The only good Kobold is a dead Kobold
- Greyrax Redpaw
Shit.
It was the only word that came to Marcus' mind as he crouch-ran within his Testudo-column, desperately hoping against all hopes that his flimsy shield would be enough to protect him against the storm of arrows coming their way.
The ridge had all but vanished – replaced by a hazy steam-cloud that Deekius' spell of heating had managed to produce. It provided the perfect cover, but Marcus knew there would be casualties even with its protection.
"Priest!" he called out to the shambling robed rat that was bringing up the rear of the formation. "You stay close to me."
He wasn't about to have his only ticket out of here kick the bucket so early.
"I am with you, Sire!" Deekius roared above the din of the cackling troops as they approached the bridge over the Gulch that would take them to the Kobold army's left flank.
Marcus felt the reverb of arrows and pellets bounce of his shield and forced his arms to hold steady. He'd only ever been involved in reenactments – mostly of US Civil War engagements – and aside from the occasional trip to the Renfaire when it came through town, he wasn't exactly accustomed to using a shield as a shock absorber.
Even if this one was little more than a toy by human standards.
The ratlings kept up the Testudo with a surprising level of discipline, even managing to maintain their ranks as they turned and made the crossing over the steam-caked bridge, and Marcus felt it quiver under their weight.
"Forward!" Deekius cried. "In the name of He-Who-Festers! For King Shrykul, and for the Shai-Alud!"
"THE SHAI-ALUD!" the column cried. "SHAI-ALUD!"
Marcus closed his eyes and willed his legs to continue forward as the hail of arrows grew denser by the second. He could tell they were unfocused – that the enemy had utterly lost its line of sight and probably their morale judging by the wild trajectories of their projectiles. Yet still, the logical part of his brain balked at what was happening, right now – of him running like a madman in a column of spear-wielding giant rats that were worshipping him like he was some kind of deity – a hero sent to them by their malodorous God to guide them into battle.
As Marcus through the steam cloud and saw tiny, knife-eared shadows appear in front of the column, he realized that if he wanted to make sense of any of this – if he wanted a way back home – he'd have to throw himself into the part.
Think – what would Hannibal have said at the Battle of Canne when his pincers slammed into the Roman defense? How would he have inspired his troops?
As the running became even more fervent, and the ratmen at the front more agitated than ever, Marcus threw off his shield and bellowed his command:
"Close ranks!" he called. "Front-Guard, shields up! Second row, spears down!"
The ratlings did as they were bid, even though Marcus could sense the desire to charge forward.
The first kobolds to see them screamed, their arrows flying wide or dinging pathetically off the shields of the front guard.
"Advance!" Marcus shouted. "Maintain speed!"
"This is being a moment that shall be written in history!" Deekius chuckled manically, his beady eyes and tatty tail twitching in anticipation.
By this point, the mouths of the ratlings in the column were practically salivating. They crept towards the kobolds flank, while the latter fought the overwhelming desire to scarper and flee.
Then they turned, hearing the death knells of their friends on the right flank, signaling to Marcus that Skeever had already smashed into their formation.
He looked into the tiny, wavering eyes of the kobold archers, breathed deep, and delivered his last command:
"CHARGE!"
The force with which the ratling's spears thrust out almost knocked Marcus off his feet. He heard the first Kobold's scream before his eyes caught up to the carnage. The Testudo column balked, stalled, and then the rat's heaved to, dragging their impaled victims away and shaking them off the tips of their bloodied weapons. Their tiny bodies dripped away in eviscerated chunks, leaving twitching corpses under their feet.
"Ratguard of Shrykul!" Deekius roared above the din of the Kobold archers' screams. "HEAVE!"
"HO-RAH-HAH!"
On the last syllable of their chant the column thrust in again, tearing through the Kobold army's left flank which by this point had all but collapsed. Many of the little critters simply threw their arrows and bows to the ground and started running as the column of living thorns pushed towards them.
Marcus watched the chaos unfold with awestruck eyes. He saw the Kobolds bodies buckle and crumble as the ratling's spears pierced their bloated bellies, spilling blood and ichor across the basalt ground so that Marcus had to watch his footing. A river of dark crimson now flowed beneath his feet.
"Gom-Yip save us!" came the terrified cries of the Kobolds from deeper within the beleaguered army's ranks as they tried running in the opposite direction only to be impaled on the spears of Skeever and his detachment. Slowly but surely, both rat-filled Testudos pushed forward, hemming in the enemy's dwindling forces.
Marcus saw some stragglers jump into the gulch below, taking their chances with the dark waters that still bubbled beneath their feet. A few managed to break out from their haphazard formation and sprint passed the column, and Marcus saw the bloodthirsty red of the front-line's eyes light up.
"HOLD!" he yelled. "L-let them go!"
