I parted with Arlene and rode ahead through the bog.

The ranger was thrust into the responsibility of safely guiding the town guards through the bog. She was competent and no doubt will complete her part without any failure.

There was no howling to be heard which means Rodo and his companions withdrew and are hopefully resting with the gypsies.

Halfway through, the goblins joined me. Their expression was one of abundant cheerfulness as they gathered around. Their smile broadened when I conveyed that we have found allies.

When we reached the gypsies, Ellie and Nemeash were waiting for us. Nemeash seemed down while Ellie looked as if she was ready to burst into tears.

“They were wounded. Rodo had to drag them back,” uttered Ellie.

“How many were wounded?”

“Twelve,” answered Nemeash.

I gave a sigh of relief. It could have been worse.

“I got some good news. The town guards from Westerleygates are here.” Upon hearing my words, the colour returned to their faces.

“Keep it to yourself. They are only fifty but they will reach us by sundown.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, urging them to keep the information among us. At least, for time being.

“Only fifty?” asked a disappointed Nemeash.

“Yes, but that would be double our present fighting force. They have cavalry but the cavalry cannot enter the bog. Tomorrow at the first rays of the sun, they would throw everything they got at us. If we hold on till the sun rises above the horizon, then we are safe.”

Nemeash took in the full impact of my statement and remained silent. While Ellie silently offered a prayer to whatever gods she prayed.

“Let us hope that Elsuriel still has needs for me here,” said Nemeash with a smile, attempting to hide his despair.

“Elsuriel?” I questioned.

“Oh, sorry, It is my diety. A very very minor god. Not many followers.”

So Nemeash has a patron deity, I never thought of him as the type to have a patron deity.

“Sleep well, they will not attack us tonight.”

“Are you certain?” asked Ellie with disbelief.

“Yes, I will have Armin and his brothers, do their fire breathing from a distance and scream salamander. They will believe we have a few trained salamanders in the bog. It will discourage them from carelessly attacking. So please rest”

“Rylon, how can you think of resting at this moment? With death hanging around. We may or may not survive the morning.” There was sheer panic in her voice.

“That is why I suggest you take a rest. Pass the message. I have led you till now. Please trust me on this one.” I put on my best reassuring face.

After I let Nemeash and Ellie mingle with the others, Vitalia came.

“Vitalia, You probably heard everything?”

“Yes, I did. Come morning will be the deciding battle,” she said it more like a remark, “but you were hiding something from them. Aren’t you?”

The fae was intuitive and insightful. She always guessed correct.

“Their archers and alchemist, especially, the alchemist. I am not certain how they will act. If they started hurling bombs or succeded in their spell casting, then we cannot win.” I finished revealing my uncertainty.

“The archers, I could do something. But it would hold only for a few moments. So you will have to be fast.”

It would be futile to ask the fae as to what she had in mind. If she wanted to reveal it, then she would have revealed it.

We both spend the remaining time in silence till Arlene arrived shortly before midnight with the town guards.

*****

I tapped Rodo on his arms, more as a sign of camaraderie before he lead his companions. It was a while before dawn but it was imperative that Rodo and his companions reach their position. Only a half of his companions remained. The apparent loss was evident in his gait. Our eyes met for a brief moment and a knowing glance passed between us. Rodo shrugged himself and without saying a word, lead his companions.

Shortly after Rodo left, Maapu led the goblins in the direction of the enemy camp. I followed the goblins for a while on my mount with Arlene falling close behind me on her mount. Once I was certain of the goblin’s hiding arrangement, I drove my mount further in the opposite direction from Rodo and his pack.

As the first rays of sun hit the horizon, I started my lone assault on their enemy camp, just as we planned.

A few arrows harmlessly flew past me. As I got closer to the camp, the sound of howling began, followed by the sound of hoofbeats from the right side of the camp. Our three-pronged attack on the enemy camp has started as planned.

As I rode closer, the reigning chaos in the enemy camp became apparent. Archers shuffled from one end to another as if their officers were unable to prioritize on a target. The fast-moving cavalry of Jorrel harassed the disorganised soldiers only to disappear among the row trees upon pursuit. Normally, the archers would have been set upon the cavalry, had it not been for the werewolves assaulting them simultaneously. The carnage of the werewolves persisted, striking terror with their howling. Their vicious claws proved every bit superior to the blades of the enemy. Shredding those reckless enough to cross their path. Their advance was only kept in check by the heavy infantry. Finally, someone made the right call to commit the archers to stop the advance of Jorrel and his riders. Soon the volley of arrows started raining down on what should have been the cavalry’s advance position. Except, I instructed Jorrel to expect the volley during our planning. His riders halted their advance halfway through and retreated back before the archers rearm themselves. That was the moment Arlene and I waited for. We took our chances and urged our mounts closer to the camp.

