“Keep at it!” Horn shouted as the skeletal hounds poured through the gateway below him. Around him, his crafters kept throwing boulders at the attacking horde. He was waiting for a Flame Strike, cooldown to refresh.
The battle had joined. The beginning went smoothly as the reinforced walls held and funneled the horde through the gate into waiting axes and hammers. The bone hounds were low-level, with only a few above five, at least according to his Lore skill. The remaining skellies quickly approached, and the archer contingent even began already shooting, but with abysmal efficiency. As long as they would run out of ammo, Horn was sure of his victory.
Quantity was a quality of its own, but there wasn’t much chance to lose against it if one took it out. Like Spartans at Thermopile, a few could hold hundreds if they were funneled, and despite seemingly being organized, the skeletons were still quite dumb. They kept in formations and moved as one, but they didn’t even try to outsmart him. Horn was smiling under his nose as another column of fire shot out of his hand, bathing a swath of hounds in the holy fire. The bones just evaporated under the flames, leaving nothing behind.
The main host approached, and the fire from skeleton archers increased in density. The trashed walls didn’t offer much protection, but it didn’t matter much with only a dozen of his clan on them. They were safe enough to lob the stones over the wall without peeking. Horn, however, rose to his feet and stood in plain sight, taunting the skeletons. Soon a barrage of projectiles flew his way, only to harmlessly bounce off his Shield of faith. It wasn’t just posing, but a deliberate move to deplete arrows. The shield began cracking after a few moments, but at least a few dozen projectiles were wasted. A few dozen that wouldn’t be used against his warriors.
The few moments on top of the walls also allowed him to search the army for the necromancer, but again the hooded human was nowhere to be seen. Maybe his scout was mistaken, and the host wasn’t led by one of them. Horn prayed that was the case. It’d make this fight much easier.
He hopped down the ledge and moved to the nearest ladder. With half of his mana down, he was useless on top.
Below the funnel worked perfectly. The wave of hounds crashed against a wall of dwarven bodies. All his fighters were stationed here, with adepts in the second row to heal when necessary. An orchestra of methodical violence. His warriors looked grim, but he knew they were enjoying this. Bone pieces flew after each strike, raising a cloud of white dust. Despite the slaughter, the air smelled of old dust.
Behind the main line, the scorpions awaited, their wagons placed at the door to the main keep, with arrows pointed towards the main gateway. They had his order to wait for the skeletal leaders or the necros. He saw their crews focused on the breach, hands tightening on the release levers. It was all going according to the plan.
Halfway between the battle line and war machines, master Yellowrock stood with his students. They surrounded him in a semicircle and had their hands raised. For a brief moment, Horn could swear that whisps of light traveled from their outstretched palms into the old dwarf, then as one, the students dropped to the ground. The mage himself was calmly standing, muttering something, while his hands made slow motions in front of him. A bead of sweat was visible on his forehead. Horn watched him intently, wondering about the spell he’ll see.
A minute later, his patience was rewarded. The geomancer, with a sharp gesture, kneeled and slammed his palms into the ground. A small tremor went through the castle, but then just in front of Horn’s dwarves, hands punched through the cobblestone floor—hands made out of dirt and stone. Like the boss in the dungeon, a dozen humanoid figures began to dig themselves out of the ground. Each was a bit larger than a dwarf, made out of whatever was underground: dirt, stone, mud, even roots composed their body. Without a doubt, they began smashing the bones. Skeleton’s weapons and fists didn’t seem to have any effect on them. A dozen seemingly immortal warriors kept flaying around, adding to the destruction.
Horn watched the spectacle, mesmerized. He wasn’t needed on the line, so he enjoyed the show. His line reinforced with earthen golems made mincemeat out of the bone hounds.
A loud THUNG announced his war machines joining the fray. As scorpion bolts launched, he saw a shadow appearing in the gateway, only to meet two projectiles. The massive skeleton of the ogre evaporated in a cloud of bone shrapnel.
“It’s just too easy,” Horn mumbled with a smile.
But as he’d done that, a movement in the corner of his eyes took his attention. However, before he could focus on that, a flight of arrows went over the wall. They had to be shot almost vertically, but they found a chin in his armor. He could only watch as a dozen or so hit his warriors. Thankfully, they lost most of their power in the long flight. Still, he heard groans of pain as dwarves got hit. More than the damage itself, the effect of surprise took a toll. His troops missed a beat, and that was enough for the remaining hounds to find a purchase.
