Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  Gupta stood just behind his line of nervous gunners. “Not yet. Not yet! If one of you touches off early I swear by the Forgotten’s eyes that I will drown you in that river myself, so help me gods! We fight as one. We strike as one. As one!”

  “As one!” many of the gunners shouted back.

  “What? I couldn’t hear you!”

  “As one!”

  “You’re damned right. You heard the Keeper’s words. He blessed us to be like the lords of thunder and lightning! Let’s show these Capitol-loving scum the gods have returned!”

  Ashok watched those casteless carefully. They were terrified. And rightfully so. In a moment arrows would rain down on them. Most of them were strangers to that sort of thing. It led to shaking hands, tearing eyes, and loosened bladders. Warriors had their whole lives to learn to control those natural things. These freemen had recently been thrust into it. Luckily their new risaldar seemed rather good at distracting them from their fear.

  “You are capable with the motivational words, Gupta,” Ashok said as he rode by.

  “By the will of the gods I’ve survived three cave-ins during my life, General. Keeping men from giving up hope when they’re buried alive was a lot harder than this. Everything is easier when you can still see the sunshine.” Then he raised his voice to a ragged bellow so his gunners could hear once more. “We will show them the power of the storm gods!”

  One paltan of enemy cavalry was speeding ahead of the others. That risaldar had claimed the honor of drawing first blood. These were the early stages, the testing of defenses and resolve, and the prebattle posturing that warriors loved so much. The warrior caste was flamboyant that way. Akershani horse bows generated enough force to kill a man in excess of a hundred and fifty yards. It was really difficult to actually hit anything at such an extreme range, but a line two-bodies deep made a big target. Something told Ashok this lead risaldar would want to be sure. There was no glory in wasting arrows, only in killing. They would close to within sixty or seventy before striking, then wheel away to circle back and do it again.

  Ashok had seen what Ratul’s weapons had been capable of during practice. “Give the order to fire when they are one hundred yards away.”

  “That’s pretty far, General.”

  He only said that because Gupta did not grasp just how far a speeding arrow could fly. Warriors spent years building the specific muscles necessary to consistently draw powerful bows…Which was another reason the Fortress rods seemed like cheating, since malnourished casteless could easily match such a feat just by yanking on a piece of metal with their fingers.

  “Wait for one hundred yards, Risaldar.”

  “Not yet! Not yet!” Gupta roared at his increasingly worried men. “Hold, you good-for-nothing bastards!”

  Two hundred yards.

  Ashok looked toward the riverside. Toramana was ready. Then he looked toward his left. So was Ongud. Shekar’s raiders had moved to the hillside flank to cause trouble. Eklavya’s infantry were positioned on both sides of their gunners, ready to rush forward to protect them.

  One hundred and seventy.

  The cavalry was getting uncomfortably close. Fifty men intended to launch arrows their way. If they did, some of his men would probably die. Such was war. And it was only the beginning of what would be a long day.

  “Guns up! Guns up!”

  The two lines of casteless shouldered their illegal weapons. Gupta had taken Ratul’s commands and drilled them into his freemen, over and over and over, until the actions had become instinctive.

  One fifty.

  “Ready!”

  Sixty men pulled back the devices atop their weapons. Sixty mechanisms locked into place with a series of metallic clicks. They were more like spring-loaded clamps which held flints, but the sound made Ashok think of bear traps being set. He had inspected the illegal weapons. Their construction was surprisingly uniform, and though it pained him to say it, almost graceful.

  One twenty.

  “Aim!”

  The devices were pointed in the general direction of the riders. Previously the gunners had only fired upon targets like gourds and logs. These were bigger, but much faster. If you missed a gourd, your friends laughed at you. If you missed a warrior, he’d split your skull.

  One hundred.

  “Fire!”

  Akershan felt the wrath of the storm gods.

  The noise was a continuous, deafening roar across the line. The impact of steel plates against shoulders made the skinnier gunners stumble back. Horse reared up, angry and kicking because of the frightful sound, but Ashok was too fascinated watching the carnage to pay his mount any mind.