The only resistance we met came from the regular soldiers of The Pruning Hands. The mercenary sentries abandoned their position upon seeing our charge and ran towards the inner part of the camp, hoping to seek safety in large numbers. Our charge mangled a few isolated regular sentries but soon our advance was blocked by heavily armoured soldiers equipped with kite shields and spears. In a narrow span of time, both of us were surrounded.

In the midst of the chaos, a group of orcs silently marched through the bog. Their advance was unchecked. The sentries ignored their presence as they marched past the guarded perimeter and towards the supplies.

Our exit was blocked with kite shields and protruding spears, almost forming an enclosure. An enclosure that kept shrinking. The sharp tip of the spears pointed towards us, promising to deliver an agonising death. The spears were held by firm arms, guided by rage and hatred. Rage for their dead companions and hatred for our tenacity to survive. Hatred for our race. Hatred because they were indoctrinated.

“Any moment now,” I shouted to my companion, “hold on. Soon, very soon.”

Just as I finished my statement, the flame engulfed in the middle of the camp, followed by a loud commotion. The sudden commotion attracted the attention of many, including some of those who sought to entrap us.

I unsheathed my twin swords as I dismounted in a smooth motion. My landing was followed by a roll dodge aiming to reach the line of shields. My target was the unprotected gap at the lower part of the tower shield. My blade snaked through the gap and delivered a pernicious slash on the leg of a soldier holding the shield. The soldier stood still. The thick sabaton took the slash and held fast as if taunting the blade for a silent debate. I went for the second blow. I switched my grip and hammered on the sabaton with the pommel of my sword. I braced myself. A shock passed through my hand. An impact which the sabaton withstood, but not the foot of the shieldman and in the blink of an eye, he lost his balance.

Arlene took advantage of the gap in the line and broke her way out through the gap. My mount followed her diligently, while I ran behind them for a few steps till I managed to get on my mount again. As planned, we then retreated.

The smoke from the burning supplies rose above in a swirl further agitating the outlaws and the mercenaries to abandon. A few moments later, chaos erupted at the enemy camp. The looters fell upon The Pruning Hands camp.

I chuckled, to the curiosity of Arlene.

“Why the laugh?” asked my companion.

“See,” I pointed towards the attempted looting in the enemy camp, “that is why you should never recruit from brigands and bandits. One small push is all it takes to revert them back to their natural instincts.”

“In case, you did not notice, our presence is expected elsewhere,” uttered Arlene with a mixture of urgency and irritation.

“Patience. You should practice the virtue more often,” as I pulled my mount to a halt.

“This should be sufficient enough. Let us see how they deploy their final assault.” I suggested.

Arlene fumed and muttered something under her breath.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

We had put sufficient distance between us and the enemies during our retreat. Distance is sufficient enough to engage in some quick conversation.

“There is no help in rushing ahead without proper knowledge. Impatience would only get us killed. Our targets are the alchemist and archers. We will infer their positions before we leave.” I crossed my arms and kept my eyes open on the moments in the enemy camp.

Soon, in the distance, the heavily armoured infantrymen proceeded through the bog in a jagged file. Each file contained around fifty soldiers. After the sixth file covered commensurable distance, the archers and the alchemist followed.

“Now we ride,” I said to my impatient companion.

*****

They might have been a few hundred and they marched through the bog. Against them stood the town guards with their tower shields in a line. Behind them stood the crossbowmen, talking solace and trust in the fact that their compatriots holding the shields in front of them would protect them. The shieldmen for their part were steeped in their conviction that the crossbowmen behind them would not let an oncoming assault reach them.

Behind those ill-fated town guards stood the gypsies. Almost all of them were equipped with one form of a weapon or another. Though most favoured a hunting bow. They were fully committed to supporting the town guards. Nemeash and Anselm stood on either side of the shield line, acting as their unofficial commanders.

The gypsies were the first to release their volley of arrows as the first row of armoured attackers came in view. Some of the attackers simply raised their tower shields, others placed their trust on their plate armour and the gambeson they wore.

The enemy attackers advanced. The distance between them shrunk. A few heartbeats later their archers unleashed their fury. A volley of arrows travelled in a great arc, aiming to deliver death in one fell swoop. Halfway through the flight, the trajectory of the arrows changed, as if met by an invisible barrier. Some arrows were deflected and others fell short on their planned trajectory.

“Impressive,” I praised, “Your mentor cast a barrier over the whole area.”

Arlene’s eyes followed the trajectory of the volley keenly.

“No, there is no barrier. Just difference in air pressure. But even she cannot hold for long,” she spoke with concern in her voice.

