7th June 1329,
Tournament Field, West of Renton,
Dunbartonshire,
Scotland.
Liam strode through the crowd, relaying orders and shouting at the few individuals in the crowd to find a group to gang together with.
He’d left Lord Douglas with the Earl of Moray and the other nobles who had attended King Robert's court. Their retinues had already formed up, and ranks of men waited patiently in front of the tent line for orders. They numbered about one thousand men, and most of those were men-at-arms. A few archers were present and could be seen digging stake pits as the enemy force halted less than half a mile away.
The rest of the infantry were the common folk, and they were busy building a series of earthworks. Men grunted as they dug up the soft loam, stacking it in across the enemy’s line of advance. The line was not straight but extended at an angle to a point about 200 meters away from where it began. There it turned at a right angle and came back towards the enemy. From their perspective, it would appear as though they were building a triangle, with its base towards them.
The purpose of the earthworks was not to create a barrier, but a platform from which the archers could fire down into the melee. Already, Serjeants from the King's house had sent for all the fletchers in Renton and Dunbarton.
When they gathered, the Kings men had bought out of the entire county's supply of arrows and crossbow bolts. Princess Margaret, still mourning her father's death had paid the sum. Many of the fletchers refused the money, simply wishing her well, and offering prayers for her father.
The arrows had quickly arrived, having been delivered by a stream of hand-carts that even now, poured back and forth from Renton. Liam could see the younger pages placing buckets full of arrows along the top of the berm every few yards.
Despite the efforts of the quartermasters, Liam could tell that there wouldn’t be enough to last the entire battle.
In addition to the arrows brought by archers from across the County, the supply from Renton and Dunbarton left a mere forty shots to a man. There were far more arrows than bolts, too, and that supply was even more dire.
Seeing that the men had mostly formed into units, Liam reported back to Lord Douglas. Having no further orders, he joined the work parties.
The feeling of labour reminding him of the time Colm had needed a new footing dug for an outbuilding at the carpentry. Both he and Roger–Colm’s other apprentice–had worked for days, blistering their hands with the unfamiliar tools. It was then that Liam discovered he hated clay. No matter how hard he tried, the wooden shovel always stuck to the ground, or the ground to it.
Liam found the task much easier now. His enhanced physique moved huge piles of the dirt rapidly, though as he worked, he felt the wooden spade bend with the stresses he applied to it. Handing it to another man, he’d changed the form of his Volcanic Shield to that of a Spade, meaning he wouldn’t take up one of the other precious spades that had been brought on a wagon from Renton.
He glanced back over his shoulder, looking at the enemy force. It seemed that they’d paused in their advance to wait for something–or someone. He continued working, and soon the men and women had built a berm of nearly six feet high in a triangular formation.
A few men, looking towards the enemy, had stopped work and stared in awe. Turning back to see what they were looking at, Liam saw a large spire of black metal glinting in the sun, and a pyramid of black metal spewed from the portal. It was massive, even at this distance. Easily 100 meters across and levitated by some magic that slowly carried the object forward.
Curious, Liam tried to identify it, but he was too far away. The sight of the floating pyramid and the hordes of the damned below it sent a chill up Liam's spine. He understood now why people were fleeing, even though the Tournament participants were guaranteed resurrection.
To reassure himself, he inspected the Tournament status, looking at the invitation once more.
You have accepted King Roberts invitation to the Event: Dunbartonshire Tournament.
The Dunbartonshire Tournament.
Note:
The Tournament will allow competitors to gain experience at double the normal rate.
Rule Change:
By Agreement, Experience shall be divided amongst the the winning faction.
Any wounds inflicted by competitors in the course of competition will be healed on completion of the competition.
All those killed within the zone of competition will be resurrected on completion of the event.
He let out a soft sigh of relief. The status hadn't changed.
Despite the promise, many knew they'd likely still feel the pain of wounds and death, and that was enough for them to leave the field - though Liam wasn't sure if they'd receive some other penalty. Either way, duty to his land and God, as well as the desire to level bound him to remain, as it did many others who waited for the battle to begin.
The sound of hooves passing by heralded the return of Sir Iain. He came galloping back from his inspection of the enemy formations. Liam, eager to learn what he’d discovered, converted his shovel to a shield once more, returning to the line of tents where the nobles had gathered.
