by Peter Last
“Since you have been given additional men," Lemin was saying, "our forces combined will number around forty-five hundred. When the battle starts, we will begin to quietly work our way around to the dwarves’ left flank. They shouldn't notice that our troops are not present, because as far as we know, they still think that our lines are thin. At a prearranged signal, we’ll attack them on their left flank, and Grand Admiral Wellter will attack their right flank with several thousand elves. The first attack should damage them heavily, but that isn’t our primary objective. If any dwarves escape from this battle and warn the main dwarf army about what has happened, it could bring their full might on our heads. Therefore, our first task when we attack is to form a line with Wellter's elves to prevent any dwarves from escaping.”
“In that case, we should use a three-line containment method,” Josiah said. “We have six groups of soldiers, so if we put two in each line it will give us three lines of defense as a safeguard.”
“That would have the same men doing the majority of the fighting,” Lemin objected. “If the battle was going to be short, that might work, but it could go on for some time.”
“Josiah is right,” Smether said. “The way the three-line containment is taught here is that when the first line has to rest, the second line steps up directly behind them. The first line then falls back through the second line, drops to the back of the formation, and forms the third line. Every time the first line needs a replacement we do this, so that we can hold out for as long as possible.”
The five cadet commanders looked at Lemin as he thought the idea over. Finally he looked at them.
“I’ll send a message to Wellter telling him of this strategy. We need to have the whole line on the same page, or the enemy will find a way through our ranks.
“Now, this is the second part of the plan. Some of the best magicians in the elf army are in Wellter’s legions, and they will be weaving an invisible spell over themselves so the enemy will not be able to see them. When the signal is given to attack, we will attack first so that the enemies look toward us. This will give the elves the backs of the dwarves to attack. The effort of sustaining their invisibility spell will consume a large amount of energy, so they will have to drop it before they charge. This means that we need to have the dwarves looking solely at us by the time the elves move forward.”
Timothy had heard enough, so he drifted away from the collaborating officers. Vladimir, Senndra, Rita, and several other cadets were standing in a group talking, but their conversation ceased when Timothy neared. He took a place in their group and looked at Vladimir as he began talking.
“So what did you hear over there?” he asked. The cadets waited expectantly, so Timothy answered as best he could.
“Just the battle plan for tomorrow. Actually, the one for today,” he corrected himself and gestured toward the horizon. A glimmer of light was beginning to show to the east, and soldiers from the army of Magessa were scurrying to take their positions in the battle lines.
“So what’s the plan? A head-on attack? ”Senndra asked. Apparently she had gotten over her anger enough to talk to him again.
“No, the grand admirals are worried about some dwarves escaping and telling the main army about the defeat. So some elves and we cadets are going to be flanking them and forming a wall to keep them from escaping. As near as I can figure, this will put roughly half our men behind them and half in front. And given the number of dwarves that remain in the city, we should have a relatively simple time of eradicating them.”
“So what is the estimate of enemies left in the city?” Vladimir asked.
“Somewhere between five and ten thousand,” Timothy answered.
The order to form battle lines was quietly passed down the wall, and the cadets began to file off the wall to where Lemin awaited them on the ground. As Timothy got in line, a smile broke across his face—a stark contrast to the grim looks of the other soldiers.
“What are you so happy about?” Vladimir asked.
“It seems like this battle has taken a lifetime,” Timothy answered. “And for that lifetime, I have always feared for my life, wondering when the dwarves would attack next and if they would kill us on their next onslaught. But things have changed now. For the first time, we actually have a good chance of beating these blivits, and that has my spirits very high.”
******
The sun was just peaking over the hills to the east, its rays glinting on the armor of the army arrayed at the south end of the city. The dwarves were just stirring. All of their sentries were asleep or had simply not spotted the army as of yet. To the east and west of the dwarf army, legions of soldiers were moving into position on either flank. Soon all would be ready for attack.
The remainder of the cadet army moved through the abandoned city and congregated at the ambush position. Josiah’s men were already in position, waiting only for the signal to spring from their hiding place and attack. Josiah stood at the head of his legion, now a little less than eight hundred strong. Cirro stood at his side, a large battle ax clasped in his hands. He was muttering to himself, clearly anxious to get past the waiting and start the fighting. Josiah glanced backwards and saw his men standing rank upon rank in perfect order. A fierce glint shown in their eyes, reflecting the past fighting; they were ready to finish the battle.
A shout sounded from the dwarf camp; they had finally spotted the enemy army. Josiah glanced at the camp and saw dwarves scurrying from their tents, half-dressed and trying to form some military semblance. He shifted his gaze to Lemin just in time to see the grand admiral give the signal to attack. In one fluid motion, he jerked his sword from its scabbard and thrust it toward the enemy, all while shouting a battle cry. Battle frenzy was suddenly upon him and he charged toward the enemy, not even looking to make sure that his men were following him. To him, it appeared as though everything was in exaggerated detail. As he burst from the buildings and into the open, the dwarves looked his way. He could see their startled and terrified expressions, but he didn’t think about them or anything else. He could see Wellter’s elves charging from across the city, but the dwarves were as yet oblivious to them. The army to the south was waiting for the other two armies to form a wall behind the dwarves before attacking.