  Some of the gunners had flinched, punching holes in the dirt only a few feet ahead of them. Others had wobbled and hurled their projectiles high into the air. However, most of the balls cut a path through the tall grass. Those which hit flesh did so with incredible force, tearing ghastly chunks off bodies. War-horses tumbled, their momentum carrying them end over end. Men were flung from the saddles. Then the scene was obscured as a thick white smoke rolled across the front line.

  As the stinking smoke cleared, Ashok could see that the sheer shock of the display had broken the cavalry paltan’s spirits. Only a fraction of the riders had been hit, but the sudden fire and noise had unnerved the rest, and they spun about and ran without launching a single arrow. Every Law-abiding citizen had been taught their whole life to fear Fortress magic. If Devedas was watching, that horrific display surely shocked him to his core, because by the Capitol’s best estimates there weren’t supposed to be this many Fortress rods in all of Lok, let alone in one place.

  The men started to cheer.

  “Reload!” Gupta shouted. “Now, damn it! Reload!”

  The gunners went through the actions Gupta had forced them to do hundreds of times before. It was a good thing Ratul had even drawn them pictures. Ashok didn’t understand the complicated process, nor did he care to learn. Powder went down the tube. Then a patch of fabric and one of the lead balls were driven home with a wooden dowel. It was a mystery how or where his old sword master had gotten these things, but they were unlike the rare Fortress rods he had encountered during his time as a Protector. Those had required a wick to ignite and had seemed far clumsier. The last thing the gunners did was pour some powder in a brass funnel on top. These made their own sparks through a mechanism that seemed as confusing to Ashok as the guts of Jagdish’s little pocket clock.

  If he’d had a little clock of his own to check, he would bet that most of Gupta’s men had their weapons ready again long before a single minute had passed. He didn’t know if that was good or not, but Gupta seemed rather unsatisfied as he went down the line yelling at his slowest and clumsiest men as they fumbled about.

  The other enemy cavalry paltans had turned around when they’d seen their lead unit decimated and were moving back behind the perceived safety granted by their spearmen. That would limit the harassing arrows for a while. Wounded horses cried. No matter how many times Ashok had heard that noise, he still hated it. Their first volley hadn’t even been that effective, but Ashok could see how a normal man would find such a display unnerving.

  “Forward.”

  His risaldars heard his command and repeated it. Then the little army that the Akershani had expected to sit pinned next to the river to be destroyed at their convenience began advancing instead. All except Shekar and his skirmishers, who Ashok had left to guard their hillside flank.

  To the credit of the enemy leader—whoever he was—there was no panic at the sight of so many Fortress weapons. Flags were waved, orders were relayed, and then the Akershani infantry began to march. The unit which moved to take the center consisted of their heaviest armored, carrying round shields and swords. They lacked the reach of the spearmen, but their phontho must have hoped the Fortress magic would bounce off so much metal. To their sides were hundreds of spearmen. Behind those, waiting for their chance to strike, were groups of horse archers. It made
for a rather impressive sight.

  “They appear to be fine specimens of the warrior caste. May I break them, sir?” Gupta asked hopefully.

  “As you wish, Risaldar.” Ashok looked around. This little farm seemed like as good a place as any to make their stand. The enemy would have to cross an open field and climb a small wooden fence to reach them. “Halt!” The order was relayed.

  “Gunners. Aim for the ones with the spears on the right,” Gupta shouted. Those were farther, but without the shields they made for a softer target. They were still quite some distance away so they didn’t really know how much wood and metal the soft lead balls would go through. They’d launched these things clear across the Cove from terrace to terrace just so Gupta could see where they hit and figure out the trajectory. Ashok didn’t need to tell the former miner how to do his work. “Remember, boys, it’s just like tossing a ball. Lead’s got a curve like a rainbow. We’ll hold the front blade a few feet over their heads and lob them in. Ready!” Gupta surveyed his men and seemed to approve “Aim!”

