Shadow, hide behind the wall,” I order the cat as a group of archers steps forward. I cast a repel on her before she begins to move, and then on myself.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
The invisible cat runs to the makeshift wall. Through the trembling of the grass (and the mental screaming) I could tell just how frightened she was. This would be the last time I’ll bring her. The archers nock their arrows in unison.
“Dance for me, o’ daughters of the wind.”
William ducks behind the wall, and I finish the incantation right before the whistling arrows were let loose by the archer line. The wind picks up around me into a howling gale, and the arrows aimed at me are knocked aside. I quickly cut off the stream of mana. The shell of wind dies away.
“Bombard my enemies, O’ thou servants of Gob, the magnanimous.”
Before the dogmen could knock another set of arrows, my mana can only find four stones. They rip out of the ground and fly forward. One stone slams into the throat of one of the dogmen; it collapses as its throat is crushed, and is dragged back into the army by the legs. Another archer takes its place quickly. The other stones slam against raised shields or plated armor.
They let loose another volley, and I dive behind the wall again. With my back pressed against the wall, I draw the rune for fire followed by the rune for air.
“A volley, o’ djinn.”
Both types of mana flow through my breath, into my lungs, and pour out of my raised cane. I draw more in and let more out. Five arrows. Six. Seven. Ten, form in front of me. It strains the limit of my concentration. I direct the wind-flame arrows over the walls. They streak across the sky, and by the pained yelps of the dogmen below, I could tell the volley struck.
“William, do you have any attack spells?”
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“One, but it's for up close.”
I click my tongue. Well, he made the strategy that even gave us a chance, so I suppose it was my job to fight.
“A volley, o’ djinn.”
This time, I increase the number of arrows by 15, up to 25, and to make sure that they land on the archers and not the infantry standing behind them, I duck out of cover, aim, and let loose. A stream of orange arrows streaks down the hill and slams into the rank of archers. The result is devastating.
The dogman archers yelp, and fall back, or roll around on the ground. Those that were struck in the face die quickly; as the flames rush down their throats and fill their lungs. Those that had been struck on the body rolled around on the ground in an attempt to put out the flames before the fires consumed them. A few of the archers had been left untouched, and they quickly reach back to grab an arrow from their quivers.
“An awl, O’ thou servants of Gob the Highest, to strike my enemies.”
I split the mana stream running down the hill into three, and direct them toward the archers that were still standing. They nock their arrows. Repel still had a little while longer left before it fades, and it could probably take an arrow or two. Their arrows whistle out just before the streams of mana reach them, and the ground beneath them explodes upward into a trio of spikes about as wide across in the middle as my thigh.
One spike pierces through the back haunch of the archer it reached, another through the elbow of its right arm; prying joint and flesh apart. The final spike pierces through the creature’s middle — pushing through its rusted chain, and sundering it as the point breaks off somewhere inside of the creature’s chest.
All three arrows find their marks as well. The first skitters off as if it were light hitting a mirror, the point of the second sinks a little into the invisible shell before falling to the ground in front of me, and the third arrow punches through that shell and slams into my upper left shoulder. The pain is intense, but I can’t stop now. A few of the archers were beginning to push themselves off the ground; their flesh and fur and the metal of their armor all melded together.
All the while, the infantry stood still. Perhaps they were waiting for me to go down to start their charge up the hill to take William’s life. They must believe that their archers would be enough. They must believe the pain would drive me to the ground. They must believe my magic was almost spent. What could one man do against this oncoming tide, after all? What can one candle do to light the void?
I grit my teeth and point my cane forward. Their mistake.
“Lawrence! Get back here. I’ll heal you.”
William calls out to me. No. I can’t let this opportunity go to waste. This strategy that William crafted will only work if the enemy is forced to march up the hill. By deploying their archers first, they probably figured they could get around having to come up if they finish us off with the Godbeast and archers. I needed to seize this opportunity, otherwise, it would become a battle of attrition, and I could already feel the dull ache forming in my head.
“A volley, o’ djinn.”
5. 10. 15 arrows form in a line in front of me. The bowmen down below begin to scavenge the ground for arrows dropped by their dead comrades. There were ten of them. 20 arrows should be enough.
They nock their arrows, and I let loose mine. The heated air screams louder than their whistling arrows. The few arrows that they manage to let loose collide with a few of mine on their way up the hill and turn to ash. My volley strikes them again, and they fall back down to the ground, never to rise again, and before their arrows could find their marks, I bolt back to the safety of the wall.