"Get ready," T'kar growled. "Infantry! To the front!"
In the midst of the soldiers, several of the tribal warriors from the south came to the front, passing them by and taking their place at the head of the procession. Randar grinned at the king. The expendable soldiers would take the brunt of the charge, as their comrades had behind them.
"I say, Sire," Randar said. "It's a good thing they came. What did you offer them?"
"Lands to the east," T'kar said.
"The swamplands?"
"Of course," T'kar replied, laughing. "They're not too picky. They won't be around to enjoy them anyway. Infantry! Charge!"
The fodder broke into a run, shouting in their strange tongue as they charged. T'kar and his horsemen fell back, blending in with the rest of the soldiers. The remaining horsemen surrounded them, and T'kar finally drew his blades.
"Are you ready, Randar?" he asked.
Randar drew his blade, smiling with dark glee as he glared ahead. "I'm ready, Sire," he said.
"Ride into the forest, then," the king replied. "Follow Jarka's forces. We will follow the fodder."
"Come, Malthor," Randar said. "It's time to prove your worth."
"They're charging," Baleron said.
Dearg drew his blade, holding it above his head as he glared at the enemy. Though a heavily-armored man led them, he did not appear beastly, or kingly for that matter. These were fodder, he realized; disposable troops to shield the king's real forces.
No matter.
"Men!" Dearg shouted. "Raise your blades! Let them know we will crush them beneath our feet!"
The men behind him broke into a cacophonous roar of battle cries and taunts. Ivar and Fleek shouted "Kronos" at the top of their lungs, drowning out everyone else. Dearg glanced over to Freyja and Odhran, who both had their bows ready. With a smile, and a pounding heart, he stood in his stirrups and pointed his blade forward.
"For the Dragon!"
Dearg's army charged, thundering toward the enemy at top speed. The ground trembled beneath them, and the soldiers ahead prepared themselves with a shield wall, and as many spears as they could manage. The leader stood his ground, raising the tip of his spear in defense, crouching lower on his horse as Dearg neared. As the two armies clashed, Dearg struck, swinging his blade to knock the spear aside, and slashing back to chop the man's head clean from his shoulders.
The clash of steel was deafening, and Dearg's knights smashed through the shield wall, sending splinters of wood into the air and carving a path through the sea of men. Dearg chopped left and right, splitting skulls and trampling all who stood against him. He could see Fleek's hammer going from side to side, and Ivar's twin axes swirling in a dizzying display.
Dearg broke through to the other side, turning his horse to point his weapon at the advancing force. He could see the beastly form of T'kar atop his giant horse, twin kopesh blades in his hands. The king's form was quite obvious, and even from this distance, Dearg could see the demonic features of his face.
Laughing, Dearg returned to the fray, continuing the assault on the remaining soldiers. His blade was red with blood, and even his horse had been splashed all over, giving it a demonic appearance. He rode through, smashing those around him as he sought a single item; the leader's head.
He found it outside of the battle, lying face up in the mud. Riding close to it, he skewered it with his sword and rode back through to the other side. He laughed out loud as he reared back his blade, growling like a beast and flinging the severed head toward T'kar's forces. He watched as it bounced in the mud, rolling to a stop several hundred yards in front of the advancing troops.
Dearg glared at the advancing king, feeling the urge to ride toward him and strike him down. But he knew T'kar archers would drop him before he even came close. Instead, he turned back into the battle, joining his companions in finishing off the infantry.
Jarka pulled Lorcan down to the ground as his men began falling around him. Arrows streaked in from all directions, and not an enemy was in sight. Most of his men dropped to the ground, some of them dead, others wounded or quick enough to take cover once the barrage began.
Jarka froze, still holding Lorcan down as he listened. There was no sound other than the distant battle and the blowing of the trees.
"Alvar?" Lorcan whispered.
Jarka nodded. "Keep your head down," he said. "They rarely ever miss. We may have gotten in over our heads. I didn't anticipate them staying behind to defend the village."
"What do we do?"
Jarka shook his head, looking over at his shield. "We will have to charge quickly and fight them hand to hand."
