2 hours, 12 minutes, and 9 seconds.
The skeletal army was on the move. All over the horizon, thousands of bone warriors were slowly marching towards the lone keep. The view was both amazing and terrifying. Horn never saw such overwhelming odds. Yet, he was strangely calm. Whatever happened, he knew he had given it his best shot.
The enemy was still half an hour away, and the keep was a hive of activity. Half of his clan was hurrying through the courtyard. Some were reinforcing the gaps in the walls, others hauling pieces of furniture into improvised barricades. Most wagons were already disassembled with more important supplies hidden in the catacombs, while the frames were prepared as covers. Even scorpions were already hauled to the top floor, ready to start firing at targets of opportunity. The air was filled with shouts and commands mixed with sounds of pickaxes and hammers, as Grom’s crew was busy at their work inside. This time there wouldn’t be any rest until the enemies arrived. Each second gave them another slight advantage in the upcoming fight, and everyone knew they’d need it.
The atmosphere was somber, yet determination was evident. His people weren’t the ones to surrender to misery. This simple fact made Horn even more determined to see this through. They’d need a miracle, but who said that the gods weren’t listening?
A shout from his left focused his attention on the far patch of the sickly forest. A few dozen figures were running like crazy towards the keep. Hot on their heels, a swarm of bone hounds was clapping their jaws in bloodthirsty pursuit. Horn saw a dozen or so dwarves, but the group consisted of many races, at least based on their size. They still had at least a mile to run, and there was no chance in hell they’d manage that before the pursuers catch them. His mind started working overtime.
” Who the hell are they? The group is much too large to be one of my champions, not even mentioning the different races. Is this a trick to get my troops out of position? But why would they need any tricks? They already have the odds just to roll over me. Are they other players? But that’ll be stupid. The tutorial was to be a personal challenge, not a cooperating one, and if so, why are they here and now? Can I risk sallying out? Ingrid damn her, took all the mounts with her, and launching a strike on foot wouldn’t change anything but tire my troops. There’s nothing to do but watch.”
Horn sighed, watching the unfolding spectacle. One of his sergeants approached, asking, “Chieftain, your orders?”
“We stand our ground,” Horn replied,
“But Chief, there are dwarves out there!” He argued,
“There’s nothing we can do for them. Even if this isn’t a trap, we won’t reach them in time. If you believe in gods, pray for them.” Horn said but then added, “Wait. If they manage to close half the distance, we might be able to support them. Prepare two squads and get the message to scorpions to open fire as soon as they can.”
“Yes, chieftain.” The dwarf acknowledged, hurrying away. Maybe that wasn’t the answer he wanted, but the Chieftain didn’t fail them yet. Turning back, he saw him looking in the distance, with scorn on his face. Heavy is the crown, as the old saying told.
Horn ignored the strange look. His attention was focused on the approaching group. He tried to see any details, but his gut told him they were his people, or at least part of them were. The view was mesmerizing. The group raced through the plain. Small groups of skeleton converged on them, only to be met with a flurry of blows. However, each however small encounter cost them precious seconds. The swarm of hounds was closing in quickly.
A few minutes passed, Horn was already sure of the refugees’ doom. A few of them began lagging behind, either wounded or just most winded. They made a brave effort, closing a quarter of the distance, but the undead didn’t tire. He didn’t even notice that noises around him stopped. More and more of his clan was climbing the wall or watching the terrible spectacle through any hole available. The only sound remaining was one of the pickaxes working inside the keep.
The hounds were probably less than a hundred yards behind and were closing fast. It’d be over in a matter of minutes when something happened. A group, maybe a third of runners, turned back and created a line. They mainly were dwarves, but a few taller figures joined. They presented their weapons at the oncoming horde. They even chose possibly the best place for that. Just next to a large grove. The trees were sparse enough to allow for a good view but would surely slow down the horde if it tried bypassing the brave defenders.
Horn saluted them, a delaying action, with no chances of success. His heart boiled, urging him to sally out, but his mind stopped him. It wouldn’t change anything. They were still too far away. He cursed Ingrid. If he just had his boars, then there could be a chance.
Just moments later, the first wave of hounds crashed into the ranks of defenders and, surprisingly, was thrown back. A cone of what had to be ice flew from the middle of their formation, turning the front row of beasts into icicles. A moment later, a familiar column of fire bathed another swat of hounds, joined a few seconds later by a damn lightning bolt zapping through a dozen or so. Like on command, the rest of the defenders charged forward, cutting deep into the stunned creatures.