He'd noticed that over time the magic cost of converting the Volcanic Hammer had decreased, and he wondered if he was somehow becoming more in tune with the weapon. Now it barely cost him fifty magic, when once it had drained over three hundred. It was something he decided to look into later.
Iain’s news was surprising. “Most are unarmed.” He said. The other nobles also gathered to listen to the report as Iain stood before the Earl of Moray and Lord Douglas. “Only about one in five have a weapon, but those who do have some form of light armour. Most of them are unarmed, though I noticed that some seem to have claws growing from their fingers. They were largely unclothed but for rags, and all look to be in poor condition.”
Lord Douglas nodded. “Slave armies. From what Liam has told us of these creatures, they attack in a mass. Their elite troops focus on weak points in the formation and exploit a breach for the horde of weaker men, who are driven into the gap by those you saw. I think now they are all at an equal level, the slaves are reluctant to charge, and the slave drivers are afraid they might become the dinner, rather than the diner.”
Moray frowned, looking about at the earthworks. “It appears a single large Schiltrom would be best, though with our numbers, it’ll be a hard fight even with their lack of arms. I understand the earthworks, but why the shape, James?”
“Three Schiltroms’, with pike walls to the fore of each face of the berm.” He said. “This wall,” he prodded the line that faced the enemy, “Will be of our most experienced pikemen.”
Moray nodded. “Focussing our strength in one place is dangerous, James. And there is no berm there for them to retreat upon. What’s your plan? We’ll be enveloped on all sides like this.”
“The main pike wall falls back to the other berm while maintaining their formation. This will draw the enemy in, creating a gap in our line where they will have sent their most experienced troops.”
Moray nodded. “Aye, that will cause them to be flanked on both sides, but our pike walls won’t hold for long, even with the earth-works.”
Lord Douglas agreed readily. “Aye, but they won’t have to. We shall sally our men at arms from the two larger Schiltroms’, reform the original wall with our heavy troops and advance our pikes, crushing their elites between our spears. The massacre of the main body of their elites will cause them to pause, but it will be up to you and the cavalry to crush them.”
Liam, watching from the side, saw a murmur of agreement flow through the assembled nobles, but he saw a problem immediately, as did others. “What happens if we can’t encircle them all?” Another noble asked. “From what Sir Iain said, the stronger enemies number at least six thousand. We might trap two or three thousand at most.”
Douglas nodded. “If we kill two thousand of their best troops, the rest will withdraw and regroup. They already seem reluctant, but if they prove steady, that is where our cavalry comes in. Moray will lead them, and it will be up to him to charge and recover until we crush the enemy against our pikes and shields. He shall be the hammer to our anvil.”
Moray grinned. “Aye, that is well. I look forward to slaughtering these beasts. How many horsemen will I take?”
“All the nobles with war-mounts and lance.” James said. “The hobelars will fight afoot today. We cannot have disunity in your force. If a mount cannot keep to the formation, it will break up the Conroi.”
Moray nodded in agreement and Lord Douglas continued. “I shall command the formation of foot, and Iain will command the Archers. Bring them into the fray once all have spent their arrows. The left Schiltrom will be commanded by Lord Stewart, and the right by the Lord Napier.”
Liam leaned over to Iain, who, done with his report, had taken up a station next to Liam. “What is a Conroi?” he asked, curious.
Iain shook his head. “A squire who doesn’t know a Conroi?” He gave a snort but answered, anyway. “Remember back in Ferniegair when we charged the goblins, and the men rode stirrup to stirrup so that their lances broke simultaneously, and their horses struck at the same time?”
Liam nodded.
“Conroi!” Iain grinned.
“The idea is that the impact will crush the line of the enemy and knock those in the back ranks down, allowing them to be trampled to death as the formation moves over them.”
Liam nodded, remembering the event. He just hadn’t been able to put a name to the tactic till now.
Iain looked at him curiously. “You know what a Schiltrom is?”
Liam rolled his eyes. All Scots had heard of a Schiltrom, though he’d had Pat and Fergus explain it to him, anyway. “Aye. I do.”
The formation was structured so that the front rank would kneel, with the second and third close behind. They formed a phalanx of pikes and spears that were near impossible to charge through. Interspersed within their ranks were dismounted men-at-arms who would finish any enemy brave enough to knock the pikes aside.