“She bought us time, just as she promised. We do our part.” Without waiting for her answer, I charged my mount towards the mass of archers and alchemists.

I let the dire boar gore the first two archers who stood in my path. Their blood splattered across the tusk making my mount appear even more menacing. But my immediate targets were a bit further away, behind the archers, the light robed alchemists.

A quick hop from my mount and my feet were firm of the ground. with my twin swords drawn, I rushed towards the alchemists. Fear reigned in their face. The first of the alchemist, the closest one attempted to run. I delivered a heavy slash. A heavy cut across the spine. He ran a few steps and then fell face forward as his legs gave out.

The werewolves soon joined me. In their transformed state, Rodo and his companions looked terrifying. A stare from their yellow eyes conveyed their bloodthirst. Their thick fur matted with dried blood provided indisputable proof of their carnage.

Rodo, or at least, the one who I assumed to be the pack leader in their transformed state, fixed his gaze at me for a moment and then a howl. A howl, unlike the other howl. A howl, more like a greeting, if it could be called a greeting. Only five other werewolves remained by his side. The fate of the rest, one can easily infer.

Their howling froze those who heard but only for a few heartbeats. A time sufficient enough for the werewolves to pounce on their victim. Their victims had very little time to respond. A swipe of those powerful claws ripped through the lightly armoured alchemists. A shock registered on the face of their victims. Then the second swipe and it was all over within three heartbeats.

My blade cut a few of the alchemists in quick succession. Arlene knew how to pick the correct target. Those who attempted to cast spells were immediately silenced with her arrows. I continued proceeding further hoping to meet up with Rodo and his pack. There was very little in terms of resistance. An occasional flask was hurled in my direction which I easily dodged. The nervous alchemists posed very little threat.

Soon Maapu and the goblins sprung from their hiding place. Their spears found easy targets and the already panicked alchemist offered little in terms of resistance.

Notwithstanding our combined assault, soon the remaining alchemist abandoned their reckless assault and retreated away from the bog.

“Don’t bother chasing, target the archers,” I shouted a rallying cry. No doubt Jorrel and his riders who waited outside the bog would pick any who managed to getaway.

The first few archers were unprepared and we got a few lucky hits. The werewolves though few in number made up for their lack of quantity through their brutality. Their powerful swipe cleaved through the surprised archers. The chainmail of the archers did nothing to hinder the ferocity of their assailants. The werewolves proceeded unchecked through their butchery.

The goblins on the contrary were much more methodical. They worked in groups of two, just as instructed. They would sneak on their opponents, stab them from behind, make their opponent lose their balance. Once their opponent fell to the ground, they would fall upon them. They left their opponent’s face bloodied, pierced through their thighs and legs and their bowstrings cut. For, the aim of the goblins was not to kill their opponents but rather remove their ability to engage in ranged combat.

The archers recognised the threat that we posed. They abandoned drawing their bows and switched to the long daggers. Their determination was evident from the way they held the weapons. Ready to strike. We persisted in our attack. The assault pushed further. The werewolves ignored the slashing from the archers and attacked senselessly. The goblins were crafty, stayed away from the range of the long daggers while they thrust their poisoned spears from out of reach.

I, for my part, spun like a whirlwind through, my blades occasionally landing a lucky hit. My breathing fell in a rhythmic pattern. One draw of breath, two full rotations, four diagonal slashes. I repeated the pattern. I cared not if my attack connected. All that mattered was my pattern. A show of threat to capture their attention, to prevent them from aiming their arrows, to demoralise them. A mixture of despair and terror filled the archers. They backtracked their steps guided only by their primitive instinct, to survive.

We routed the archers. Only the final threat remained. The heavy infantry of The Pruning Hands.

*****

Nemeash was a mess. He held a spear for support and panted like a mangy mutt on a hot summer. His dirty overalls were drenched in sweat. His footing unstable and he trembled as he pushed himself to counter the spear thrust towards him.

On the other side, Anselm and Ellie were not blessed with much luck either. Ellie held a quarterstaff and tried to protect Anselm. Anselm bleed from a deep cut on his forehead. His left hand hung, twisted in an unnatural way. To his credit, he still stood up and tried to ram into a kite shield.

The defending line of townguards were mostly obliterated. Only four of the tower shields held. The rest lay motionless, strewn around the field of death. The crossbowmen fared better. Ten of them still remained, still shooting their bolts at the oncoming infantry. From their state, it was evident that they have been repulsing wave after wave.

We drove our mounts forward, slamming through a few of the enemies while attempting to reach the defense line.

“Rylon, we cannot hold much longer,” shouted Ellie upon my arrival.

“We don’t have to. We have won already.” I grinned.

“But they are there. Still coming.” spoke Anselm after a struggle.