Josiah hit the army with the fury of a madman. His sword flashed through the air, killing and maiming enemies in droves. Beside him, Cirro whirled his ax furiously, swinging the weapon every which way to ward off the dwarves. Josiah’s men were hot on his heels, their numbers crushing many dwarves on impact. As they engaged the enemy, elves and cadets met to form a wall, blocking the dwarves’ only escape route. The trap was finally complete, and the army to the south began to charge, pressing the dwarves on a new front. The dwarves quickly found themselves overextended. They tried to fall away from the onslaught of the army to the south, but the line of defenders to the north held them in the city. In less than fifteen minutes, their numbers were cut in half. Finally they were able to pull themselves into a military formation, but by this time, the army of Magessa had completely surrounded them, forcing them to form a circle with all sides facing outward. Then the second stage of the battle began. Archers had scaled the northern walls of the city and began to pelt the dwarves with a hail of missiles, decreasing their numbers greatly. The infantry had only to contain them to an area, as the archers steadily cut them down to only a few hundred dwarves. Finally, the rain of arrows ceased, and Wellter approached the dwarf lines. “Surrender and we will spare you,” he said. “Throw down your weapons and you shall live; fight on and you will surely die.”
The dwarves were silent, though fear showed clearly on their faces. Slowly, a murmur spread through their ranks, followed by a nervous shuffling. Then, hesitantly at first, they began to lay down their weapons until almost half their number had disarmed themselves; the other dwarves, however, clung stubbornly to their weapons. The unarmed dwarves began to quickly separate themselves from their armed comrades, knowing that the huma
ns and elves would attack them. Almost before anyone knew what was happening, the dwarves were clearly split, and the soldiers of Magessa looked to their leaders.
“Only those who have refused to surrender will die,” Wellter shouted. “Forward, and may Elohim be with us!”
The soldiers surrounding the dwarves pushed inward with a mighty shout. They parted as they reached the unarmed enemies, leaving soldiers to guard them; then they hit the remnant of the dwarf army. Though they were few in number, the dwarves fought fiercely, bringing the charge to a halt. They knew that this was life or death, and this fear fueled them.
Josiah saw the assault grind to a halt. Before him, soldiers threw themselves at the dwarf line, trying to break through, but nobody was able to succeed. He glanced around and saw his legion broken apart, fighting in a confused fashion. Soldiers darted this way and that with no strategy to their movements. Solitary men charged the dwarves, trying to force their way through the wall of stout men. Soldiers without comrades to watch their backs rushed into the fighting and were killed almost instantly. The army was falling apart, and Josiah knew that if something was not done soon, even a victory would be costly. He leaped onto a pile of dead dwarves and waved his sword in the air.
“To me!” he shouted to the soldiers. He noticed a standard of Magessa lying on the ground. It was torn and had blood splattered on it, but the silver cross showed clearly through the grime. Retrieving it from where it was being trampled underfoot, he clambered on top of an abandoned crate from the dwarf camp. He raised the banner in the air and again gave the rallying cry. This time the soldiers took notice and began to gather around him. In only a few minutes, several hundred soldiers, both human and elfish, had congregated. Absentmindedly, he wished that he could lead a truly organized assault, but he knew that the group of men around him attacking as one body just might be enough to destroy the dwarves. With the standard still in his hand, he gave a shout, leaped from the crate, and rushed at the dwarf line. With his left hand, he pulled his sword from its sheath, and raised it above his head. When he hit the dwarf line, he blocked an ax with the banner and smashed through the dwarves, his sword flashing. To either side of him, he could see soldiers hitting the seemingly solid line of dwarves, forcing them to give way. The soldiers swept forward, a wave impervious to any attempt to stop it, and soon the fight was over.
Josiah raised the banner of Magessa in triumph. Then he rammed the pole into the ground, marking the site of victory. He slowly wiped and sheathed his sword, slightly dejected, but also very relieved that the battle was over. His eyes swept the city that had been the field of battle. Once it had been the proud center of training for army officers, but now it was the scene of carnage and misery. The northern wall was largely destroyed, and many of the buildings had been burned or knocked down. Dead soldiers littered the ground, their weapons lying beside them and their armor torn and dirty. The wounded cried out in pain, and the dying gasped out their final breaths. Josiah’s jubilance slowly drained out as he took in the other side of winning a battle. Death and agony were the companions of both the victors and the vanquished. Josiah heard a cry for water and wasted no time in heading for a well that was in the center of the city. He couldn’t take away the agony of his comrades, but he could at least try to ease it.