Liam thought about the formations and the roles each group would play. His largest concern was the archers.
Others had joined the force with an array of hunting bows and crossbows, but they weren’t many, and their training and knowledge of archery seemed slim. Liam thought there were less than three hundred in total. The ranged attacks would give them a significant advantage in the combat, but Liam still worried it wouldn’t be enough.
James turned to address Liam and the pages. “Squire Lamberton will see to the formation of the Schiltroms with the page boys. Make sure that the two in front are larger than the other and keep a mix of the clansmen and the townsfolk. The clans have the experience and will hold the others together. Go now, lads. I shall send for you before the battle starts.”
Liam and the pages bowed to their lord and once to the other nobles, though they directed it towards the Earl, whose rank was higher than most.
As they left the circle of tents, Liam looked over at his friends. “Good luck!” he called over to them. “We’ll meet up before the battle begins. If I don’t see you then, we’ll meet up after. Stay safe and look after each-other.”
Andrew laughed. “I would say: ‘Don’t die!’, but since we will resurrect, it shan’t seem to matter.”
Aidan merely smiled distractedly at his friend’s humour and turned towards the distant corner of the earthworks. “You too Liam.” He said.
Liam searched out men for the right Schiltrom. First, he sought out the clansmen. They weren’t hard to find.
All were hard looking men, with long beards and hair that gave them a wild look. Many wore armour, at least a gambeson, though some wore mail. Their weapons were of a better quality than most of the common folk, too. Most held pikes, targes and arming swords, though Liam saw a few claymores and great axes amongst their ranks.
The townsfolk and farmers looked cleaner, but all that showed was how little they’d been working at the earthworks. While their equipment was decent, there were many amongst them who carried their trade or farm tools instead of proper weapons. Some had even worn their winter clothes, in the assumption that the thicker the fabric, the more protective.
Liam hoped that these poor folk would only face the unarmed opponents. If they faced a blade, they’d be quickly disabused of the notion that clothing could double as armour.
He approached a large group of clansmen who sat on the grass of the field, laughing and joking. He was glad to see their morale was high despite the earlier news of King Robert’s murder. They numbered about a thousand men, and Liam hoped they would be enough to hold the centre. If not, he was sure Lord Douglas would send more men.
Their leader was a small man, but the scars across his face showed his experience. “Hello, laddie.” He said, gripping Liam’s bracer and pulling him into a bear hug. “The Calquhoun’s are here! What are the Lord’s orders?”
Liam explained the plan, and the clansmen grinned. “We’re the best pikemen King Robert ever saw.” He boasted.
Liam, seeing that the men before him clearly had experience, sent them to the pike wall that faced the enemy. “You are to hold off the initial charge, and then slowly fall back until you can’t move further. When the enemy rush forward, we shall sally from the Schiltrom and trap them. Then you men advance and slay them.”
The Colqhuon clansman grinned. “Aye, that we will. Come on lads, let’s get our wall set.”
Liam left the clansmen to find another group. This one was younger, though clearly well equipped. “The Napier’s are here.” A tall, blonde youth stepped forward. “I am David Napier, the son of the Laird of the Dunbarton Napier’s.”
Liam shook the man’s hand and pointed them to the nearer Schiltrom. “We need you men to hold the enemy off. You are to be our bastion. Don’t worry when the centre withdraws. It’s part of our plan. The inner side of the Schiltrom will comprise men at arms, who will sally and re-form the line to trap the enemy within our formation and crush them.”
As Liam moved from group to group, he explained the plan as best he could, and soon the townsmen and farmers understood what was going on. Some tried to join the pike-walls but were told by the brusque clansmen to go join the Schiltroms.
Andrew and Aidan were similarly collecting large groups of peasants and clansmen, as were many other squires and pages.
Liam watched as one of the Nuns he’d seen earlier pick up a spear and join the men in the Schiltrom, only to be rebuffed.
“You there!” He called, approaching the man who’d disarmed the nun. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“She’s a woman, and more! A Nun…” His voice dropped to a whisper, as though he thought this was not plain to the squire. “Women have no place in a battle line, sir. It’ll be a bad omen if they join us in battle.”
