Duronaht had been warned by Omonrel that the High Angel might intervene to prevent Duronaht’s angelic allies from delivering him his swift and decisive victory. Even with the warning, the reality of it was hard to accept. Enraged, Duronaht, sitting atop his armored red horse, summoned Ventov to his post just in front of a small manor that served as his headquarters.

Riding up on his silver steed, Ventov saluted his Emperor. The Grand Marshal wore an impressive set of red and gold armor that stood out even amidst the splendorous Zarmandian host. Duronaht wondered if, by day’s end, Ventov’s perfect plates would be tainted in blood or worse.

“Order our archers to open engage,” Duronaht ordered with his voice at a controlled boil.

“Very good. Shall I order these mages attached to Vildrious’s command to join them?” Ventov asked, his voice muffled slightly by his helm. His tone carried a note of derision for the mages, reflecting comments he made earlier doubting their abilities.

“Not just yet,” Duronaht replied. “I’ve got a special purpose for those men.”

“As you will, Your Imperial Majesty,” Ventov acknowledged, spurring his horse around and barking orders to the lower commanders. Within seconds, the army’s drums rumbled and its horrible horns blasted. This was met with the higher-pitched drumbeats of Rohmhelt’s army across the river and the brassy blasts of Methrangian trumpets. Amidst this musical duel, archers from both armies marched forward, close enough to be able to hit each other and the main opposing lines.

With a brief pause in the rumbling drums and blaring horns, a call went all along down the line.

“Loose!” commanders yelled in unison.

At that single word, some tens of thousands of arrows soared into the sky to rain down upon the opposing skirmish lines. Rohmhelt’s army responded in kind, with arrows surging into the sky numerous enough that they temporarily cast a shadow over Duronaht’s lines. When the arrows fell, casualties were lighter than Duronaht had feared, but were still crippling. Men fell in scores up and down the line, their hearts, brains, and guts pierced by arrows. However, as the volleys raged back and forth, Duronaht noted that his lines held in better order than did his brother’s. Many of his archers had fought against Bohruum and thus had conquered greater fears than the random chance of a falling arrow.

Siege engines on both sides of the river rolled up to augment the archers. Before long, flaming shot from catapults augmented the streaks of arrows. Each of those shots fell with a splattery sound, carrying fiery death in all directions. Men would become coated in layers of flaming pitching, screaming out the most horrible of lamentations as their lives came to painful ends.

Carnage unfolding before him, Duronaht’s mind decided to unnerve him further with recollections of his father’s demise. Each stab into Covifaht’s eyes replayed dozens of times in mere seconds. Duronaht shook his head as if to cast the memories away, but they persisted. Grand Marshal Ventov calling for him broke the trance at last.

“Your Imperial Majesty, a brief report. Our archers and siege engines have superior range on the enemy,” Ventov declared with suffocating self-satisfaction. “We can draw them further toward the river if Your Majesty wishes it. We would retire thirty paces. This would draw their archers closer, making them more vulnerable to our cavalry if we should wish to charge.”

Much as he hated the notion of even giving the appearance of a retreat, especially with his foe being Rohmhelt, he saw the wisdom. Swallowing hard, he decided to give Ventov permission.

“Very well. The archers shall retire thirty paces. And order the mages up from the 4th Army,” Duronaht languidly commanded.

“Very wise, Your Imperial Majesty,” Ventov said with a nod. “It shall be done at once.”

~~~

Rohmhelt had fallen into a trance with the arrows and flaming siege shots flying at great range across the Nehal River. It was a necessity to ignore the steadily mounting casualties, which Agrehn would periodically comment on as being “higher than expected.” The Emperor had asked Agrehn whether he should be concerned by that, to which Agrehn had simply shaken his head and then returned to conducting his oversight of the battle.

A blast of Zarmandian horns broke the monotony that had settled in. They were short little bursts, lasting fractions of seconds and repeated incessantly. Suddenly the Zarmandian archers stopped firing.

“Ah, they’re backing away,” Agrehn grumbled.

“What?!” Rohmhelt inquired, but Agrehn simply pointed at the field where indeed the Zarmandian archers, all across the line, began marching backward.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I’m sure this is just to back out of our range. They have a longer reach than we do so they can afford to back away and shoot us with impunity. I’d wondered when they would figure that out,” Agrehn sighed.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Rohmhelt asked, incredulous that his army was so plainly outmatched in this regard.

“Quite so, but the trick with an army that has you on range is to either back out of that range or to close it. My inclination would be to…”

“Withdraw.”

“Reposition, I would say,” Agrehn said, unfazed by the brief interruption.

“No, I won’t give my brother the satisfaction of watching us cower. Our men will lose faith and I’ll lose my patience.”

Agrehn scratched his beard and looked at the map.

“We can begin a flanking action to the south. I believe that their forces are not defending the ford south of the bridge there,” he murmured. “It would give us a position to at least make them think twice about keeping their archers out and exposed.”

“I thought you wanted us to stay here and wait for them,” Rohmhelt prodded, taking some satisfaction in Agrehn modifying his strategy.

“Quite so, Your Majesty. I change with the circumstances,” he bowed towered the Emperor. “I’d hoped that Ventov wouldn’t capitalize on his superior range so early. We’ll see if he takes the bait and shifts his men toward our southern forces as they cross the river. If he does, then we can swing against his center and north.”

“Good! Please, proceed,” Rohmhelt ordered.

Just as they concluded, the Zarmandian archers let loose their first volley since modestly withdrawing. Despite hitting with terrifying effect, Rohmhelt’s archers could not answer in kind. Their response almost fell entirely short, excepting for some stray arrows from less standard bows and unusually strong men. Rohmhelt’s siege engines matched the distance, but this wasn’t enough to keep up the required pressure. If this goes on, they’ll grind us down.

Then, something else began stirring amidst the Zarmandian lines. Frenzied cheers rose seemingly without cause. Rohmhelt wondered what could be causing the commotion and dreaded whatever it was.

