“Fire!”

The thunder of the Plasma Carronades nearly deafened Heron, who stood right next to it.

“Fallen Sun!”

The cannoneer swore as smoke rose from the barrel even as the ball of superheated plasma flashed across the distance, erupting in a fountain of fire.

“Aiieeee!”

Three barbarians were caught in the blast, hair and clothes aflame as they rolled on the snowdrift, trying to put out the flames.

It was too late though, Heron thought, their skin had melted and blood dripped out of large sores. They were effectively out of the battle.

“Keep them off me!” The cannoneer, Brook Talley, an Agminis legionnaire, yelled as he pulled open a panel on the carronade.

The barbarians quickly ate up the distance. There was a strip of barren land between the palisade and stunted trees and there was a trench with sharpened stakes just in front of the wall. Despite this, Heron didn’t feel safe at all.

What must have been hundreds of grey-skinned barbarians, each of them taller than he was, suddenly emerged out of the tundra right after the blizzard. The alarm was raised and the legionnaires and militia assembled at the walls. From there they saw their adversaries ready and waiting half a longstride away, roaring a chant in their indecipherable language. Once there were enough men on the walls, the barbarians charged.

Heron kept a white-knuckled grip on his spear. He’d heard about the Northern Barbarians during his time in Camp 1-2, and the more he knew, the worse he felt. He could only hope that Yuriko and the other girls stayed in Fort Aegermonth. Then again, it was just as bad for the men as the barbarians never took male prisoners.

The palisade was about five paces high, though it should probably be called a proper wall with battlements by now. Only a little stretch of it near the edges of the camp were made of wood while the rest were built with stone. It even had carronade towers to house the two ageing weapons.

The barbarians ran closer, and as they came within a couple of dozen paces out, Heron somewhat wished that he was rated to use a Plasma Caster. Bolts of different coloured plasma erupted from the Casters along the wall, drilling into barbarian flesh, leaving charred skin.

That was the problem.

The bolts should have drilled through them, leaving a gaping, cauterised wound. Instead, only the surface of their skin was damaged.

Heron focused on his spear, channelling his Animus into Empowered Strike. With his other hand, he channelled Animus into his Facet and glimmers of hardened air appeared around him.

The barbarians came close and despite the barrage, few fell dead. The forerunners spun around so that their backs were to the wall, crouched, and then boosted the ones following them over the wall. Well, they tried to, anyway.

Heron jabbed his Animus powered spear into the face of an incoming barbarian, who landed near the top. The spearhead skittered across the man’s face until it caught the ridge of his brow and then sank into the eye. The man blinked but Heron shoved the weapon in as hard as he could, gritting his teeth when he was sprayed with blood. The barbarian squealed in pain before he let go of his grip and fell down into the spike filled trench.

Heron didn’t have time to make sure the barbarian died. He felt himself trembling but had to squash it as another barbarian scaled the wall and was halfway over the crenellations. He stabbed at him, driving his full body weight behind the thrust. The target had his hands occupied and could do nothing but take the blow head-on. Again, the spearhead skittered across the skin; Heron’s Animus struck sparks but left nothing except a white mark.

The barbarian screamed at him in defiance, but Heron didn’t understand the Ikash language, so he could only shrug as he stomped forward and pushed the man off the wall.

He ducked just in time as another managed to get over the wall. He swung an axe that Heron intercepted with his hardened air shield. The weapon rebounded and the barbarian man staggered back.

Boy. It was a boy not much older than Heron, he realised. A beardless giant of a boy.

Still, the bloodlust swimming behind the barbarian’s eyes was quite obvious and Heron didn’t hesitate. He stabbed his spear into the man’s chest, adding more Animus into his blow than before. He was rewarded by the sight of his weapon digging into the skin and flesh. The barbarian clutched at the spear haft and almost wrenched it out of Heron’s grasp.

“Let go!” he growled, yanking the spear close and kicked at the boy’s knee.