Horn’s heart sped up, seeing the fight unfolding. He made a mistake. His inner gambler told him to rescue these people, but he chickened out, and now powerful allies would die. He felt moisture on his palms as his fingernails broke through the skin. He never even noticed his clenched fists. But his attention refocused on the battle. The defenders, after the first success, were pushed back. The pure mass of enemies forced them back, step by step. Every few moments, another display of magical prowess erupted, smashing few or slowing dozens. But Horn knew it wasn’t enough.
The defenders started to drop. Here and there, someone was hit only to stay on the ground. The number of spells coming out also decreased, as their casters had to run out of mana. But then, something unexpected happened. The defenders clumped up and launched a desperate attack. Offensive spells flew out, clearing a bunch of hounds, and the remaining group started running like crazy. The old saying that the dwarves were natural sprinters seemed to literally work here as he saw his people take the lead. A few hundred paces behind them, he noticed that the remaining refugees didn’t run but instead worked on something. He saw pickaxes, shovels at work.
The runners were quickly closing the distance, with bone hounds again on their heels. They reached the diggers and kept fleeing, with the workers joining up. Only a single dwarf in chainmail remained behind. Horn still couldn’t see details, but he was almost sure who that was.
As the undead closed upon the single figure, it swung its weapon into the ground. Where it touched, a blinding light erupted, a column of light shot into the air. The area around it seemed to transform. Grass began growing at an astounding rate. The air became clearer, with the ever-present mist dissipating instantly. Even a nearby tree began to change color from sickly dark into a healthy brown.
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But most importantly, the nearby hounds just turned into the dust. A choir of cheers came from keep’s wall. Horn joined it, a shy hope appearing in his heart. However, the light quickly began to dim and soon was gone. The undead stopped for a moment, began charging again. The figure in the distance was already a dozen yards further, again standing still. As the hounds closed in, another column of light exploded.
The refugees were still quite a distance away, but they ran for their lives. However, seeing their struggle was inspiring. Despite being vastly outclassed, they kept fighting. Horn made a decision, hurrying towards the closest ladder, he shouted. “Squads one to four on me! We’re going for our people!”
A roar came in reply, “Lightforge!”
A minute later, a twenty-strong group left the keep. Horn was in the lead. In front, he saw the light columns decreasing in quantity. The breaks between them were quickly increasing, but they’ve done their job. The leading group was a few hundred yards in front of him, and the lone figure was another hundred behind, with the undead host fifty paces further.
The distance disappeared in mere moments. As Horn saw the escapees, he wondered where the hell they came from. They were rugged, wearing tattered clothing, some only wearing rugs made into a loincloth. There were humans, dwarves, beastkin, and even a few elves. He saw a few familiar faces. Herrak’s team was with them, carrying their unconscious leader. One of Horn’s adepts was also there, accompanied by a familiar warrior. But Horn decided not to leave any behind. His target was the lone figure delaying the onslaught. As they closed to the main group of refugees, he just shouted, “Keep running to the keep! Lightforge, we’re going for our Guard Captain!” and raced forward.
A few moments later, Horn finally could confirm that the sole figure in the back was indeed his champion. Goran looked worse for the wear, bloodied, bruised, but somehow full of energy. He swung his axe into some kind of stone sticking out of the ground, creating another column of light, then threw himself into a sprint towards the oncoming reinforcements. As fifty yards remained in between, Horn shouted, “Hold the line! As soon as he’s with us, we retreat!”
In front of them, a sea of undead began charging anew. Goran closed the distance just as the first hounds threw themselves at Horn’s dwarves. His sergeants took over as shouts of pain and commands were thrown over the clash of metal against bone. “Three, two, one, PUSH!” “Two steps back!” “Blast on me!”
Horn threw his Flame Strike, followed quickly by Radiant blast, and Cure Wounds, but his attention was mostly on his champion.
“Chieftain, I’m glad to see you,” Goran said, taking a spot beside him. His axe flashed at the hound, trying to jump the line, splitting it in half.
“Cut the crap. Where the hell were you?” Horn replied, grinding his teeth as another undead threw himself at him.
“It’s a long story, maybe best left for quieter ti-“Goran began replying, but one of the hounds managed to bite his ankle, earning itself an axe to the skull.
