“I do not doubt the strength of your convictions, but you must be warned that this is going to be brutal,” the Elf told her. “There is a good chance you will be killed.”
“Haven’t I earned that right?” she asked. Her voice trembled, threatening to break down into tears. There’d be time for that when the smoke cleared and the final body counts were tallied. She couldn’t cry now. Not yet.
“Perhaps you have. It would be an honor if your rebels would accompany my Elves. Though I did not speak it to Thord I believe the Goblins will attempt to flank us and strike from behind. The battle may be progressing deep into the ruins but our foes are cunning. This is not over by far.”
“We’re wasting time,” Ingrid said.
Offering a genuine smile, Faeldrin nodded and headed out.
Ingrid mustered her forces, a mere fifteen hundred still in fighting condition, and marched in step behind the Elven mercenaries. Sounds from the fever-pitched battle in the ruins continued to mock them. Doubts and fears plagued each in their own way. None wanted to drive into the heart of the insanity but all felt it was their inherent responsibility. Live or die, they were all children of Delranan.
The Elves led them to the far edge of the tree line where sergeants directed the deployment of forces. Work went quickly and soon the army was emplaced and ready for the expected enemy counterattack. The wait wasn’t long. Goblins advanced stealthily through the forest, hoping to take the rebels unawares. They failed.
Arrows plunged into the Goblin ranks. Cries arose from their ranks and they charged. Ingrid and Orlek exchanged nervous looks the moment before the Goblins attacked. The battle picked up quickly. Men and women died, hacked apart under the fury of Goblin blades. The line threatened to break.
“On me!” Orlek shouted and waded into the slaughter.
Ingrid’s heart crawled into her throat. She couldn’t bear to lose another love but was in no position to prevent Orlek from doing what he was meant to do. She steeled her mind against the inevitable and went back to directing the battle. Ingrid was no warrior and lacked the thirst for blood. That didn’t stop her from using her knowledge of tactics to improve her army’s odds.
Deep in the heart of the battle, Orlek plunged his blade into a Goblin’s exposed throat. Blood squirted onto his chin and armor as he jerked the blade free to fend off a throwing axe. Another rebel hacked off the Goblin’s hand at the wrist. The axe dropped away. Orlek stabbed, missing the first time but was rewarded with the sweet touch of steel driving into flesh.
Half deafened by the shouting, screaming, and clanging of swords, Orlek didn’t spy the Goblin archer taking aim. The shaft thrummed away and struck Orlek in the left shoulder. The force of the blow knocked him from his feet, driving his breath away. Those not engaged in the front rank rushed to drag him to safety against his protests. Blood coated his sleeve and chest. The wound was deep. The pain near unbearable, but he refused to be taken from the field.
His last sights before passing out were of the Elves charging in from the side. Dominant on horseback, the Aeldruin killed without thought. Goblins crumbled under the pressure as nearly one hundred Elves rode deeper into their ranks. It took much effort to finally penetrate the entire length of the Goblin force. More than one Elf was dragged from the saddle and slaughtered.
Faeldrin wheeled his diminished force around once they were clear and prepared to wade back into the slaughter. Too many empty saddles converged on him. This was likely the final ride of the Aeldruin. The enemy was simply too large. It was a sad fact he’d known from the reports following the battle on the banks of the Thorn River. The willing sacrifice would place them on the pillars of heroes beside Elvendom’s greatest. Faeldrin didn’t want to be a hero. He merely wanted to live. Unless Bahr and his team managed to stop the Dae’shan, there seemed little chance of that.
Faeldrin pointed his sword at the Goblins and ordered them back into the fray.
THIRTY-THREE
Glory Reclaimed
Catapults continued to drop rounds into the Goblin defenses. Rolnir ordered the batteries pulled forward to cover the infantry attack, hoping to relieve some of the pressure hammering into his army. With the attack all but stalled, he needed to find a way through the first trench line. All he needed was a foothold. The Wolfsreik general watched through his looking glass as the battle developed.