“Would you rather no one stood with you? And as for omens, she’s a nun for God’s sake. What better omen could you ask for that a servant of God on your side?” Liam asked. “We are short of men as it is. I’d rather a courageous woman beside me than a craven who flees at the sight of the enemy.”
Turning, he gestured to the stream of fearful common folk fleeing back to the town. “Those men are running. Afeared of what lies in store. A woman she may be, and a bride of Christ, but she’s here, and she’s willing to make a stand. That makes her worth more than those men.”
The man mulled that over for a moment before handing the spear back to the nun. “You stay back, sister. Stay behind my shield and don’t let go of the spear. The enemy thrash when you impale them. Twist the blade to withdraw it, or the blood will seize the blade.”
Other nuns and women, seeing that they would be allowed to join, also picked up whatever weapons they could. Some even grabbing up the shovels and picks used to build the earthworks. Others simply carried knives or sickles, which, while sharp, lacked the reach and impact of other weapons.
Liam nodded at the man and received a sheepish acknowledgement in return. Liam moved on, directing any with shields to the front few ranks of the formation, and those with polearms to the ranks behind them. Those who only had hand weapons he dispersed amongst them. They would keep the enemy from pushing the pikes aside.
Each member of the formation had a role to fulfill, but looking over those present, Liam could see the determination in their eyes. As he walked, he could hear many talking about avenging their king’s death. Others spoke of battles or fights they’d been in and seen. All with some advice to offer, be it good or bad.
He smiled grimly. At least they were willing.
As the formations coalesced, men sought more and more guidance from the clansmen. Soon, one stood out from the ranks and displayed a series of techniques. He showed how to thrust with a pike and recover, of how to parry, and how to move.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
A horn blew within the enemy army, and Liam turned to see that the massive pyramid was now much closer.
More horns blew, and the enemy army advanced.
The distant snap of whips cracking drove them on, and soon the enemy was charging forward in a disorganized mass.
Good. Liam thought. They’ll be tired by the time they arrive, and their formation will be disorganized.
Quickly, he cast Ward and Healing song, and hoped that the others had the presence of mind to do so too. He also cast the spells on those around him. He watched his magic pool drop and activated his armband to double his magic pool.
Liam thought about Aidan and Andrew, hoping that they’d found a place within the rear Schiltrom. He could see Lord Douglas nearby, and called over to him, receiving a wide grin before the Lord turned to address the men and knights nearby.
“Remember to cast Ward and Healing Song, Lord.” He called.
James grinned and nodded. He turned to face the men behind him and, in a loud and clear voice, roused them.
“We fight today to honour the memory of our King! Robert the Bruce! Remember him. Remember what they took from us? His murder lies at their feet. His blood is on their hands! For the King! For God! For Scotland!” The men gave a rousing cheer, and Liam watched his Lord with pride as his Lord turned back to face the oncoming horde.
“Conserve your strength! Trust in your fellow Scots! Hold the line!” Lord Napier shouted and Sir Peter and other Knights echoed the call. The effect of the order was bracing, and Liam felt a surge of pride. They were as one. The enemy would die here, and the Scots would be victorious!
Liam had positioned himself in the front rank between Pat and Fergus. Sir Peter joined him.
“You fought in a battle before, lad?”
Liam grinned. “I was thirteen a week ago, Sir Peter. I hardly had time for it.”
Sir Peter grunted. “Keep your blade high if we get into a press, and your shield up. Trust your armour to protect you.”
Fergus stood on Liam’s other side. “Aye. And if I fall, say a prayer that the resurrection spell works.”
Pat laughed. “Have faith, Fergus. God will protect us.”
Liam nodded. He certainly hoped he would.
The enemy charge was approaching, and as Liam watched, he heard a rumble as though of a cart in the distance, but it was much too loud. He turned his head and saw the cavalry was charging across the field, sweeping away the faster runners amongst the enemy, but avoiding the denser clusters of foes.
Still more came on though, and soon, they’d have to retreat.
Moray bellowed in their van, and Liam could see him bury his lance through three men before he discarded it.
Others likewise slew their share of the enemy, though it didn’t seem to decrease the sheer number of the foes who approached. As the cavalry withdrew some distance from their formation, Liam could see the carnage they’d wrought. Bodies lay scattered, to be trampled by their fellows as they moved onward.
