing that the battle was slipping out of his grasp, signaled to his trumpeter to release their last battle option. Baying hounds the colour of rust, with oily drool down their fangs were released from their steel pens. Eyes glowed with other-worldly light glittered in the sunlight, and smoke escaped in wisps from flaring nostrils of these hellish dogs as they charged down towards the valley.

 

Horace looked up from his battle as his men slew the last of the ogres, and his eyes grew large in shock.

 

“Mother of gods, by the Nature they’ve brought hell hounds to the valley!” he cried.

 

Lieutenant Toljar, who was panting beside his commander observed, “Well, sir, I think now we know what they were waiting for when they remained encamped that long.”

 

 

Horace swore and quickly organized his men back behind their barricades. “Leave the stakes, we haven’t time for them, every man guard the person on your left, shields at the ready!”

 

The lead hound bayed loudly and spouted fire from its maw, signaling the rest of pack to do the same. Arrows took the front most of the charge, but the beasts seemed largely immune to any but fatal wounds, and their hell flames soon reached the defenders and started burning the barricades. Men flinched and tried to fall back, but a sharp order from Horace made them stay in line.

 

As the hell hounds arrived at the barricades, every second man swung their blades at them, trusting their comrades to protect them from damage. They took the first charge without too much trouble, but at the second, the burnt down breastwork no longer functioned as a barrier and the knights had to face the hounds without protection. Men died screaming as the hounds released another burst of fire, and the lines soon broke.

 

Bashing at a hell hound with his shield and thrusting his sword directly into its maw, Horace took stock of the situation and called a retreat. Comrades dragged the wounded with them as they fell back to their second line of defence. Horace organized and took charge of the rear guard; a company of mounted archers specially trained for pinpoint timing to slow pursuers.

 

Horace baited the hell hounds as they made short work of the remnants of the knights’ fortifications, shouting loudly and sending an arrow shaft through the closest hound’s skull. The beasts roared at him and started chasing after, only to be peppered on their sides by the other mounted archers. Swinging around wildly, they started pursuing their new tormentors when they were once again set upon by archers from the other side of the valley. Back and forth the rear guard coordinated their feints, and led the berzerked hounds to and fro, dropping some in pits which barely harmed the creatures, but leaving them stuck there.

 

Finally, the larger part of the defenders have managed to reach their second defence: three triangular breatworks with spaces in between for the defenders to stream through. It was one of Horace’s innovations, the enemy would crash along the tips of the triangles, and be caught in the bottle neck as they attempted to go through the gaps to reach the defenders. However, this defence was not designed against fire-breathing hell hounds.

 

As the rear guard rode to safety, the crazed hell beasts caught the scent of the barricaded defenders, and charged towards the wooden fortifications. Some of the leading hounds were killed by longbow arrows and javelins thrown by the defenders, while the others tried to leap over the barrier. These were all dealt with strategically place strikes from the defenders’ swords. The pack leader gave a loud howl and sent a blast of flames at the fortified position, picked up by the rest of the hounds and soon the barricades were all aflame.

 

“Archers, pick your mark and send those shafts down their maws, we need to stop their fire!” ordered Toljar as he cast another javelin, catching the pack leader at its side, causing little injury.

 

“Hold them off, men! We can survive this, they are not completely invincible,” encouraged Horace.

 

At this moment, the enemy sounded the charge, and hordes of Dwarven warriors started pouring into the valley, followed by the nearly decimated phalanx and archer companies. Horace swore and tried to organize a withdrawal to their final stand, but it was too chaotic to bring any order into the fray.

 

Cleaving a Dwarf’s head off and kicking the body into a hell hound, the knight commander fought for his life. Foes were engaging the heavily outnumbered knights hand-to-hand, and the commander could scarcely draw breath before another engaged him. It seemed that for every one he killed, two others took its place.

 

“Human! You are mine!” bellowed Jorthgar, who joined the battle to seek his arrogant adversary.

 

Horace leapt over a phalanx soldier, and drove his sword backwards, into the hapless soldier’s spine. Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he grinned at the Dwarven chief. “Your stubby legs got you this far, eh runt? Come show your da what you got,” he challenged.

 

The Dwarf roared in fury and charged Horace with his war hammer. Taking the blow on his abused shield, Horace tried a tricky counter strike from below, but the experienced Dwarf easily side-stepped the attack. Launching another blow, Horace feinted to the left and pivoted on his heels to swing from the right. Barely catching the blow with his hammer, Jorthgar stumbled and rolled away from the commander. The wily Dwarf then threw his hammer at Horace before coming to his feet and unstrapping the two axes on his back.

 

The hurtling hammer caught Horace a glancing blow on his shield, and he staggered off-balance while Jorthgar advanced with his menacing double-axes. Another knight, seeing his commander in danger, threw himself between the two adversaries and sought to engage the Dwarf. He lasted two blows before the short warrior took his legs from underneath him and split his skull open.