Lorcan nodded, gripping his blade.
"Shields!" Jarka shouted. "On my mark!"
He could hear the rustling of his men gathering their shields and weapons. Though he knew they wouldn't survive any charge, the object was to take down as many enemies as possible until the bulk of the army arrived. He turned back to Lorcan.
"Stay with me," he whispered. "They're expendable."
Lorcan smiled and nodded.
"Now!"
The men shouted as they leaped up and charged. Jarka rose up to a crouch, pulling Lorcan with him as he backed away and rounded a large stump. They crouched behind it for cover, listening to the ring of steel as the soldiers engaged the Alvar hand to hand.
To the south, Jarka could see two horsemen approaching. He recognized Randar and Malthor.
"What are they doing here?" Lorcan asked.
Jarka shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "T'kar must have sent them ahead. We'll have to warn them."
"I'll do it," Lorcan said. "Perhaps Malthor can cast a spell or two to clear the way."
Jarka nodded, glad that Lorcan was willing to be expendable—whether he knew it or not. "Go," he said.
Lorcan took one look back and then rushed off toward the two men. Jarka turned around and peeked through the gaps in the stump, watching his men engage the Alvar. Though he could see very little, it sounded as if his men were making some headway. Confident enough to join them, he drew his blade and emerged from behind the stump.
If he survived, he had one thing in mind. He wanted the blood of the Northman that had broken his ribs. He would have the ugly man's head on a spike.
Chapter Thirty Five
Igrid pulled her blade out of the soldier's gut, flinging off the blood with a flick of her wrist. Around her, the Northmen were finishing off the last of the enemy and gathering for another charge. Thrusting her blade into an escaping enemy, she rushed to the front of the line, eyeing the massive army ahead.
"Dearg is engaged ahead of them," Wulfgar said. "I can't see much from here, but it looks like another group of these rotten barbarians."
"Are there any archers left?" Igrid asked.
"Archers!" Wulfgar shouted.
Several men, some of them on horseback, came forward, standing a few paces ahead of her.
"Fire into their rear lines," Igrid said. "Then the rest of the horsemen, ride."
She grabbed a nearby riderless horse, mounting it with a vaulting leap. She watched as the archers released a volley of arrows, then held her blade in the air.
"Kronos!" she shouted.
The horsemen charged forward, followed by those left on foot. They thundered toward the enemy, emerging from the thick smoke that had hidden their charge. They crashed into them once again, trampling the spearmen who tried to form a wall. Ahead, Igrid could see the beastly form of T'kar turn toward them.
His archers were firing ahead into Dearg's position, ignoring their own troops in an attempt to take him down. Igrid growled, rushing through the crowd with her own horsemen, determined to stop their archers.
Wulfgar was at her side, carving a path through with his axe. Several of her own mounted archers fired arrows into the front lines, and she could see several of the enemy archers fall. She growled, rearing her horse back to trample the enemies in front of her, and followed Wulfgar in. She was assaulted fr
om all sides by spear and blade, but her horse managed to avoid their attacks, bucking and leaping through.
Though she had her eyes on the king, he was far too distant for her to ever reach him. There was a veritable sea of men before her, all of them focused on killing her and her tribesmen. It seemed overwhelming, but she knew she had to give Dearg a chance to charge once again.
T'kar turned away from the attacking Northmen, glaring ahead at the enemy forces that were now gathering for another charge. Not knowing what was happening with Jarka's forces, he felt the only way to avoid fighting them face to face was to take the route through the forest.
"Into the woods!" he shouted, turning his horse to the right.
The men rushed into the tree line, leaving those who were engaged with the Northmen to their fates. As his men filtered into the forest, he turned to watch the advancing troops. They were no longer on horseback, but he could see the rage and determination on their faces. It was amusing.
"Come then, Son of the Dragon," he whispered. "Meet your doom."
He laughed as he followed his men into the woods. He led them north, following the path that Jarka had taken. Though the woods were thick, he remained on horseback, ducking through the low-hanging limbs and vaulting the fallen logs that littered the forest floor.