The enemy was clustering now, fearful of another charge from the cavalry.
A flicker like the turning of pages sounded behind him, and Liam watched in awe as the sky darkened briefly as scores of arrows flew overhead.
The clustered enemy provided an easy target for the archers, and Iain, standing at the crest of the berm behind Liam, had judged the distance well.
The arrows fell into the enemy ranks. Unarmoured, they were at the mercy of the darts, and many more fell, though Liam could see it was but a drop in the ocean. The enemy came on unperturbed. More afraid of whatever drove them onward than the arrows that ended their suffering.
The first of the damned fell into a pit-trap, and those nearby paused for a moment before they too were pushed forward by the mass of damned behind them. They screamed as they fell upon the archers’ stakes that were suddenly revealed.
Now they were closer, Liam could see why the man from the Ilkhanate had written of the enemy as though they were demons.
Their skin was sagging off their bones, and odd growth jutted out of their bodies. Some had horns, or the beginnings of them, while others had bone spikes growing from their fingers. They were short, but the bone was distinctly talon-like. Claws, but on a human form.
He could see long, sharpened teeth as one opened its mouth as it fell screaming into a stake. An arrow slammed into its eye, ending its suffering. The creature behind it impaled itself onto the sharpened wood as those following behind forced it forward.
More bodies joined it until no more corpses could fit upon the sturdy Scottish timber.
Soon the pressure of the enemy was enough to move past the stakes and they slammed into the pike wall and Schiltrom. Liam was driven back by the impact and growled as he feared the tactic they’d chosen would not work.
These creatures had no care for their own lives. Rather, they wanted their suffering to end, be that through the quick thrust of a bladed pike or by leveling past their weakened state.
The levels the Tournament had provided had given them additional strength, but they were already piling up on the pikes. Some even gripping the hafts of the weapons and dragging themselves forward to make room for another body on the blade.
Liam stepped forward, snarling, and swung Lehat Chereb. The fiery glow of the blade decapitating two of the enemy that had ducked under the pike wall and were threatening the men in the Schiltrom.
Then Liam understood why the formation was so lethal.
Sir Peter, grabbed the pike from a startled townsman and pushed it into one of the damned that was already impaled, holding it through the eye-socket as the man with the trapped weapon desperately twisted the weapon, finally withdrawing it, only for another of the damned to impale itself.
Others saw how Sir Peter had saved the weapon and copied his action. Soon, the pikes were working together to impale an enemy, then hold it while the first pike withdrew the blade. Men thrust into skulls and bodies, showering the earth with blood, entrails, and corpses.
Liam and other men-at arms took up the slack, where they were needed, carving through any of the foes that pushed through the wall of pikes.
Bone glanced off Mythral, leaving no mark. Liam grinned. It was time to see if his plan would work.
He activated Telekinetic field and withdrew Camwennan from its sheath, sending it flickering forward to slice the throat of two of the damned. They fell to be replaced by more, and he sent his dagger forward again.
Glancing to his left, Liam could see the Pike wall was withdrawing in an orderly fashion. Step by step, they retreated, ensuring the pikes were aligned, supporting each other. A clang hit his helmet, and he turned to see Pat smashing his mace into the head of the damned that had just struck Liam. He smiled gratefully and turned back to see a section of the Schiltrom struggling to fend off the attackers.
Liam activated his phase-shift and appeared amongst the enemy. His blade darted forward, and slick blood gushed over his hand. He tightened his grip as the blade threatened to slide free of his hand.
Another damned before him howled in glee at its approaching death and Camwennan flew through the air, slamming into its eye and lodging deep within its brain. As it sank to the ground, Liam found himself assaulted by another two creatures. He parried the blow of the first, knocking its claws aside, and brought his leg up in a kick that crushed the creature's knee.
Slamming his shield forward, he felt a crunch as the other enemy’s face impacted the Volcanic Hammer. Flame exploded around it, and it fell to the ground, scorched and broken. With a quick thrust downward, Liam finished the other foe.
He withdrew the blade and struck out at another of the damned. This one having just torn out the throat of a young man-at-arms. Liam levitated the man’s axe and sent it flying into the back of another creature, as he slammed his shield out, crushing another howling damned that rushed towards him.