  Ashok waved his hand to signal for Ongud to prepare his cavalry. Depending on how much damage the Fortress rods did, they might be able to take advantage of it to ride out and do a bit of harassment of their own.

  “Fire!”

  The thunder rolled down the line. Smoke and fire belched forth. And nearly two hundred yards away a handful of men dropped, creating a few neat holes in the Akershan line. Other warriors immediately rushed forward to fill the gaps.

  “Reload! Reload!”

  “That’s it?” Ashok demanded. Such a racket for so little return. “The swamp men’s arrows could do better.”

  “They’re rather far still, General! We’ll do better with the next one, I promise.”

  “Keep it up then. When they get close enough to charge, you gunners fall back behind the infantry.” It would do no good for most of his casteless to get chopped to bits.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Speaking of the swamp men, Ashok saw that Toramana was spreading his archers out, hiding them behind trees, haystacks, fences, and rocks. These people had spent their lives surviving hit-and-run battles against wizards and the occasional demon. Ashok wasn’t going to even try to make lunatics who painted their faces to look like skulls stand in the open launching neat volleys. They were hunters. Let them do what they did best.

  Ashok kneed Horse and went toward the cavalry. His mount was glad to get away from the noise and smoke. He stood in the stirrups to better see the field. There was one thing that troubled him more than the entire army arrayed against them, but he saw no Protectors yet.

  Gupta kept his word, because this volley did far better than the last. More balls smashed into bodies, tore holes through flesh, and broke bones. Probably ten warriors were swept from the Akershan line that time.

  Back in the Cove, they had dug some of the projectiles out of the dirt to see what happened to them. They were usually found several inches deep, even in packed clay. When the balls were shoved down the barrels of the Fortress weapons, they were perfectly round and smooth, but when they hit they were moving with velocity sufficient to smash the lead flat, and spread it into various wicked, cutting shapes. It would cause ghastly wounds against any living thing. Warriors were brave, but it would be difficult for even the most stalwart of them to see the man at his side get a piece cut out of him by an enemy so very far away.

  Sure enough, the spearmen on that side faltered. Their march stopped for a moment. The paltan behind them crowded against their backs, while the heavy infantry kept moving on without them.

  “Gupta, switch to the middle now. Our cavalry will move against the crippled spears. Remember, watch for the situation we spoke of earlier!” He waited for the gunner risaldar to signal that he’d heard the command, and then Ashok rode toward Ongud and shouted, “Is the cavalry ready?”

  “Ready, General!”

  “Go harry their wounded side.” They’d already covered this before, but Ashok wanted to make sure his instructions had been heeded, so when he pulled alongside Ongud he said, “When I go out there, whatever happens to me, you keep doing your job. I want to be seen. Do not come after me. When you see the silver armor, get out of the way.”

  Ongud jerked his head in a nervous semblance of an understanding nod. The young warrior was so excited he could barely contain himself. “Yes, General!”

  “Then go.”

  “For the Forgotten!” Ongud roared.

  Their cavalry rushed forward, speeding toward the injured wing of the enemy formation.

  Another volley erupted, this time slamming into the Akershani center. Over a dozen men were hit that time. Their shields did nothing. Wood turned to splinters and the living bodies behind them turned into meat for the buzzards.

  It turned out that as the distance closed, their gunners became far more accurate, and far more deadly. The heavy-infantry risaldar must have realized that as well, because he screamed for them to charge, trying to get out of the open. Normally they’d have kept up a steady march, trying to conserve their energy so they wouldn’t be sucking wind when they got into contact distance, but a leisurely march through the hayfields today meant certain death.

  Ongud’s cavalry rushed up to within screaming distance of the bewildered spearmen before launching their arrows. Bodies were pierced. They rode parallel to the enemy, dropping men the whole way, until the enemy cavalry set out after them. The young risaldar had been waiting for that, and he signaled for the Sons to veer back toward the safety of their lines. The arrows meant for them landed uselessly in the field.

  Jagdish would be proud, Ashok thought.

