Chapter 56 - The Enemy (Patreon)

I stood atop the outer wall alongside the King and Ortagor, staring at the army bustling outside in silence. They were already hard at work cutting trees, doubtless to construct siege engines. 

It was unfortunate, but my initial conclusion had been correct, and I had not had a real opportunity to whittle their numbers before they had arrived. Ultimately, it was a manpower issue. Though our numbers had pretty much doubled thanks to the levies and the sparse reinforcements from Attre, there were very few amongst our number who were actually fit for guerrilla warfare. Sending a troop of barely a hundred men against an army of nearly ten thousand would have been extremely dangerous and largely pointless, especially outside of a dense forest like Erlenwald and with likely sorcerers amongst the enemy ranks. 

I couldn’t be sure of the last part, but I did not imagine the enemy stupid enough not to bring someone to counter me. If I were extremely fortunate, they just had not found anyone, but sorcerers weren’t that rare.

It didn’t change much when it came to the viability of guerrilla warfare either way. 

Fair battle it was. Or a siege, as it were.

There was some silver lining, though. While Haxo couldn’t spare many men, he made it up by sending as many supplies as he could spare, ensuring that we could last for a few months, even if encircled. 

It would never come to that if I had anything to say about it.

“There aren’t even that many of them,” The King rumbled next to me, “Barely a fair fight. For them! Ha!”

I side-eyed him, though my expression was luckily hidden beneath my helmet. I was beginning to suspect the King had his brain thoroughly rotted by notions of chivalry and honour, though the occasional flash of intelligence made me wary of believing him a simple meathead.

“They likely plan to test us tomorrow, after making enough ladders and resting,” Ortagor rumbled.

As if to mock him, a dark figure rose into the air out of the enemy encampment the very moment the Baron finished his sentence. 

I felt strange. My previous rationale in regards to flight still held, but seeing another in the sky rankled more than I had thought it would. 

“Aespar aedd gynvael,” I waved my staff, creating a hail of sharpened icicles, sending them straight towards the figure. Unfortunately, they were out of arrow range, but that would not help them if I had anything to say about it.

The figure spun, as I did my best to adjust the trajectory of the projectiles, but in the end, they managed to evade them all. 

I narrowed my eyes, already creating more ice. That was when I noticed the oak tree rising out of the ground beneath the figure.

Ignoring the panicked shouts and Ortagor’s bellowing voice, I poured more Power into the spell. 

While I had not hit the mage with my first barrage, it had not been a waste. They had not responded with a spell, meaning they were either reckless or, more likely, could not. 

The icicles grew smaller and more translucent, forming near-invisible darts, while a large cylinder of ice manifested above my own head. 

I had to make good use of my foci, but the opportunity to take out the enemy mage was well worth it. 

Suddenly, the tree shot forward like a bolt shot from an enormous ballista, straight towards us - and the outer wall.

I pointed my staff forward, and the ice cylinder, now more than a match in size, shot towards the tree. 

The darts shot after it, without any such theatric gestures, quickly overtaking it and homing in on the mage.

A spurt of blood erupted from the figure, contrasting widely with the blue sky, and visible even from my position. At least one of the darts hit.

The mage immediately shot towards the ground, apparently and disappointingly still in control of their faculties, but the tree fell as well, uncontrolled and harmless, to the cheers of many of my troops.

My cylinder of ice had, naturally, no such issues. As fast as I was able, I readjusted its trajectory, sending it straight towards the enemy army.

Then, just before it could smash the enemy men, a lightning bolt descended from the sky, shattering it into a million pieces. 

I clicked my tongue, “There are two, at least.”

For some reason, everyone was staring at me. The King was looking a little pale. I did not pay the matter much attention, as I watched the enemy for a response. If an enemy sorcerer killed Roegnar while he was practically next to me, I could wave goodbye to my future prospects. Who would want a court sorceress with a record of letting their liege die to enemy mages? Preventing that was pretty much half of our job.

My reserves were far from exhausted, but a battle of attrition was rather undesirable. Numeromancy granted me the advantage there, but if there were more than two enemy mages, I would likely be in trouble.

Well, provided they were properly combat capable.

Seeing no more spells coming, I turned to Ortagor, “Please take his Majesty deeper in, there is no sense in risking his life on the ramparts. I will keep watch.”

And put some of my ideas regarding flight to the test, discreetly. Hopefully, I would be able to bring this mage down from the ground, without having to resort to anything extreme.

The Baron nodded and left together with Roegnar, who didn’t say a word. 

____________________________________________________________________________________

“Well, soldiers,” I addressed the ordered lines of men and elves. In the years to come, I hoped to integrate even more of the continent’s people, but for now, this was good enough.