Horn threw himself towards the line, casting Radiant blast. The wave of light pushed back the skeletons just in time. The light blinded and burned their unholy bodies, giving the moment of respite. He saw his adepts following his steps as several more explosions rocked the undead line. His axe was already swinging, pulverizing the nearest enemy. Another flight of arrows came down, but this had a lesser effect. His line was reorganized, and the balance was achieved once again. But then, a shout of warning punched through the noise of battle.
“Motherfu…” Horn said as he saw the reason for the commotion. His dead warriors, stacked in one corner of the courtyard, were standing up with red glow pouring out of their wounds and hobbling towards scorpion crews.
Taking a step back from the battle line, he quickly assessed the situation. His forces were spread thin, with hundreds of skellies still pouring through the gate. He had a dozen or so stuck on the wall and another dozen at the scorpions. Beside the old mage, who slumped to his knees after casting the summoning spell, there wasn’t anyone left to reinforce the scorpions. Almost thirty fresh undead against a bunch of crafters, Horn cursed his luck but shouted, “Keep the line! I’ll handle that.”
He saw a bit of confusion in his dwarves, but they listened. Thanking for small wins, he sprinted towards the mage and his acolytes. Getting closer, he saw him holding his head. The man looked even older than he was. The spell had to take everything out of him. Horn dropped next to him, fumbling with one of the last vials of mana potions available. Pouring the bitter mixture into Yellowrock’s lips, he said, “Master! We’re about to be overwhelmed. We need your strength. The whole clan is depending on it!”
Unintelligible mutter replied, but there Horn saw a spark of pride in old mage’s eye. He hoped it’d be enough and got up, running towards his siege machines. Giving it to the crews, they didn’t panic. He saw one of his engineers calmly barking commands to the civilians as they reloaded the bow. The weapons were turning against their dead kin, who were slowly approaching. The first erratic movements of the undead began to smoothen up like they were relearning how to walk. Thankfully, due to resource constraints, they were stripped bare of any useful equipment save the clothing.
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As Horn closed to the zombies, the scorpions launched. The massive bolts tore through the undead, taking out a few. But already, he noticed an issue. Skeletons just disintegrated under such a blow, while these undead lost limbs and just kept going. A few that got their chests pulverized dropped down, but the rest just kept going.
Horn launched his fireball into the zombies, taking out three or four and setting a few more on fire. That almost gave him a pause, as the unexpected effect just made things worse. Now flaming zombies were closing on his wooden carts with wooden crossbows and wooden bolts. Cursing, he threw himself between the groups, shouting to the crews. “On me, let’s put them to rest!”
His mana was dangerously low, with a quarter remaining, enough for two, three more casts. He began channeling it into Blessing of Might, burning half of the reserve. Just as the zombies approached, the scorpion crews gathered around. A few hand weapons, even a few four-by-fours, and a determined look on their faces were all they had. A quick thought went through his mind; his dwarves were cocky bastards, armed with wood to bash skulls of their old clanmates, not a hint of fear in them.
The spell took effect, muscles building all around him, with a heartful battle cry, “Get some!” Horn threw himself into the fight. Slashing left, and right gave a pause to the undead, but they ignored most of their wounds and just kept pushing. Horn’s warriors with blunt weapons had a bit more luck, breaking bones and bashing skulls. The blessing gave them the strength necessary to do so. Yet as seconds passed, it was clear it wouldn’t be enough. First, one of the cooks fell, overwhelmed, and buried under a group of zombies. His screams pierced the battle. Then a builder joined him. The zombies were dropping, but not fast enough. Just as Horn was about to call a retreat, a football-sized boulder flashed past his head, slamming into one of the undead.
He saw the mage still on his knees but with the quarterstaff pointed towards the zombies. Light shone from the golden knob at the end. The dwarf was squeezing his golden necklace with the other hand, his skin was even paler than before, but the stubborn dwarf just kept on. Around him, rocks big and small rose into the air before launching at the zombies with incredible speed. Punching holes in the small horde, giving Horn’s fighters a chance.
Spending his last mana, Horn shouted, “Radiant blast!”, the light burned the enemies while slightly healing his fighters. They attack with fury, smashing, and slashing. Then the stones stopped flying, and the mage sank to the ground. However, he did his job. The zombies were in shambles, and Horn was quickly finishing them. However, it wasn’t the end.
Just as he was about to call it a victory, a burst of maniacal laughter erupted from the nearby wall. Raising his eyes, he saw a laughing skull flying toward his group. It burned with green flames, them curving behind like a comet trail. Looking behind it, he saw a dark-robed figure with the second massive skeleton climbing the wall. The necromancer, as it had to be one, was already casting another spell. Before Horn could react, the skull hit one of his engineers, the one that led the crews a few minutes ago. It sank into his chest, munching on it. A scream of pain escaped the dwarf as the skull bitten his heart, leaving Horn watching in horror. The dwarf dropped dead not a second later, only to raise immediately and throw himself at his old comrades. Thankfully, the skull disappeared as soon as it finished its grim duty.