It, and the stab into the chest, was enough. The boy keeled over and Heron managed to retrieve his weapon, though not before another barbarian swung at him with a mallet.

The hardened air shield shattered on contact and Heron staggered back. The space along the walls was barely three paces wide, and the back of his foot hit the edge. He dove to the side, losing the spear in the process but it was either that or his head.

When he got his bearings, it was to look up at a swiftly striking hammer. Heron’s pulse thundered in his ears and his eyes widened in fear. He half raised his hands, but his instincts caused him to do something else.

A slanted hardened air shield materialized in the weapon’s path, deflecting it enough that it struck the stone wall instead of Heron’s noggin. The next moment, plasma bolts peppered and melted through the barbarian’s skin and flesh, followed by a piercing whine, an eruption of blood on the torso. The next moment, the barbarian fell over.

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Heron scrambled to his feet, hands groping for his spear. Along the wall was a fierce struggle of life and limb. Legionnaires battled two against a single giant. Each barbarian boy was nearly a head taller than any other man.

They were fierce fighters but ultimately undisciplined, Heron thought.

But not all battles were tilted on the imperials’ side. Even as he watched, one of the barbarians got under a legionnaire’s guard, gutting the poor man and knocking him off his feet. Heron staggered forward, attempting to save the man’s life but even as he moved, the barbarian slashed twice and split open the man’s chest. The first blow was rebuffed by the forceweave but the second managed to bypass it.

With a triumphant roar, the barbarian stabbed his fingers into the man’s flayed open chest then pressed the blood against his chest, leaving a single streak of blood against the grey skin. The barbarian shuddered and a ghastly smile formed on his face. At least until Heron stabbed him in the eye. The boy shuddered and fell backwards.

“Healer!” Heron yelled, but even as he came close, the fallen man shuddered and ceased to breathe. “Burning Moon.” Heron muttered as he turned back to the fray. There were more barbarians breaching the wall, and the carronades were still silent.

Even as he swung, stabbed, kicked, and punched, Heron was ever thankful that Yuriko wasn’t here. Down the wall, there was a veritable flood of barbarians and he didn’t know if they could even hold on long enough for reinforcements to arrive. A glance back revealed dozens of messenger cranes flying to the south. He could only hope it was enough.

_______

“Braden!” Orrin yelled as he activated his Facet, pulling the barbarian’s foot towards him. His twin was already activating his Facet, even as he yelled, pushing at the gigantic man’s face. The opposing forces tipped the aggressor on his back.

“Again!” Braden yelled, blue sparks flew from his hands as he pushed. With a strangled yell, the barbarian fell over and dropped headfirst into the trench under the palisade.

The two weren’t on the wall, but on the ground just behind it. The reach of their Facets had increased with their advancement to Apprentice, but the counterforce was still the same. Orrin felt bruised as he pitted his weight against a man more than twice his weight. They were braced against each other, keeping them on their feet instead of being flung about like dummies.

Orrin kept watch at the wall. The legionnaires and militiamen were in a fierce struggle. The stench of hot blood permeated the air, making Orrin retch, but he couldn’t be distracted. No, he must focus or all of their lives would be forfeit.

Braden thrust his hand at a barbarian swinging an axe at a legionnaire facing off against another one. The push was just enough to stagger the attacker, just enough that the militiaman nearby managed to stab him in the guts. The barbarian roared but managed another swing that Orrin pulled off-centre. The stone axehead bounced against the militiaman’s shoulder instead of his forehead.

The twins aimed their Plasma Lancets and let loose. Red and black bolts splashed against another barbarian, distracting him enough that another legionnaire cut him down.

“When will this end?” Orrin gasped.

Camp 3-1 wasn’t even at the front lines. It was on the third layer of defence yet they were being swarmed by barbarians.

“How many are here, anyway?” Braden grunted. “I’m getting low on Animus.”

“Let’s choose our shots.”

“Yeah.”

