The trees still snag some of them; the gap is not so large that they can pass through unchallenged. But only a few dozen are captured, and even some of those are able to gnaw through the offending willows before being strangled to death.
He sends the craigworm through as well. He still has to send it overland – killing the tree did not remove its network of roots, or otherwise make them passable – so it won’t be as formidable as he had hoped, but it is still a fearsome beast, capable of considerable damage.
The figure counters with more Cayou, conjuring a line of them to slow the rats and block the worm.
An almost comical battle ensues, with rats scrabbling for purchase on the smooth hooves of the Cayou, nipping, gnashing at the their forelocks, and the Cayou dancing, prancing about, trying to keep their legs aloft, trampling as many of the rats as they can. Their staved forearms come in handy as well, stabbing at their furry bodies, piercing them and raising them clear off the ground before flinging them across the circle. More than one lands near Ylo, spraying its guts out on the soil.
The worm hangs back, entering the fray only lightly for fear of crushing too many rats as it slithers on its flat, wide belly. It sits near the rear of the mischief, flicking the Cayou with its tail, trying to catch them by the legs and upset their balance as it did the first. It succeeds in this but once, as one of the Cayou reared up for a killing blow to several of the rats that plagued it. The Cayou falls like a sack of grain, crushing at least a dozen rats but exposing itself to the fury of scores, which swarm upon its prostrate form and sink their teeth into its flesh. It tries to fight them off but there are far too many. Within a heartbeat it’s submerged, and nothing more is seen of it beneath the roiling mass of lustrous fur. Lightning strikes another, randomly this time, unencouraged by anything Ylo has done, and it staggers enough for the rats to nibble at its forelock. It topples as the joint is bitten, and its fate is likewise sealed.
Ylo, noting the space afforded by the falling of the two Cayou, sends the rats deeper into the ring of trees, and sends the worm in after them. The rats use the extra room to divide into two groups, allowing the worm to crawl between them and support them more effectively. Ylo takes a moment to read the field, and rehash how they got to here. The rats are his most potent force at the moment. Their mobility and numbers, supported as they are by the sheer power of the craigworm, present a daunting combination. The Cayou’s staves make excellent weapons against a creature like the worm, but prancing around the sea of rats as they currently are, they won’t be able to hold for long, let alone mount an attack. The willows are largely out of the battle. They still manage to snag a rat or two that strays too far from the mischief, and their roots, branching deep enough and wide enough to cover the ground inside their arc, are still keeping the craigworm at the surface, but other than that they are doing little. On top of that, the rain is moistening the earth, creating little pockets of mud and compromising footing. Not a problem for a belly-crawler, or for scamperers like rats, but a big concern for beasts like the Cayou, that put all their weight on just four hooves. Certainly, things are going well for him. He checks on his remaining Voices, playing fingers through the streams that still swirl around him from the sluicegates at the edge of the circle, and wonders which he should use next. Perhaps it is time to start with his direct attacks, and try to end this quickly…
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One more, he tells himself. One more serve and volley, then I’ll look to tighten the noose. He lift a confident finger and points, giving his troops their next set of orders, then attunes the one he thinks will help him press his advantage. He speaks with his greed, and a Warlord appears, muscles rippling, helmet made of carven bone gathering the drizzle of rain, heavy sword, broad and polished, slung across its massive back. It stands just outside the gap left by the fallen willow. It takes one look at the skirmish within, draws its sword, and charges, its strength amplified many times over by the frenzy of the other combatants.
The figure takes a step back, yielding some of the ground it gained while Ylo was dealing with the first Cayou, and prepares another gesture. It holds its hands in front of it, palms facing out, and spreads them wide as they shove forward. A calm settles over the circle. The storm clouds Ylo has conjured darken, and lightning flashes cloud to cloud, the silent, eerie kind of lightning that is more foreboding than it is threatening. There is a lull in the struggle of the animals within the arc, and for a pregnant moment the only sound that can be heard is the pitter-patter of the rain as it falls upon the stones and willows.
Fresh wind eddies from the edges of the circle. Gently at first, barely enough to fan the dangling branches of the willows, but it strengthens quickly. Before long it is a gust, then a gale, then a hurricane, hurtling rats this way and that, forcing Cayou into crouches. The lightning and the thunder resume, redoubled. Rain pelts every surface, chipping away the bark of the willows, tearing at the craigworm’s scales. Ylo’s back is soaked through The branches of the willows are pulled taut, reaching like ten thousand arms, all towards the heart of the arc, all towards the creatures within, and start to whipsaw back and forth. The worm burrows into the earth, sacrificing itself to the tangle of roots Ylo knows is waiting for it, but the rats have no place to hide. The branches tear them all to shreds, their thin, reedy construct as deadly as swordplay at those speeds. They do their best to huddle underneath the Cayou, ensuring the beasts’ destruction as well, and there they are blended to bloody pulps. Within a score of heartbeats there isn’t one piece left of either animal that can be recognized as such. The Warlord, at first able to resist with branches with slashes of its mighty sword, soon suffers a similar end, once the essence of the rats and Cayou are no longer there to lend it strength, and its entrails join the primordial soup the battlefield has become.
The wind calms. The clouds lighten. The rain returns to its pitter-pat nuisance. Ylo watches in silence as it dribbles down the slackening branches, pooling in the divots left by the Cayou’s stomping hooves, forming little rivulets that carry tendrils of the carnage towards the hole burrowed by the worm. He is stunned, both by the savagery of the defense and the ease with which the figure fooled him. He should have seen it. The willows, acting like a barrier and nothing more, the Cayou, formidable beast as they may have been, deployed in numbers too small to mount anything more than a phantom defense, even the one scraggly weakling he was able to destroy with lightning…he ignored it all in his berserker’s glee. It never crossed his mind that the willows, when powered by the strength of winds, might become a weapon too.
And now he pays the price.