  “Ashok! Ashok!” It was Keta who was screaming his name, trying to get his attention. The Keeper was pointing at the hillside above them. “Up there! They’re coming!”

  He saw. With the Son’s fearsome cavalry out of the way, the Akershani warriors who had been sent to flank them had begun running downhill. It was not nearly the surprise that Keta thought it was. He had left Shekar to deal with them.

  Sure enough, when he checked the Somsak were already on it. Sharpening his vision enabled him to pick out Shekar and his men riding along the bottom of the hill. Through the power of the Heart of the Mountain he was even able to make out the savage grin upon Shekar’s face. He was enjoying this far too much. The tattooed risaldar licked his fingers and held them up to check the direction of the wind one last time, and then signaled his men to set the oil brush aflame. Several men ran along the bottom of the hill, dragging lit torches through the weeds.

  The vicious raider had even waited until the flankers were halfway down the slope before lighting their funeral pyre. The Garo phontho had spoken true, for the dark plant immediately caught. The brush was only knee high at most, but the bright orange flame that erupted from the stuff was tall as a man, and hungry as any fire Ashok had ever seen. Within a few seconds the entire bottom of the slope was aflame, and it began to climb, spreading rapidly uphill.

  The Akershani saw the wall of fire coming at them, realized it was fueled by the same stuff they were standing in, turned, and ran for their lives. Except now they were struggling uphill. Fire didn’t care about up or down. It only wanted to consume. The black smoke washed over them, stealing their precious air. Their horsemen would probably make it. Most of their footmen would not.

  Gunners’ thunder brought Ashok back to the front. This would probably be the last volley that Gupta’s line would get off before the enemy reached them, but that closeness made them particularly deadly. Skulls ruptured. Limbs were severed. Wounded men fell screaming, only to be tripped over by the men behind them. Most of the heavy-infantry paltan and many of the lighter troops behind them were struck by the incredibly lethal projectiles.

  And then Toramana’s arrows began to fall.

  They were not launched in a great flock like the gunners’ lead, but with singular precision. Each of the Wild Men had survived in an unforgiving place, where a missed arrow meant a hungry belly
. A lumbering warrior was a much easier target than a running deer.

  The simple wooden fence turned into a deadly barricade as the warriors slowed to climb over it, only to be pierced by arrows. Their armor stopped many, but not all. Hands were pinned to wooden beams. Men screamed as they lay bleeding and helpless in the tall grass.

  As his gunners retreated, Eklavya’s infantry rushed forward, spears lowered. The two forces collided at the fence and the main battle was joined. The Akershani heavy infantry were superior to a mob of mostly casteless, but their numbers had been devastated by the Fortress weapons.

  He looked back to the valley’s edge and marveled at just how dangerous the oil brush was, because it had already claimed the bottom third of the slope. The regular grass had caught as well, but it was nothing compared to the fury of the angry weed. The enemy flankers were still running, desperate to escape. Some of their clothing had caught on fire, others had tripped and fallen over the roots, and been burned before they could get away.

  Ongud’s cavalry was playing a deadly game, avoiding the superior numbers of enemy horsemen, while still antagonizing their main body. Luckily the enemy horsemen were scared to get in front of the gunners.

  Shekar’s paltan—their assignment to burn the hill complete—had mounted up and gone to join their companions. The raiders had one other—very illegal—surprise. They had taken clay pots, drilled a hole in the lids to set a wick, filled them with Ratul’s stored Fortress powder, and then sealed the pots with wax. The powder bombs had been their prophet’s suggestion. The idea wasn’t from the gods, but rather because Thera was fascinated by the stuff.

  The raiders broke into small teams, each one riding to a different spot behind their line before dismounting. Thera’s bombs would be fickle enough as it was, trying to light them on fire and hurl them accurately from horseback would be suicidal. Shekar took the honor of lobbing the first one. He held out the pot for one of his torch men to light the wick, then he hurled it as hard as he could over the heads of their spearmen, out into the enemy ranks.