~~~

At last there was a chance to see what Nethron had promised the whole world used in battle. Vildrious’s skin prickled with excitement as the mages formed up alongside the siege engines. His own thrill was surpassed by the unrestrained celebrations from nearby regiments. Every soldier in the whole army was curious what powers the mages possessed.

One cohort of a dozen mages stepped next the flaming pitch for the siege engines. With their staves, they drew out the fire from the pitch, forming almost perfect spheres of liquid flame that floated elegantly in the air. Each of the spheres swelled, doubling or more in size. Vildrious and all of those gathered stared on with awe-filled gapes. Effortlessly, the cohort of mages directed the orbs high up into the air and flung them at terrifying speed across the Nehal River and into the enemy lines. They burst with devastating force, splattering fiery gel over vast swaths of the enemy archers.

Before Vildrious could even fully appreciate what he had seen, another grouping of a dozen mages stepped forward, bravely moving into range of Rohmhelt’s archers. They pointed their staves at the ground and pulled up large chunks of dirt and rock, torn violently from the earth. These pieces of soil and stone levitated in the air before being hurled over the river and, once again, into the enemy’s archers.

Taking advantage of the building confusion on the river’s opposite side, the third and final cohort of mages charged at a brisk trot to the river itself and pulled from its currents streams of water that appeared almost as blue ropes. They soon turned that water to ice, forming long and jagged spears that they directed into the same hapless archers the other mages had focused on. Few of the icy spears found their marks, but those that did impaled their victims.

Vildrious glanced back at the Emperor, who had ridden his horse close to watch this display of power. Emperor Duronaht broke into his first unrestrained smile in some weeks. He only bellowed a single response.

“More!” the Emperor commanded, triggering cheers from the thickly packed troop formations about him.

~~~

From Duronaht, Rohmhelt expected there would be some type of trick, but this was too much. He could feel the shock roil through all of his men and officers, Agrehn excluded. Instead of gasping or grunting in the face of this petrifying new weapon, Agrehn merely calmly took note of the position of these traitorous wielders of the auras.

“When will we start pushing through the south bridge?” Rohmhelt asked impatiently. “We need to go after those as soon as…”

“Flare aside, Your Imperial Majesty, they were no more effective than their siege engines,” Agrehn interrupted. “Answering your question, we shall be attempting to cross the bridge within the hour.”

“And meanwhile we do…. What? The rest of our army sits here and just takes every single blow those traitors have for us?”

“We could withdraw our central forces out of their range until we cross into the South,” Agrehn suggested. “Would that be satisfactory?”

“No!” Rohmhelt barked. “I won’t give them the pleasure of thinking we’re intimidated by this.”

Marshal Agrehn didn’t provide a reply. Instead, they watched their archers take aim at the small ground of aura-wielders closest to them on the river’s opposite bank. Their arrows sailed through the air, but pieces of earth and stone were suspended above their heads, deflecting or absorbing all of the arrows.

A round of taunting cheers went up from his brother’s army. Rohmhelt clenched his fists in boiling rage. That he could feel Agrehn’s warning against a hasty action without the Marshal having to say it did nothing to quell his impulse. If anything, it drew it out.

“Enough of toying around with them. We have the numbers and they’ve moved back from the bridges,” Rohmhelt declared. “Advance the whole army across the river. Show my brother what a mistake he’s made.”

After a delay, Agrehn called for his messengers to issue the orders. He didn’t need to say anything to communicate his overwhelming reluctance to his Emperor. Rohmhelt knew what Agrehn wished to say. He also thought it would be foolish. I’ll not just sit here and wait for a victory. Sitting around and waiting for Duronaht to make a mistake didn’t serve father well. I won’t repeat that error.