Anger and frustration clashed, their effects displayed by his bulging veins on his temples. His cheeks were red, flustered. His eyes were raw from lack of sleep and the natural irritation of so much smoke. He desperately wished for Piper Joach. The second in command was the voice of reason in the army and provided constant, sage advice. Advice Rolnir needed now. The attack was floundering, threatening to fail entirely. He needed to find a way to break through and turn the tide.
“Runner! Tell General Vajna to attack now,” he ordered.
The young soldier dashed off without bothering to salute. Rolnir forgave the sudden lack of discipline and turned his focus on the Goblin towers. Each was packed with at least a score of crossbowmen who continued to slaughter his infantry. Rolnir had been in foul situations before but nothing quite so fierce. The siege of Rogscroft paled in comparison to trying to break through the Goblin defense. Of course there the Goblins under Grugnak did most of the dirty work, leaving the Wolfsreik to mop up.
He cheered as one of the towers exploded. The catapult round continued on to crash into the Goblin infantry. Unfortunately it was only one out of at least twenty. The Goblin held the advantage as long as those towers remained operational. Rolnir’s joy turned to sorrow as what remained of the first unit to attack limped away from the battle. They were naught but tattered remnants of a once proud unit. Many dragged or carried wounded with them. It had been a very long time since any unit of the Wolfsreik was so thoroughly ravaged. Rendered combat ineffective in less than an hour, they wouldn’t be able to return to the fight unless there was no other way.
“This is madness,” Aurec said from his side.
Rolnir’s scowl remained hidden by the looking glass. “The Goblins were much better prepared than we assumed. I admit to never having encountered them in such a manner.”
“It’s going to take more than what we’ve got to break those lines,” the king said.
“This is war, Aurec. None of us are strangers to it. Have patience. Our assault is in support of the main effort,” Rolnir reminded. “The Dwarves will take the brunt of the fight.”
He didn’t bother stating the obvious: that only Bahr’s mission was of importance. All else was mere secondary consideration. Rolnir held on to hope, that fragile string growing increasingly thinner as the battle continued. He wished he’d had the foresight to send runners over with the Dwarves but was forced to rely on a tenuous string of communication that meant delays in coordinating attack efforts.
The sign Thord assured he wouldn’t miss nearly blew him off his feet. Never before had he imagined such magnitude of power in weapons. Rising flames and smoke columns almost made him recant his position of being a warrior. No army on Malweir should be given this sort of power. The scope of warfare had changed forever. He hoped the Goblins were understanding that by the hundreds.
“Look, a breach!” Aurec nearly shouted.
It wasn’t much but they clearly spotted soldiers funneling into first trench. Rolnir felt some of the tension weighing him down lift. His faith in his soldiers remained unchanged, but doubts of their ability to break the Goblins arose. He had come into Delranan expecting to find Harnin and a band of reservists holding the line, not an impossible army of Goblins in numbers unheard of.
Rolnir silently urged his infantry on. They needed to smash the lines and secure an area wide enough to allow the rest of the army in. Once accomplished, the Wolfsreik would be able to crush the enemy from the inside. Silver and grey-armored soldiers began assaulting the nearest towers. Goblins and Men fell from the fortifications. First one, then another tower fell. Fresh infantry battalions, composed
of Rogscroft and Wolfsreik soldiers, headed for the breach. Rolnir spied the diminutive brown-skinned Pell Darga ranging the lines in packs of hunters. They killed at random and were beyond ruthless.
Cuul Ol stood at their sides, watching his hunters go to war for the first time in generations. He chewed thoughtfully on a pine twig lovingly snapped from a tree in passing. The stress felt by Rolnir and Aurec failed to translate to the sage Pell leader. Living in the Murdes Mountains was a much harsher reality than either man could imagine. Where the lowlander armies struggled against impossibility, his Pell hunters reveled in it. There was little denying that the Pell Darga clans were the combined army’s greatest assets.
Rolnir was infinitely grateful for their aid. They were artful warriors, if not properly trained. His respect grew with each engagement. The Pell continued to prove their worth since his first encounter with them in the mountain passes when they’d been enemies. Cuul Ol and his hunters all but brought the Wolfsreik offensive in Rogscroft to a halt by disrupting the supply lines and casting intense fear among the rank and file.