 

Horace set his jaw grimly and tried a shield bash against Jorthgar, who leaped backwards and then struck back with astonishing speed, narrowly missing the knight commander’s waist. Feinting with his sword, Horace struck high and was blocked by an axe. Dislodging his sword, he knelt and tried another shield bash, this time catching the Dwarf chief and sending him into the ground.

 

Seizing the advantage, Horace kicked at his opponent’s hand, sending an axe flying from his grasp. The Dwarf rolled and sent a dagger flying towards Horace, the dirk glancing off the knight’s chain without causing any harm. Horace hesitated and the wily chief was on his feet immediately, swinging his mighty axe at the commander. Backtracking, Horace took all the blows on his shield, seeking an opportunity to launch a counter-attack.

 

His chance came when the Jorthgar mistimed a blow and had to draw back before he over-extended his reach. Horace swung his shield at the Dwarf and caught him at the knees. Flicking his blade out, he took the Dwarven chief’s head from his shoulders and ended the fight abruptly.

 

Gasping for breath, Horace knelt on the ground trying to fight his exhaustion. A low growl brought him out of his daze, and he turned to find a hell hound facing him, its body criss-crossed with wounds that would have felled a mortal creature, but on this beast, seemed to barely slow it down. Snarling, it released a jet of flame at the commander, who quickly rolled out the fiery path. He lost his sword in the process and could only use his shield to block the canine’s attempts at biting his head off. Punching the beast desperately with his bare fist, Horace tried reaching for his sword when a black arrow took the beast across both eyes. Shoving the canine off his shield, Horace sat up to find his saviour.

 

Elviras waved at his commander and hurried to help him up. Collecting his sword, Horace looked at the young scout and then around the valley quizzically.

 

“What took you so long? And where’s my reinforcement?” he demanded.

 

Elviras shrugged. “Lord Pooper wasn’t around, his seneschal got us an alternative though. I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but it should be arriving in a few minutes.”

 

Looking at the carnage in the battlefield, with his knights steadily surrendering ground and lives, Horace replied, “I’m not so sure we have a few minutes, Elviras.”

 

He pushed Elviras aside as a crazed Dwarven warrior charged towards them. Quickly dispatching the frenzied warrior, Horace shouted for his men and they rallied into the mob of attackers.

 

Elviras lost sight of his commander as the latter’s helm was knocked off while in the fray, and the masses of bodies made it hard to distinguish between men. Taking up his longbow, he slowly picked off enemy archers after climbing up a boulder. From his vantage position, he could see the enemy masses vastly outnumber the defenders: at least by a factor of ten. The defenders were losing soldiers and even tight space of the valley could not slow down the carnage.

 

Suddenly, a loud keening could be heard in the winds. Mortal men and Dwarves fell to their knees in agony, clutching at their ears. An eerie feeling crept up on the battlefield, and some of the hardier warriors managed who managed to stay upon their feet tried to flee the battlefield. Hell hounds started howling in the air in rage.

 

Looking back, Elviras saw a dark cowled figure draw a bloodied knife from across Korval’s neck: a willing sacrifice. Chanting could be heard from the cowled figure as dead soldiers begun to rise from the field. Cries of alarm filled the valley as defenders and attackers alike scrambled to form lines against the rising dead. Moving jerkily at first, the undead smoothed their movements as they picked up weapons, and started to attack the invading army methodically, fearlessly.

 

Dwarves, armored phalanx, nimble archers, fearsome hell hounds, all fell victim to the massacring undead horde. Comrades died only to rise again and join in the attack. Soon the entire invading army was driven into rout, and the hell hounds were slain to the last beast.

 

Elviras gasped as the cowled figure ceased his chanting and the undead army fell back into inanimation. He ran towards Korval’s dead body, and wept at the man’s courage and sacrifice. He looked at the dark figure and asked, “Is it done?”

 

“It is done, by willing death, my necromancy was strengthened hundredfold. Do not worry; your friend shall have a good place on the Wheel of Reincarnation for his bravery. You should burn the dead, for those touched by my arts are easy tools for an Archmage of the Black Robe.,” replied the Necromancer.

 

It took the remnants of the knights two days to collect the bodies and build a funeral pyre. Lieutenant Toljar was the senior-most officer left alive, and supervised the remnants of the company until they can return to their village and rebuild their command.

 

“Elviras, in all the chaos, I did not notice the commander fall. Is his body among the fallen?” he asked the scout.

 

“No, sir. We haven’t seen his body during the collection, and I saw him lead the final charge into the midst of the enemy before the undead were animated,” replied the scout, frowning.

 

“Where’s the commander then, if not among the dead?” Toljar mused.

 

“Korval claimed the villagers called him unkillable.”

 

The duo remained silent as they watched the funeral pyre burn their dead comrades and enemies.

[DL_Snake]

i'm thinking of writing a continuation, with a lot more description and character development if i could manage it.

 

anybody have helpful feedback for me?

 

much appreciated

[Jechum]

Jechum floats in...

 

DL_Snake from what I read it looks great!

 

Anything else you would like me to look at?

 

By the way, i'm searching for Zool you wouldn't be able to help me?

 

If you need me send a messenger pigeon.

 

Jechum floats out...