The fighting was hot and furious, the snow turned a sort of brownish-red. Down in the yard, Orrin had a good view of the fight. The centurion in charge of them didn’t let them man the walls. The cadets had been spread out amongst the varied camps, Orrin wasn’t sure how many there were, but he knew that a camp was about two to three leagues away from each other. Normally, the barbarian raiders would have attacked the frontmost camps, trickling down to the second and third line after being blunted.

And the normal raids wouldn’t be a huge horde like this either. How long before reinforcements from Fort Aegermonth arrive? The Camp Commander was a Knight-Captain, surely strong enough to turn the tide?

Explosions, brilliant flashing lights, and thunderous sounds came down the wall. A large barbarian with a hazy silhouette around himself was fighting blade to blade with the commander.

Orrin couldn’t help but stare.

The barbarian’s silhouette had a huge protruding horn and he was using it to parry the commander’s glaive. His large stone axe rose and fell with disturbing rhythm while the legionnaire was pushed back until his foot was half over the wall’s lip. With a backwards glance, the commander leapt off and landed several paces away. The barbarian jumped and landed with a loud bang.

They continued their duel in the yard, slowly moving towards Orrin and Braden.

“We have to help,” Braden declared.

“How?”

Even as they watched, the commander blocked both axes with the glaive’s head and shaft, but the barbarian slammed his head forward, smashing the commander’s forehead with the horn. The man staggered back, trying to regain his balance, but the barbarian was relentless.

Like the others of his kind, he was bare-chested and Orrin could see a few red patterns on his chest. Four, he thought.

The commander managed to regain his pace with a wildly swung blow glowing with Animus. It cut into the barbarian’s chest and a shower of blood glimmered in the air. But his foe had stepped back just in time. The seemingly powerful blow was no more than a glancing hit.

With a savage grin, the monstrous human launched a powerful overhead blow.

“Now!” Braden yelled as he used his Facet.

Orrin did the same, tugging at the barbarian’s heels. Sparks flew from their hands as opposing forces magnified the strength of their Facets. The barbarian staggered but didn’t fall. The commander managed to reposition his glaive and he thrust the point at the giant’s eye. With a stiff growl, the attack was avoided.

Then it was back to the relentless back and forth. The combatants moved out of the twins’ reach. Braden was gasping for breath.

“We need some tonics,” Orrin muttered.

“There isn’t enough to go around. We must endure.” Braden grunted.

Still, they moved away from the walls in a bid to conserve their Animus. There was no way they could meditate to accelerate their recovery.

Ten minutes later and the assault simply stopped. Orrin and Braden exchanged weary glances as they peeked around the log cabin they took shelter in. Legionnaires were still at the wall, and the sudden ceasing of roars, booms, and screams felt strange.

“Let’s help with the triage,” Braden suggested.

“Yeah.”

Orrin could see bodies scattered around but not all of them had ceased breathing. They rushed to the nearest one, a young man with his right arm missing from the shoulder down. Blood was slowly oozing from the partially cauterized stump. Orrin grabbed his kerchief and used it to tourniquet the limb. The two of them carried the stricken man towards the clinic, though they weren’t sure if the healer was there.

By the time they arrived at the cabin, some two hundred paces away, there were already a bunch of wounded laid out on canvas beddings on the snow. The twins carried their charge to the triage tent and notified the healer on duty. Then they went back to the wall, looking for survivors amongst the bodies.

Instead, they found a barbarian sitting with his back against the wall at a secluded space that they took a shortcut through. The giant bared his teeth as Orrin and Braden approached but he didn’t try to stand. He was cradling his stomach, hands red from blood. There was a stench that rose from his body, sweet and sour at the same time. Orrin glanced at his twin, and upon meeting the other’s gaze, saw the same implacable will.

As one, they pointed their Plasma Lancets at the stricken barbarian and unloaded enough superheated plasma on his head to turn it into charcoal. Orrin drew a shuddering breath. Braden patted his shoulder and the two of them continued on their path. There were still wounded men to save.