He hoped to use the natural animosity between Pell and Goblin to his advantage by disguising a large contingent of Pell hunters in Wolfsreik and Rogscroft uniforms. Once they infiltrated the first trench, they shed their false uniforms and attacked in the manner best suited to them. The effect had been brutal. Goblins in the immediate area faltered upon seeing so many of the almost-forgotten foes savaging them with short spears and daggers. Many Pell died in the attack but the odds were always in their favor. They slew Goblins with every blow. Rolnir had no doubts it was the Pell who managed to secure the breach. Now it was up to the heavy infantry of the Wolfsreik to widen it.
This was yet another instance where he missed having Piper to confer with. His commander was in the wild lands somewhere to the northeast, hopefully destroying the last of Harnin’s fortress line. Rolnir wished he had the additional five thousand soldiers for this campaign but their enemies were too many to fight one at a time. Still, the fifty-thousand-strong Goblin army occupying the center of his kingdom left the general with grave doubts. He needed his full army present if they were going to salvage the day.
“We Pell do our part well,” Cuul said with pride gleaming in his eyes.
Shadows began to crawl across the face of the world as night readied to fall. The long train of wounded being dragged to safety grew. Hundreds, perhaps more, soldiers were carried, dragged, or limped back on their own. Rolnir found the scene disheartening. He’d expected massive casualties but none of their estimates prepared him for the dismal scene unfolding before him. Perhaps it was only an illusion brought on by the short distance separating the armies. Perhaps it was the ache in his heart upon watching his army fight a needless battle, one they weren’t prepared for upon arriving. He didn’t know, nor did he care. There could be only one outcome as far as he was concerned. The Wolfsreik was already home, now they needed to find a way to victory.
Rolnir cleared his throat, realizing for the first time it was parched. “You warriors are fine indeed, Cuul. We are very thankful to have them.”
“Many will not come home,” Cuul added.
“Yet they will be remembered for generations, you have my word,” Aurec told him.
Cuul Ol said nothing as he continued to watch the battle. Hundreds of soldiers had broken through to the second trench. Enemy towers were folding up and down the line. With each foot of gain hope was restored. Rolnir felt it ride the currents of the wind. They were closer to victory and ending the Goblin threat. The fact that it would all be for naught if Bahr failed didn’t matter. He’d go to his grave knowing his army had done their utmost to defend Delranan.
As if waiting for Rolnir to make a fatal error, thousands of Goblins emerged from the north. If they managed to get into position they would trap Vajna and the cavalry between forces. He’d lose most of his army. The redheaded general collapsed his looking glass and decided to take matters into hand. He couldn’t allow his greatest asset to get caught. The infantry was built for that sort of situation, horses weren’t. He needed their range and speed to keep the battle fluid. The enemy understood that and aimed to remove the threat.
Any good feeling Rolnir had was dashed as this new force emerged. He’d grown overconfident with the taking of the trenches that he failed to prepare for what should have been blindingly obvious. Not even the Goblin commander could be foolish enough to marshal his entire army in the cramped confines of Arlevon Gale. The tide had turned in the blink of an eye. He had to act quickly.
“I need to get down there. Your Highness, I’m taking what’s left of the army and hitting those new Goblins,” he said with authority.
Aurec watched as fresh Goblins continued to flood the fields. All of his carefully wrought dreams were undoing. His mind was made at the same time as Rolnir’s. “I’m coming with you. This isn’t just your fight, General.”
Rolnir wanted to argue. Someone needed to stay behind and direct the battle. He was a professional soldier whereas Aurec was meant for loftier stations. But whatever the boy lacked in combat experience he equally lacked in tactics. Rolnir had no choice. “Very well. We move the command center over to Vajna’s marshalling area and attack from there. Sergeant Major Thorsson, order the army to shift right and prepare to engage.”
Thorsson shifted his gaze to Aurec quickly, as if to wish him good fortune, and stalked off barking orders. Time was running out if they were going to save the army.
The cavalry barreled towards the gap in the lines. Vajna and Herger rode at the head of the column. Nerves were on edge for never had either imagined an enemy so large. Rogscroft’s senior ranking officer focused his gaze on the melee just ahead. His cavalry would cover the space between lines in mere heartbeats, fortunately not giving many the time to think properly about what they aimed to do.