“Ellie, pass the word, take the children and elderly first and run. Do not bother with carrying anything else. Nemeash, inform the rest to scatter. Outside the bog, Captain Jorrel and Sir Theodore are awaiting us. We reconvene there.”

“Theo... always a good lad. One of us. I knew, he will come.” uttered Anslem, in his characteristic manner. His vitality suddenly returned upon hearing the news.

“But they are still there. They would chase us.” Ellie voiced her concern still.

“Yes they would chase you. But will never catch up. Clad in heavy armour, gambeson and chainmail. They will not run far. Not in the bog. Their breath will give out before they catch any of you.” I did not bother hiding my smirk.

“Guardsmen, I would ask only one final request of you,” I turned and addressed the battered townguards. Their eyes were expressionless and bleak.

“While the civilians evacuate, We will hold the path. I will not ask anything from anyone of you, that I will not do personally. I will be with you. We, The Aberrant Irregulars will be with you. Cover the civilians while they leave.” The speech was short but the message was nevertheless conveyed.

“Nemeash, I saw your skill with the quarterstaff. Trip anyone you can. In the bog with heavy armour, they will never get up on their own.”

“I will,” answered a tired Nemeash.

In the meanwhile, Ellie deftly rallied the gypsies. The combination of looming threat of death and the prospect of safety beyond the bog was a great motivating factor for all. Soon, the column of children and elderly snaked their way through the bog. Once the last of the column proceeded the townguard took their position to cover the rear of the column.

Meanwhile, Theko who had been instructed to stay away from the battle, bestowed with the solemn responsibility of protecting a bundle, opened the bundle and took its contents out. He held thick ropes in his pudgy hands and passed them along. One coil of rope for every pair of them. The goblin pairs ran holding the rope taut between themselves, tripping rows of heavily armoured infantrymen. Their short limbs, obviously no match for the strides of the infantrymen, yet their natural tenacity in the bog more than made up their disadvantage. The proceeding row of infantry stumbled and then fell heavily in the slough. The Aberrant Irregulars did exactly what was required, to delay the progress.

At a distance, Nemeash kept his promise. He closed in, tripped one and fell back to his line. The rest of the gypsy men formed a crude defensive line under the command of Anselm. They had meagre success in stopping the advance of the armoured infantry and kept falling back immediately upon first contact.

Arlene and me, the only two mounted people in the bog, charged our dire boars and slammed through the row of advancing infantry. A small group of the enemy infantry broke from the main column , attempting to intercept the line of civilians making their escape. But the gap between the pursuer and the escapees widened with every fleeting moment. The pursuit of the infantry was hindered by their own heavy armour.

Once I was certain that the column lead by Ellie placed a sufficient distance between themselves and their pursuers, I gave shout to scatter and with that everyone abandoned their position and dispersed into the bog.

*****

It was in the middle of the day when all of us managed to convene with Jorrel and Theodore. The stonecleaver orcs were nowhere to be seen. Ellie stood closer with the gypsies, organising or controlling the effect of the aftermath. Near Ellie, on the ground, lay Rodo. He was battered and looked every bit like a bloodied human-sized ragdoll than the assertive barrel-chested human that I first met. when our eyes met, he gave a wry smile with acknowledgement.

“We survived, huh,” Rodo struggled to form simple words.

“Yes, we did.” I knelt down beside him and touched his shoulders gently.

“Not many of my companions survived. Some will not survive the night.” A pain, not physical but more emotional, evident in his words.

“We all carry such burdens.” The pallid faces of countless drows flashed through my memory. One face stood and stared at me in particular. General Savvas. I called him my brother and he was the first collateral in my bid for power. No, I sacrificed him for my ambition. I pushed aside the memory. There are more important things to consider.

Theodore cleared his throat as he nudged closer to me.

“Yes, Sir Theodore, you have my attention.” I stood up and walked away from Rodo.

“I have sent two outriders to Westerleygates. We should be expecting aid soon.”

“But we cannot wait here, closer to the bog. I will let Arlene know. She can cut some branches, forage some from the enemy camp. I suggest we load the wounded on makeshift stretchers and still move.” I darted my eyes to ensure the privacy of our conversation and in a low whispering voice, I continued, “safety is only assured behind the walls of westerleygates.”

“Noted, I will get Captain Jorrel to organise the rest,” agreed Theodore without any argument.

As we walked, I heard the words “the shattered shield” being whispered.

“What is this about the shattered shield, that I keep hearing,” I enquired Theodore.

“You don’t know? That is what they are calling you now.”

“huh?”

“You routed an army of three thousand with a hand full of Irregulars while keeping everyone safe. So they are calling you that.” explained an amused Theodore.

To the best of my memory, I never carried a shield during the battle. I had my suspicion on who could have orchestrated my newfound fame.