Throughout his ride, his mind was focused on the leader; this Daegoth as Fianna had named him. How had the young man, raised by the primitive Northmen, come to lead the people of Eirenoch against him? The Northmen were unorganized and barbaric. He had defeated them easily in the past. Now, this woman who had led them against him seemed strong, nearly as strong as Daegoth.
But who was she?
Kathorgo would have to answer this question, he realized. He would answer or his statue would be smashed, and he would receive no offerings from T'kar. This he vowed.
"Sire," Randar said as he emerged from the shadows on horseback.
"Randar," T'kar greeted him. "What news?"
"Jarka's forces are under attack from the Alvar," Randar said.
Malthor rode up behind him, with the younger soldier, Lorcan running behind him.
"Where is Jarka?" T'kar asked.
"He charged ahead," Randar said. "But the Alvar have formed an impenetrable wall. There is no way to get through."
T'kar chuckled. "We'll see about that," he said.
He pulled a gem from his belt, tossing it onto the ground before him. A Fomorian rose from the smoke that erupted, standing high above him, even on horseback.
"Find the Alvar," T'kar said. "Destroy their line and let my soldiers through."
The Fomorian drew its massive axe, throwing its head back to let out an ear-shattering roar. Then, it turned, bounding off into the woods.
"Now," T'kar said, turning to his army. "Charge north! Smash them!"
His army shouted as they departed, and T'kar watched them stream through the forest and disappear into the shadows. He then dismounted, drawing his blades once again and looking up to Randar.
"Do what you can," T'kar said. "Keep close to Malthor. Find Captain Jarka and make sure he gets to the wall."
"Yes, Sire," Randar said.
Now, T'kar realized, was the time to seek out his enemy and face him head on. He would hold Daegoth's head in his hand and show the people of Eirenoch who their king truly was.
Dearg's army turned into the forest as T'kar had done. Dearg stopped to watch Igrid gather her own forces and follow T'kar, glad to see that the Northmen had successfully destroyed two groups of fodder. Now, all that remained was T'kar's own army.
He gave Igrid a nod as he led his forces into the woods. He hoped to cut T'kar's forces off before they could even reach the defensive line the Alvar had formed just south of the wall. He had faith that Menelith and his warriors could hold them off, destroy them perhaps, but he knew that Jarka's force outnumbered them greatly.
"Freyja, Odhran," Dearg said. "Hunt down the two horsemen we met at the gates."
"Will do," Freyja said, grabbing Odhran and heading off into the shadows.
"Alric, Baleron, keep with the head of the army and head south."
The ranger and Highlander nodded, moving to the southern side of the army. They would meet T'kar's forces head on along with Dearg himself.
"Fleek, Ivar," he said, putting his hands on his friends' shoulders. "Find that bastard captain and take him down."
Ivar nodded, pulling Fleek along with him and heading north. Now, Dearg joined Baleron and Alric at the front of the line, ready to face T'kar head on when his army reached them. But now, as they watched, a larger figure was crashing through the trees.
"Fomorian," Baleron said. "Just one."
Dearg glanced at him. The ranger had a strange look on his face. Dearg wasn't sure why.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Just one," Baleron said. "I wonder why."
They had their answer once the giant crashed through into the clearing. It was twice as large as the ones Dearg had seen before. It wore thick metal plate armor that shimmered with magic, and its giant axe was aglow with red magic of its own.
"That's why," Alric said.
Behind the advancing giant, T'kar's army broke through, coming at them with equal ferocity. Dearg ran to the front of his army to face the Fomorian beast, taunting it with his pointed blade.
"Charge!" Dearg shouted. "We'll take care of this beast."
The soldiers charged around him, avoiding the Fomorian as they headed south. The giant's weapon went to work as it came at them, sweeping a wide path and throwing back the soldiers that got too close. Dearg charged, avoiding the sweep of the weapon, and striking at the creature's gauntlet.