Lowering his short spear, Vajna broke away just enough to assume the point of the first wedge. Herger peeled off to do the same with the second. Those in Vajna’s column followed suit, until the back rank was ten abreast. The crushing weight of so many would hopefully force the Goblins apart to the point the thousands of infantry would storm in and break the line for good. In theory it was a sound strategy. In fact Vajna reserved his fear. There’d be time for that after his spear struck Goblin flesh.
The ground was rocky and filled with low stumps. The entire area had been lightly forested, making a series of natural defensive measures once Goblins cut down the trees. Snow made the situation worse. Vajna feared losing too many horses to broken ankles or worse during his charge. None of that could be helped. He would either arrive with his full force or get reduced along the way. It was up to the gods.
Infantry formations parted and filed in behind in his wake. Their confidence was bolstered by the thunderous charge of heavy horse. Goblins fought harder, desperate to keep their already slipping hold on the lines. Threatened with execution, they’d been ordered to hold at all costs. There would be no surrender or retreat. Fresh spears were brought in. The second trench was reinforced with new battalions of untested warriors. Horns bleated across the ruins in a weak attempt at inspiring fear in the horsemen.
Vajna’s wedge was within meters of breaching the gap of the first trench when horns blew wildly from behind. He could just make out their beat from above the roar of battle and his horses. Fresh waves of panic gripped him. Thinking quickly, he thrust his spear wide left and wheeled in the same direction. The majority of his wedge did the same. Vajna caught many confused looks on his riders’ faces as they circled around. He was just as confused. But the signal was clear enough. Do not attack.
Once his wedge made the complete circle and headed back away from the battle, he paused to see if the others had followed. For the most part they had. Herger and his wedge were equally confused but the Wolfsreik officer was pointing towards the northeast where a roiling mass of squat, grey bodies were marching down on them. Vajna’s blood chilled at the sight. Any thoughts of bringing a qu
ick, decisive end to the battle at the trench dashed away like broken clouds. His cavalry was about to get bloody, but in the proper way.
Ignoring the groans and massed confusion of the infantry, Vajna didn’t wait for new orders. Experience told him what to do. Thousands strong, this new Goblin offensive threatened to slash into the rear of the combined army’s lines and reap a terrible toll. He pulled up alongside Herger and his other commanders.
“We’re deceived!” Herger shouted.
Vajna nodded. What else needed saying? “Reform your wedges on line. We strike immediately before they have the opportunity to form ranks. Don’t stop until we are through. Then we form up and do it again. Questions?”
Of course there were none. These were seasoned professionals, veterans of two campaigns. Each knew what needed to be done. Wills resolved as the cavalry reformed their wedges, this time much tighter in order to make a greater impact on the enemy ranks. Vajna signaled his bugler with a nod and multiple horns blared out over the cavalry. Hundreds of horses lunged forward to the wild roars of their riders.
Fading sunlight caught the dull, silvered-spear tips as they lowered. Vajna welcomed the coming of night, knowing it would prevent him from seeing the full size of the force he was about to assault. Tantamount to suicide, it was his only play. The ground swept past. Meters disappeared as the lines converged. He braced, wincing once as his horse broke into the new Goblin army.
Bodies flew apart and were trampled under the weight of hundreds of horses. Spears were cast, impaling their targets even as the riders drew swords and began hacking down at the shorter Goblins. Heads and reaching hands were lopped off. Blood painted the horses already lathering coats. Unsure which way to turn to avoid being crushed, those unfortunate Goblins nearest to the cavalry were mowed down without mercy.
Vajna figured they were halfway through the army by the time Goblins started to react. Crossbows took out several riders and their mounts. Angered Goblins fell upon them, hacking them all to pieces as the charge thundered past. Insanity gripped the field. There was no elegance to this fight. No honor. Vajna and Herger led their riders through impossible odds while killing as many of the enemy as possible along the way. Bodies carpeted the ground. Many were trampled underfoot while others were crushed. Finally, when he didn’t think he’d be able to go any further, Vajna broke free of the last Goblin rank. Horses screamed approval as they thundered into open air.
Even Gods Must Fall Page 32