Another of the men at arms had pushed out too far from the wall, and fell beneath a swarm of damned. Liam saw him, and phase-shifted forward. Grabbing the man’s leg, he dragged him back within the safety of the Schiltrom, and others hacked the damned apart as they thrashed desperately upon the downed man.
Liam cast Healing Song on the man, but he was already dead.
He could see that Sir Peter had Pat and Fergus beside him now and watched as the Knight re-ordered their section of Schiltrom. Liam could see the man from earlier who had complained about the Nun slam his spear into one of the damned, only to be attacked by another from the side. The Nun appeared, ramming her spear through the hell-spawns’ mouth.
Four more monsters swarmed her, and she collapsed beneath them. Liam phase-shifted over to her, cutting into the damned before they could harm her. He cast Healing Song upon her, just in case, and turned back to the enemy.
He kept singing his telekinetic field into being as he re-entered the fray. Others moved in time to the melody, and soon his section of the Schiltrom was holding the enemy at bay.
An axe blow from Fergus sent a fount of blood flying across his face, but it didn’t stop him from fighting. Liam’s magic sense was too well attuned to prevent him from missing a block or striking a fatal blow.
He could sense that the main pike wall had retreated far enough now and was now barely holding their ground. There, the lack of men-at arms was showing, and Calquhoun’s pikemen were falling by the dozen. Liam knew that if Lord Douglas did not act soon, it was likely that the entire plan would fail.
It was then that he heard the trumpet signalling the sally.
Sir Peter, who was closer to the side of the Schiltrom facing the berm, moved in that direction with Pat and Fergus. Liam took a moment to wipe his eyes clear, sensing no foes immediately around him. What he saw made his gorge rise.
Before him lay a charnel house of blood, filth and spilled organs. Bodies of the damned were stacking higher and higher. In some places, the fallen damned were already waist high, and he could see some men at arms mixed within their corpse-mounds.
This only made it easier for the pikes, as the obstacle impeded their advance. Whenever one of the damned tried to advance, the pikes slammed forward, adding another body to the pile.
Seeing that the pikes could handle the damned for the time being, Liam joined Pat and Fergus at Lord Douglas’ side. He led the charge, and over three hundred men at arms broke from the Schiltrom and slammed into the mass of the enemy.
Ahead, Liam could see that the foes here differed from the damned that piled beneath the pike wall. These were armoured with a strange cloth armour and carried spears and swords.
One attacked Liam, and he hurriedly parried the strike, activating his ability and knocking the sword down and to the side. He followed this up with a strike from the axe he held in his telekinetic field, and the surprised enemy fell in a gout of blood as the blade embedded in his neck.
Another foe tripped Sir Peter, diving at his legs. The knight fell, and another of the damned struck down. Its spear slammed into Sir Peter’s mailed torso and stabbed deep, though not deep enough to mortally wound the old warrior.
Liam grinned as he saw the old knight swing his axe into the ankle of his foe, dismembering the limb and causing the enemy warrior to fall. Another quick swing of the weapon decapitated the damned, while Fergus slew the creature that had tackled the knight.
Liam sent his telekinetic weapons forward to clear a space around the knight as he got to his feet and grinned at the older man. Pat and Fergus were soon beside him, and together they pushed on.
Ahead, Lord Douglas had reached the other force, and Liam could see that Aidan was amongst them. Of Andrew, there was no sign, and Liam hoped his friend was with the Schiltrom to the rear of the formation.
The men turned to form a shield wall against the press of the onrushing damned. Liam felt more than saw the blow that flicked under Pat’s chin to rip out his throat, and Liam was showered with blood. Fergus let loose a howl of rage and slammed his spear forward, disembowelling the warrior of the damned who landed the blow.
His focus on avenging his friend left him open, however, and a spear thrust from another foe pierced his groin. Fergus fell with a scream, and Liam saw Sir Peter step into the gap. Liam shifted over to align his shield with that of the older man, and the two of them fought on, desperately holding the line.
It felt to Liam like scores of enemies fell to his blades, and Sir Peter accounted for many as well. Soon Liam was standing on the uncertain footing of piles of dead and dying enemy, and Sir Peter ordered the Shield wall to back away.
