Book 4: Chapter 57: The Battle for Hume I |
The camp awoke as one. A dream shared among them bound together by letters of gold. Whispers in their ears from loved ones, warm protective hands gently stroking their faces, waking them up. There was soft laughter lingering in their ears and each of them felt guided through their daily routines by a firm deep voice. They felt their muscles pump with blood and as they stepped out of their tents and onto the field they felt as if they were taking steps onto a massive scale, weighing it down on the side of righteousness.
Michael proceeded toward the rift wordlessly, seeing the thousands of men and women within the camp doing the same. They moved with certainty, checking their gear, mounting their horses and moving into the orderly lines that had been determined weeks prior. Ollie, Marcus, and Pyotr were right behind him as he moved. Initially they were going to be scattered into position with the other knights, mages, and dragoons, but there was no one they fought with better than one another.
Just before Michael made it into position, Gabriel rode along the front lines and stopped, leaping off his horse. He walked wordlessly to Michael and they clasped hands powerfully.
“Be safe,” said Gabriel quietly.
Michael patted his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve still got Alyssa’s flower with me. I’ll be fine.”
Gabriel smiled and said more quietly. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son,” replied Michael, tightening his grip for a moment.
Gabriel nodded at him one more time before releasing his grip and turning to the rest of them. “I expect to see the rest of you at the end of this too, eh?”
“Just be ready for us to crash on your couch for a few months after this and eat all of your food…like family,” said Ollie with a smile.
Michael looked ahead at the rift. The world was wounded. The crimson red pulsed and shifted as if there was something writhing behind bright tender flesh. Shadows could be seen gathering and dancing behind it, shapes of terrifying monsters gathered into a horde.
“I hope they can see us on this end,” remarked Pyotr. “I’m sure they’re questioning their choices.”
Michael smiled even as the dread in his chest built and the rift began to crack. He looked around, seeing thousands of men, women, and dwarves arrayed around him. He could sense Lance assembled with the other knights among the cavalry, Trina surrounded by faithful already beginning their prayers, Marlo surrounded by his guard facing the enemy even with his body not fully recovered.
He couldn’t hear the gods in his ear. They were with him, but they weren’t speaking. All of their focus was on what was happening at that moment. He felt them begin to pour energy into him, golden light and letters slowly expanding within his body. His right hand began to glow first, then Ruin, then The Wall, and then the Armor of the Restored. Flames began to flicker across him as well and divinity filled him and spread throughout his body.
He turned to Ollie.
“Can you extend my voice to everyone? The gods and I have something to say.”
Ollie nodded and raised his staff, the magicka around him gathering for a moment before spreading out across the field.
When Michael opened his mouth his voice wasn’t just his own, but was mixed with that of the gods.
“Join me in prayer!” He yelled hearing a resounding acknowledgement.
“Seras, protect us and let us protect those at our side!
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Nykas, bring us the joy of victory!
Bruntus, give us the will to see this battle through to the end!
Veras, help us to keep the loves we left behind from harm!
Durand, give us the strength to slaughter those that attack us!
Estaid, let us be your judgement against the invaders!”
As he spoke each line, he heard it repeated by everyone who stood with him, their voices syncing to near perfect unison as they roared their prayers. Michael could feel the power of their faith buoying the gods and the gods in turn strengthening the divine power within him.
“I bless you all in the name of the gods!”
As he spoke he saw golden letters explode from him and begin to spread out amongst all of those gathered. Blessings of Seras and Bruntus for those on the front, of Nykas for the mages, of Durand for the footsoldies, and of Estaid and Veras for the archers, dragoons, and those manning the siege weapons.
Almost the moment they landed, he felt the rift before them begin to crack. He turned his focus to it, gripping his mace tightly in his hand. The writhing had sped up and the rift itself began to shrink downward, its immense height being traded for width as it began to spread across the ground, well into the distance. The ground began to shake as a line of bright light spread from the center of the rift outward creating cracks like those that appear on the surface of a frozen lake under too much pressure. It expanded outward for an awful moment, and then shattered completely leaving a bleeding red gash across the distance.
There was a moment of dreadful quiet, then the rift monsters began to pour out of it.
A line of horned men thousands strong emerged running at a full sprint and roaring with hatred. Their massive frames covered in chainmail and their jagged-tipped spears pointed toward them. Behind the first row was another, and another, until the entire horizon began to look like a sea of horned men.
Michael raised his hand and began to send his will toward the rift.
He didn’t see a single insect, harpy, lizardman or even one of the more specialized horned men in thick carapace armor. They were sending their chaff out first. Their chaff that was twice the size of a normal man.
It didn’t take long for the first row of horned men to begin running into the trenches and traps that had been set for them. Very suddenly they began to vanish from sight as they fell into stake-filled pits. Explosions of oil activated, spreading the slick substance over them only to be lit aflame by spark-traps only a bit further on. In spite of this they pushed forward, eventually reaching a massive patch of mud that suddenly slowed them to a crawl, though many of them simply began climbing over one another.
Michael frowned at that. He’d fought horned men hundreds of times. They were fierce and wouldn’t shy away from a desperate charge, but he’d never known them to be as suicidally driven as they were at that moment. Whatever was driving them forward was far more fearsome than they were.
When they’d been sufficiently clustered and slowed, the trebuchets came into play. Massive stones that had been gathered over several months all launched with tremendous force, flying overhead and briefly shadowing the army of hume as they passed over them. The stones crashed perfectly, their trajectories having been perfectly determined ahead of time, and horn men were crushed and torn to pieces as they landed among them. In a normal combat between armies such tools wouldn’t normally be used, but given the force they were up against it made sense to use them.
The stones and mud slowed them momentarily, but whatever madness was driving them forward was unaffected by the devastation that had already been wrought upon them. They quickly ran into the next layer of traps and trenches, coming into range of the ballistae and catapults which, much like the trebuchet, sent missiles over the army of Hume and devastated the oncoming horde.
Hundreds of horned men had already been killed before they’d reached them, but there didn’t seem to be an end to them. As they came closer Marcus took Reaper and carefully aimed it, letting out a slow breath as he squeezed the trigger. One of the horned men fell, and he loaded to fire on another, and another. By his twentieth shot, other dragoons and the more skilled amongst the archers began to fire. They fell like wheat before a scythe even as their comrades ran over them, ignoring their cries of anguish as they got closer and closer to the army of Hume, the line behind them unending.
The firing of the trebuchet, catapults, ballistae, rifles, and bows became constant as the horned horde reached the final several hundred yards between them. Those unlucky few that had survived to make the final charge, did so in motley clusters, whatever original formation they’d had having been lost. When they were nearly halfway to the lines, the cavalry began their charge.
Dual horns blew as horses thundered from both sides. On one side Old Hume’s knights rode with lances raised and on the other rod the knights of Burndan with curved blades readied. They passed through the initial charge cleanly, cutting down nearly all of them that had made it that far before readying for another charge at the opposite ends from where they started.
Even with all they’d down, hundreds of horned men were nearly to the front. Michael finished wrapping his will around it, feeling other takers and diviners all around him doing the same. He tried to close his will, and found that it would not budge. They’d been right, the rift was being held open from the other side.
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