Though he hit home, his blade bounced off harmlessly. Baleron and Alric took position on either side of it, waiting for their chance to strike. The giant swung again, this time chopping downward at Dearg, cutting right at the last second, and sweeping upward. Dearg dodged the attack and rolled behind the creature, forcing it to follow him around. Alric rushed toward the giant's back, sliding underneath its armor and jabbing his blades into the back of the Fomorian's knees.
It swung around to swat at Alric. The Highlander ducked and rolled, and Baleron struck at the creature's hip, catching it between the plates. The Fomorian roared with rage, and Dearg reared back for a mighty swing. As the Fomorian swept its blade at Baleron, its momentum carried it around into a twist that threw it off balance. Dearg charged, swinging his sword at the beast's exposed stomach flesh.
Though the flesh was tough, the blade chopped into it, causing the giant to stumble back in agony and rage. Baleron drew his bow and fired two arrows into its gut as it fell. Dearg rushed at it, thrusting his blade right at the creature's face. The armored forearm came up to block and knocked his blade to the side, but Alric was there to skewer the massive limb, and grab onto it, holding it fast.
The giant attempted to roll in his direction to free itself, but Dearg swept his blade, severing the monster's arm at the elbow. The forearm, still holding the axe, fell to the ground useless. Baleron fired two more arrows into the creature's gut. Alric jabbed repeatedly at the Fomorian's arm, finally dismembering it, leaving another bloody stump.
Dearg climbed onto the creature's chest as it thrashed, driving his sword into its ugly face and putting his weight on it. The blade pushed through and into the ground, fixing the creature to it. Dearg withdrew, stepping back breathless.
"That was easy," he said, turning to join his army. "Let's get in there."
Captain Jarka engaged an Alvar warrior near a large tree with exposed roots. The lithe creature was a pain to battle, as he was quick, agile, and used the roots to his advantage. However, Jarka's powerful swings made short work of the roots, chopping them away with little effort.
His sword, though slower than the Alvar's blade, was fearsome. The smaller Alvar thrust and parried as he spun in all directions, but even the large captain was quick enough to dodge and block with his weapon's handle. He kicked when he could, al
ways missing, but causing the Alvar to retreat farther back.
But as the warrior dashed in for a final blow, Jarka jumped to the side, bashing the golden-haired Alvar in the back of the head with the blunt handle of his blade. The hapless thing was thrown to the ground, his skull crushed with the impact. Jarka smashed it in completely with his boot, looking for his next target.
His men were fighting admirably, he noticed. Though the Alvar were far more skilled, his troops outnumbered them greatly, and they were able to push the forest warriors back to the north, almost reaching the wall. Jarka could even see the wooden structure, and the rocky ridge it connected to.
"Keep pushing, men!" he shouted. "Kill them all! Kill the puny things!"
He turned to find another target, and was greeted by the swing of a great hammer. He ducked at the last minute, rolling away as the hammer's head smashed into a tree, nearly toppling it. As he rolled to his feet, he saw the face of his enemy, that fat, simple-minded Northman that had bashed him in the ribs. His rage overcame him when he saw that face, and he charged.
"Bastard!" he shouted, swinging his blade at the man's head.
The big man dodged, thrusting the handle of his hammer and catching Jarka in the shoulder. The pain shot through him, and he stumbled back breathless. He could hear his men rush in around him, and the ring of steel as another Northman engaged them with two axes.
He knew his men were doomed.
"Come get me, you dim-witted oaf!" he taunted.
The big man growled, bringing his hammer overhead and spinning in a death spiral. Jarka raised his axe to block, feeling the brunt impact, and staggering back. He turned to run, taunting the oaf to follow him away from his smaller and quicker kinsman. Jarka had no desire to fight the blond-haired berserker.
"That's it," he taunted. "Let's rumble by ourselves. Follow me to your doom."
He backed away, smiling as the big man closed in on him. It would be a fight to remember.
Freyja ducked and dodged as she and Odhran sought out the two horsemen. They were quite obvious among the unmounted troops that were engaged with the villagers. Freyja pointed them out, drawing the ranger with her as she closed in on them.
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