The losses were showing, however, and as they moved, gaps opened in their line. The next rank stepped forward to fill them, but Liam could see that the line was now only two deep. Only the fact that the damned were now forced to climb over their fellows corpses was preventing them from being overrun. Even so, they continued to suffer losses.
Sir Peter was the next to fall. A hammer thrown by one of the damned atop the pile of bodies surprised Liam. As he tried to catch it in his telekinetic field, he knew he was too late. The weapon, thrown from above, slammed over Sir Peter’s raised shield and into his face, shattering it inwards in a fount of gore.
Liam sent Camwennan to avenge the elderly knight. His dirk sank into the foe's heart, withdrawing to sever the throat of another damned that climbed over the fresh corpse of its comrade.
Looking around, Liam could see that the line was now dangerously thin. He searched for Aidan, but didn’t find him immediately.
He looked down.
Liam snarled as he saw Aidan’s corpse lying not far away. Rage boiled in Liam, and he was about to charge into the enemy ranks and wreak as much damage as he could when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
Lord Douglas stepped up beside him. “The centre is cleared, but they aren’t retreating.”
“Then we kill them all!” Liam growled.
Lord Douglas grinned. “That’s the spirit lad. I’ve sent the first pike wall to reinforce the other walls and the Schiltroms. It’s up to us to hold this position.”
Liam grinned.
“Aye, Lord. We’ll do that until we fall or they do.”
Side by side, the Lord of Douglas and his Squire rallied the line and fought on, adding to the pile of bodies.
*********************************************************************************
Iain stood at the top of the berm, looking out over the battle. The enemy was suffering immense losses but did not seem to notice. He wondered what their plan was.
Below, to the centre of the Scots formation, he saw the last of the enemy warriors had been killed. Lord Douglas rallied his men and gave some quick orders, sending the pikes to the other formations while he rallied his men to the main shield-wall.
There, Iain could see Liam fighting hard. He moved with a certainty he had never had in Douglas, nor in Ferniegair. There he’d fought with fear. Iain could detect none in Liam now.
He’s no longer the child I knew in Douglas. He’s become something more. Iain could see that Liam’s presence alone was holding the line in place. The large knight who was with him had fallen, and now Liam fought like Achilles or Lysander from the epics, inspiring those around him to greater and greater feats.
The giant black metal of the pyramid had drawn closer, and was now only a few hundred meters away. Iain could see that the top of the pyramid had opened on each side, revealing a platform atop it. There, a figure sat on a throne of jade. About it, dozens of robed figures grovelled and fawned.
That must be the Dread Queen. He thought. She was too far for any accurate bow-shot.
He cursed, then paused. The figure atop the Pyramid stood and approached one of the robed figures. With quick movements, she slashed a dagger across its throat. The Queen approached another, then another, each robed sycophant falling in a heap as she passed.
She’s killing her own people? Iain thought. Why?
A glow formed at the base of the pyramid, rapidly growing to encompass the entire structure as the queen danced between her followers at an increased pace.
As she reached the last of them, she thrust her emaciated arms high into the air. A sickly yellow glow erupted from the top of the pyramid, falling like rain upon the battlefield. A moan of fear rose from the Scots' formation as heads turned to see what was happening.
The effect of the spell on the enemy, however, was different. The wounded enemies amongst the corpse piles rose to their feet once more, though unsteadily as their wounds began to heal. The effect on the unwounded, however, was worse. The hordes of the damned howled as their vigour was restored.
To the tired Scots, the change gave rise to immediate fear.
Many lost their lives in those few instants, whether because of the distraction of the magic, or from a wounded or tired enemy attacking them with a fresh burst of vitality and speed.
Whatever the cause, the Scots' formation began to collapse inwards. Fear rose in Iain too, and he thought to flee, but stopped himself.
“Archers! Reinforce the Pike walls and Schiltrom. Take up whatever weapons you can and kill our foes. They use magic to make us fear. Make them fear us instead!”
With that, Iain dove into the pike wall before him, drawing his sword and slamming it into the head of a damned.
He glanced to his side as an archer took up a fallen pike and thrust it forward. The reinforcements briefly stabilizing the line.
To his left, he could see the Schiltrom was collapsing. If something was not done soon, all would be lost.