My hands were clasped behind my back, while my commanders stood beside me, along with Roegnar, who was watching everything with a strange fascination. 

The gentle mist I had been creating was spreading all around.

“The weather is great, the moon is shining, and the enemy is sleeping soundly ON OUR LAND!”

The sudden shout startled some of the men, though I paid that no mind, “The Nazairi have come to rape and pillage, as they have in years past,” I continued more quietly, “But this time, this time, they have miscalculated.”

I paused for a second, “They will not make it past us. Your families and your neighbours will be safe. In exchange, I ask only for some small things. Your loyalty, your obedience, and your souls!”

“You may have heard that the enemy outnumbers us,” my smile grew, “That is a good thing. Their corpses shall serve as the foundation of Cintra’s ascent. Together, we shall build a tower of corpses high enough to reach the heavens! High enough that even the gods will be forced to acknowledge the slaughter! We will not rest until every single one of them is DEAD!” 

Whether I meant gods or men, I wasn’t sure myself.

I looked on at the crowd, at the zeal in their eyes. I smiled. If my past life had taught me anything, it was how to handle overly-patriotic battle maniacs.

With a theatrical tap of my staff, the earth shook. Power flowed like water, and a large portion of the outer wall of Dreadhold followed, flowing into the ditch and filling it up. The amount of Power to move so much earth so quickly was significant, but the planned and mathematical nature of the task meant it was not too taxing on my reserves.

It was still a great waste, and a gamble. However, it was the only way that’d allow my army to move out fast enough to catch the Nazairi with their pants down. The enemy surely had people watching the fort, but it’d would take them time to properly organise, especially with the mist obscuring things further. 

We would be upon them before then. There was no way they’d expect me to literally flatten our walls to sally out.

With a second tap, a pulse of magic went out. If everything had worked out, my little surprises would start waking up.

Matheus, Wilibald and Rhiner, the three War Hounds, were assigned to Ortagor, Roderic, and Isengrim, respectively. The three were the best horseriders out of my commanders, which would hopefully allow them to keep up with the beasts, and the dogs were used to them. 

I trusted them to utilise the War Hounds well enough. Unfortunately, with the presence of two or more enemy sorcerers, I couldn’t afford many distractions.

“MARCH!” 

__________________________________________________________________________

Severin Mordain, the King of Nazair was having a rather pleasant dream. He was frolicking through a meadow, while naked maidens danced all around, which made the fact that someone shook him awake even more annoying. 

Yet, instead of delivering a sharp condemnation, Severin froze as he found himself staring into the black holes of an iron mask, barely visible thanks to the few rays of moonlight entering the tent.

“Whuh?” 

The alarm sounded a second later, as men began shouting outside.

“We’ve been played,” the witch spoke coldly, no trace of the wounds she had sustained the day prior visible. Before she could continue, screams erupted right outside of the tent.

“Impossible,” The King mumbled, groping for a weapon in the dark, but finding nothing. His tent was in the middle of the camp, heavily defended. That an enemy force could make it there without notice was inconceivable. 

Then a large, bald, and eyeless head poked inside through the tent flap. It sniffed the air before staring straight at Severin.

The King watched open-mouthed, but the witch only hesitated for a second. 

Though Severin did not hear the mumbled words, the spell’s effects were obvious. A swooshing sound, followed by a large gash appearing on the creature’s neck, cutting far enough for the spine to be visible.

The creature gurgled, one clawed hand clutching its neck as it immediately turned towards the sorceress. 

Silently, and gushing lethal amounts of blood, it charged forth on all fours, revealing its grotesque form in all its glory. Large, grey-skinned and gangly, the creature resembled a ghoul more than a human, but Severin did not think those monsters got that large.

Fortunately for the King, its charge proved fruitless. The monster was stopped an inch away from the woman, frozen. Then, it was flung away with great force, hitting the tent and taking the canvas with it, leaving them under the night sky.

Severin blinked and appraised the situation. The moonlight let him see much better, but he almost wished it did not. Especially since he was in his underclothes.

The camp was in disarray, while the monsters seemed to be everywhere. Some rampaged freely, others were being corralled and harassed by pikes, and he could spot some of his men getting the ballistae ready, while flashes of lightning lit up the night periodically from the other side of the camp.

In the time it took him to look around, the witch had killed two more of the creatures, cutting their necks with her invisible attack.

Fortunately, order was not lost, and his knights began arriving promptly. As more of the camp woke up, the monsters became more and more disadvantaged. Severin had been no fool, and had prepared well for such eventualities. There were not many monsters capable of fighting against a group of pikemen, or shrugging off a ballista bolt. Luckily, these grey creatures were not amongst that number.

But Severin very much doubted that this was the extent of what the Devil of Cintra had in store for them.