“Fine, let’s get the hell out of here.” Horn agreed, launching another blast to make them some breathing space.
Step by step, a throng of dwarves retreated. The sea of the undead seemed endless. As the hounds started to thin out, humanoid figures approached. Thankfully, they weren’t powerful enemies, but still surrounded, Horn began to lose people. The sheer mass of the enemies bled them. They reached half the distance when his scorpions began firing into the horde of bone warriors. The massive bolts weren’t the most effective weapon, but they still pulverized a few with each shot and damaged more with splinters.
Horn saw an issue. They were holding quite nicely, but they were growing tired. His own stamina was just over a quarter. The crazy run, then a long fighting retreat, took its toll. They still had a hundred yards, but they were slowing down. Turning to Goran, he asked, “You don’t happen to have another light bomb, do you?”
“I do, but it’s hard to crash it. Unless it shatters, the energy in it won’t create a beacon.” Goran replied, handing a slightly shining yellowish crystal. It was the size of two fists brought together and touching it. Horn felt a refreshing warmth spreading through his hand. He took a few steps back, checking the stone,
Gleaming soul crystal – Scarce – Average – Min. Mind 15, Spirit 20 - a crystalized soul energy, a crafting component. Allows divine spellcasters to channel its energy into their spells. Prolonged use can damage one’s soul. 1000/1000 charges left.
Seeing the description, a smile appeared on Horn’s face. That was amazing! He grabbed the crystal like a baby and started casting Flame Strike. Energy gathered in his chest as usual when the spell launched, but then the crystal in his hand became warmer. A flood of power exited it, traveled through his body into the other arm. Throwing his palm towards the enemies, a raging inferno erupted from it. The column of fire turned into a river of flames. They were hotter, singeing him but incinerating anything on their path. They spread first a few yards but just kept growing. Soon a vast swath of land in front was just burning hell. A few seconds passed, and the flames just kept coming out, without stopping, without slowing. The crystal from warm turned into scolding hot. Horn’s hand holding the stone began to burn. He felt the energy torrent passing through his body only increasing, and the feeling of power turned into one of pain. He felt like the flames were burning his insides.
In the corner of his eye, he saw part of his mana bar graying out, and the amount quickly increased. On top of that, his health bar was just draining like crazy. For a moment, he felt overwhelmed by it all, but then his mind mustered. No damn spell would kill him. He rallied his thoughts and focused on ending the spell. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the influx of power stopped. Horn dropped to his knees, panting heavily. Dizzy from the exertion, he looked around. His dwarves were just finishing a few remaining undead, but the main horde in front was missing. A large patch of blackened earth was the only evidence of the destruction that happened.
He felt strong arms grabbing him and carrying him towards the keep, but the movement brought back the pain. His chest was burning inside out. His hand was completely unresponsive, still clenched around the crystal. Only the pain was keeping him conscious, but a few moments later, a familiar relief of healing spell spread through him, and his mind just drifted into oblivion.
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“Get the Chieftain into the keep! Man, the walls! We have siege to defend!” Goran shouted as the group entered the keep. The undead horde was mere seconds behind them. Blocking force was already in place to keep the enemies in the gateway. The day was just beginning, but Goran was already dead tired. He quickly dispatched groups to their stations, giving the remaining forces time to rest, then himself slumped against the wall.
The battle began, and sounds of arms clanging were echoing through the stone courtyard. He knew it wouldn’t end quickly and that the main clash would begin only later on when the main forces and the damn mages would arrive. For now, he had time.
His mind drifted back to the crazed run. Before leaving the mine, he thought that the worst was behind them. The fight with the lizardman mercenaries wasn’t an easy one. He lost three of his people and would die himself if not for the arrival of adventurers. Even in his personal quest, Horn saved him – again. The burden of that kept growing in Goran’s chest. He didn’t like it. Not at all. And then, when they saw the armies arrayed against the clan when the desperate escape plan was created, he knew it was the end of his line. Yet again, his Chieftain came for him. A stupid move, but Goran couldn’t complain.
Finally, the last display of magic. He only saw something like that in his whole life when King’s mages annihilated hundreds at once. But Horn shouldn’t be capable of such magic. The boy surprised him again. Goran wondered if that was something he should get used to. Still, the chief was out cold. Goran only hoped that he’d be back before the final confrontation.