Just as the juggernaut skelly finished climbing, a salvo of bolts crashed into the necromancer. Horn’s crossbowmen, hidden on the walls, finally found their prey. However, as the bolts were to sink into the robbed figure, they curved, and all slammed at the skeleton. The bone figure was thrown away with the impact but already began raising from the ground. Horn cursed, seeing such defenses, especially that the mage finished casting another spell. A dozen bolts of black miasma appeared around him, launching at the shooters. Yelps of surprise, followed by groans, followed.
Pissed off, Horn shouted, “Ey! You little bitch! Maybe fight someone your size!” The mage ignored him, again launching into the cast. Horn wanted to shout in frustration, as he couldn’t do anything. His mana was spent, he wasn’t too wounded, but it didn’t matter as the necromancer was fifteen feet above him. In frustration, he grabbed a rock and threw it. Surprisingly, the slow-moving projectile hit. With his Might of twenty-three, it packed a bit of punch and broke the caster’s concentration. The figure grunted and turned towards curse spewing Horn. “Yea, that what you’ll get! Not so mighty anymore?!”
The mage said something, and the giant skeleton jumped from the wall towards Horn. “You must be kidding me,” was all he could say before throwing himself in the roll to avoid the massive undead. It was over twice his height, with hip bones almost as thick as Horn’s body. It took a few seconds for both of them to reorient when the skeleton launched himself at Horn.
The mountain of bones was surprisingly agile for its size, pushing Horn to the defensive. The massive arms flayed, as the first struck his shield, his arms trembled under strain. It hit like a damn sledgehammer. Horn barely dodged another strike and countered with his axe. It dug into the yellowish bone, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on his enemy. A second later, he had to throw himself back to avoid a stomp. The feet cracked a few stones in the cobblestone pavement. Horn gulped loudly. He knew he was utterly outmatched here. A quick check with Lore showed him, Bone golem level 15-20. On top of that, he saw the necromancer casting again. A familiar fiery skull began forming in front of him, its eyes locked at Horn.
That minor distraction was painful as the golem slammed its arm into Horn’s side. He was launched in the air, flying a good dozen yards, before smashing into the keep’s wall. He heard bones break, and a taste of blood in his mouth told him he was in trouble. Standing up, he heard what he was afraid of. The maniacal laughter echoed through the walls. He saw the skull descending. He grabbed his shield tighter when he remembered one small detail. The resignation on his face changed into a vicious grin. He waited for another second as the skull closed the distance before pushing the shield ahead, shouting, “Reversal!”
The shield reacted instantly, enlarging itself thrice and becoming mirror-like. The skull ignored the metal and flew right in, only to disappear in the silvery surface. From behind the shield, Horn could see through it. With satisfaction, he saw the figure on the wall jerking in surprise. The sudden movement threw its hood off, finally revealing the true enemy.
An elongated sharp face with long pointy ears. A true Elf was looking back at Horn. His skin had a golden hue, identifying him as a Sun Elf, even a weirder combination, as they despised anything dark and unholy. The face was almost immaculate, like a model taken out of the front page of a fashion magazine, with only a single feature ruining the image. A large black cancer-like wart hung from one of the cheeks. However, before Horn could see anything else, the skull shot out of his shield. It flew with incredible speed, striking the mage straight in the chest. The caster dropped out of sight, hopefully dead.
Horn was elated to finish off his enemy with his own spell, but then the crack of pavement refocused his attention. The bone golem didn’t mind losing his master and kept coming. “Well, fu…” Horn muttered, reading to keep the monster busy, but as he braced himself, a hiss of a massive bolt cutting through air finished the confrontation. The bolt hit straight in the golem’s head, shattering it into a million pieces. The bones stopped mid-step, then fell apart into a pile.
Horn slumped against the wall, the adrenaline of the battle leaving him. The fight was still on, but he was sure his clan would handle the rest with the main threats defeated. He was bruised and was convinced that he had at least a few broken ribs. Still, there was a smile on his lips. The battle was a tough one but still manageable. However, then a thought came to his mind. The previous encounter was just a mindless horde, this time they were a lot more of them, and they had some nasty surprises. What remained was a final wave, and it’d probably be much worse. He checked the clock. A bit less than four hours remained. If the waves came at regular intervals, he had two to prepare, and there was a lot to be done, starting with the mop-up. Grunting, he forced his battered body to stand and walked toward the still ongoing fight.