******
Senndra sat with her back against a broken wall. Her weapons lay on the ground beside her where she had dropped them when the fighting had stopped. Her clothes were torn, and her armor was dented. The left leg of her pants had been cut and rolled back to reveal a nasty-looking gash that extended from just above her knee all the way down to her ankle. She tore off a piece of her sleeve and painfully bent over to apply it to her wound. Blood quickly soaked the make-shift bandage, so she placed the other sleeve of her uniform over the first. The flow of blood, which had not been too fast at first, eventually slowed to a stop, and Senndra tied her bandage in place with strips of her ruined pant leg. Before rising, she retrieved her weapons and replaced them on her back. Slowly she got to her feet and looked around at the soldiers nearest her, hoping to see a familiar face. She didn’t see any, so she started to hobble across the city, asking the soldiers she met if they knew if there was a hospital set up yet. A man of about thirty years told her that there was a hospital in one of the old barracks and offered to help her there, but she declined the offer, assuring him that she could make it on her own. The short distance to the hospital took her more than half an hour to cover. She struggled on, gritting her teeth against the pain. Her vision blurred, and she stumbled frequently, but she stubbornly continued forward. Finally she met another man who offered to help her to the hospital. Again she refused the offer. The man ignored her protest, put her arm over his shoulder, and half-carried her the rest of the distance. At the door of the hospital, the man released her, and she entered the building. Suddenly having to bear her own weight again threw her off balance, and she staggered. She couldn’t think through the buzzing sound that filled her head, but she knew that she was falling and couldn’t catch herself. She heard a sound that seemed very distant and felt arms catching her. Slowly her vision cleared and she found herself looking at a cadet she thought she knew.
“Cirro?” she asked slowly.
“Yes,” Cirro replied. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Here, sit down against the wall.”
He helped Senndra to the ground and carefully examined her leg. Slowly he peeled the bandage away from the wound, trying to cause as little pain as possible. Even so, Senndra’s leg jerked weakly, and she slumped forward in a faint. Cirro removed the bandage from the laceration and grimaced as he looked at it. The cut was very deep, even reaching the bone at one point. Dirt and grime covered it, so Cirro reached for his water skin and washed it out.
“At least it looks as though the weapon that cut her wasn’t poisoned,” he thought. “That's a reason to be thankful.”
He dug some thread and a needle out of one of the pouches on his belt and turned back to Senndra. He carefully threaded the needle and then sized up her wound. Though it was deep, it was bleeding only a little and appeared as though the two sides would sew back together cleanly. He started the operation, knotting the end of his thread and systematically piercing the skin on either side of the gash with the needle. The tear in the flesh closed steadily until Cirro put in the last stitch, expertly tied off the thread, and cut it. He put the materials back into his belt pouch, lifted Senndra from the ground, and carried her into the barracks in search of an empty bed. Already the building was filling with casualties, but there were perhaps several hundred beds left. Cirro left Senndra in one of them and headed back out to the battle field.
******
Vladimir rolled a dead dwarf off of his legs and left arm and wiped his sword on its tunic. He slid the weapon back into its sheath and started to rise to his feet. Pain shot through his right leg, and he slumped to the ground again. He tried to pull himself to a nearby barrel, but when he put weight on his left arm, pain coursed through it. This time he fell on his face. Carefully he worked himself into a sitting position and looked at his arm. A knife handle protruded from the rear side of the upper part of the limb. Vladimir carefully gripped the weapon, but he accidentally bumped his elbow against his knee, jarring the knife. Pain swept up and down his arm, paralyzing his movement for several seconds. The pain cleared and he gripped the weapon again, but released it as he remembered the pain of upsetting the wound. Steeling his nerve, he slowly wrapped his fingers around the handle again and took a deep breath. Slowly he drew the knife out of his arm, fighting the pain that shot through his body like fire. When he had extracted the weapon, he flung it to the side and began to gently examine the wound.
“Vladimir, what do you think you’re doing?”
Vladimir looked up to see Timothy approaching. He didn’t look at all the worse for wear despite the recent battle. But Vladimir speculated that he had probably just healed himself with magic.
“I was taking that knife ou
t of my arm,” he said and pointed at the discarded weapon. “It hurt like hellfire, but I did get it out.”
“You should have waited until someone could help you,” Timothy reprimanded Vladimir. He knelt down to examine the wound. “I probably could have gotten it out with magic.”
“Nope,” Vladimir answered confidently. “It was made out of silver. You know how silver is very, um, explosive when it comes in contact with magic. If you had tried to take that knife out with magic, my arm probably would have blown up. Which,” he added with a pain-filled grin, “would have been pretty cool to see, but I think that I would have regretted it later.”
The blank expression on Timothy’s face changed to a smile. Then, with a shake of his head, he turned back to the wound and placed his hand over it while concentrating. A tingling sensation traveled from Timothy into Vladimir’s arm, and when Timothy took his hand away a second later, there was only the faintest scar to show where the wound had been. Vladimir flexed his arm and twisted it around, looking at it from all sides.
“Well,” he said with a shake of his head, “that sure beats having it stitched up and waiting several weeks for it to heal.”
“You’re as good as new,” Timothy said and slapped Vladimir on the back. “Now let’s see about helping the rest of the wounded out there.”
“I can hardly walk,” Vladimir answered. “I think my leg may be broken.” Timothy made a move to heal his leg, but Vladimir stopped him. “Don’t waste your energy on that,” he said. “There are a lot more life-threatening conditions out there, and until all of them are taken care of, I don’t want to see you wasting energy on a mere broken leg.”