Marcus could feel his bowels start to lurch at the sights and – and the smells.
The smells were the worst part.
"Obey the Shai-Alud!" Deekius shouted, frantically waving his staff beside Marcus. "Let the weaklings flee! Our kinsmen back home are being hungry!"
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Amidst the laughter of the ratpack, they thrust their spears in again.
"HO-RAH-HAH!"
Marcus watched as Kobold after Kobold fell before the spears, which were by this point coming away from their foes chunked with intestine and torn limbs. He grimaced as his foot slipped into something slimy and he realized, with mute horror, that he'd just stepped into what remained of a Kobold's innards.
The little red creature flailed beneath him and then lay still, its razor teeth finally closing and its tiny limbs falling to the ground, all life squeezed from them.
And Marcus was forced to make the realization that he had just taken his first life.
As the shock of the moment, compounded by the scents and screams of the dying and the dead filled his entire being, his attention was drawn to one Kobold at the center of the ruined army. One who was still barking orders, knocking heads, standing back-to-back with what remained of his meagre troops as they brandished their tiny, rusted daggers at the advancing columns.
"STOP!"
The command was Marcus', and though it drew a look of agitation from the ratguard and their gore-strewn implements, they obeyed just as they encircled the last of the Kobolds who had not quit the field.
"Sire?" Deekius chittered. "Why do we halt? The battle is almost won!"
Marcus looked at the timid, trembling creatures that remained. They were a pack of ten – three of them already limping where a spear tip had wrenched through their knee-joints. They stood shuddering together, their dull knives practically shaking in their hands.
"The battle is won, Deekius," he said wearily. "You've no need dull your blades any further."
At seeing the lull in their attack, one of them – the one at their center – climbed atop the shoulders of two of them and wailed through a spittle-filled mouth:
"NASTY, EVIL RATS! YOU CHEAT! YOU CHEAT! YOU BRING HUMIE TO UNDER-FIGHT! YOU NO HONOR! NO HONOR!"
The creature jumped around like he was possessed by a spirit of madness, and Marcus found himself reeling back with disgust.
"GITH FIX! YES-YES! GITH FIX YOU ALL GOOD! YOU FIGHT GITH NOW! YIP TO MAN!"
"He is being a crazy one, Sire," Deekius whispered. "Crazier than usual for Kobold. He is being their leader."
Marcus looked from the insane little red man to the…slightly…less insane…furry man.
"He's their leader?"
Marcus swallowed his wounded pride. He had no right to feel any source of triumph over defeating the army of this child.
"GITH IS MIGHTIEST OF ALL YIPS! GITH's YIP SHALL ECHO THROUGH THE UNDER-KINGDOM! SPAWN AN ARMY OF YOUNGLINGS AND CRUSH-CRUSH ALL SMELL RAT MEN! GITH WILL KILL-KILL THEM ALL! HE WILL KILL! HE WILL KILL! HE WILL…"
Marcus caught the flashes of fear that were hidden behind the faces of this 'Gith's' remaining soldiers – if the little naked demons could even be called that.
His gut told him that putting the beasts to the knife would satisfy some tiny part of him that saw them as the horde of hate back home, in that college theatre, with the evangelical Steven Barenz whipping them up into a storm at their heads.
But these little beasts…now that the tides had turned, there was no malice in them. There was fear, and fear alone.
"GITH WILL FEAST ON YOUR EYEBALLS! HE WILL BRING YOU TO BIG BOSS AND BE REWARDED!"
"Sire," Deekius said, his tongue practically slavering. "Your orders?"
Marcus ignored his bloodlust and instead looked towards the back of the yipping demon. The fog of steam had begun to clear, and Skeevin's bloody form was visible on the other side of the encirclement, his eyes watching Gith's every move, observing every little twitch of his hoofed feet as they jumped in fury.
In his hand gleamed his spear, slowly bending down.
All it took was for their eyes to meet, and Marcus to incline his head but a fraction of an inch.
"GITH SHALL RULE THE UNDER-KINGDOM! GITH WILL TAKE TEETH OF RAT-KING AND WEAR THEM AS TROPHY! GITH WILL –"
Nobody ever found out what Gith's last claim to fame would be. Skeever's spear had found the back of the little demon's throat and pierced it right through, sending the tiny creature flying against the far wall of the gulch and impaling him there.
He gargled, twitched his tiny legs, and then lay still.
And Marcus watched as what remained of his tiny force threw their weapons to the ground and wept at the ratmen's feet, the latter of whom watched the spectacle with utter disbelief. With a mere force of 30-odd men, they had decimated a horde double their size.
He stumbled, overcome by the sudden urge to vomit. His dulled senses began to perceive all that surrounded him – the putrid stench of corpse and unwashed rat merged together, along with that of the Kobold's blood which ran in little rivers down his feet. He would have collapsed without Deekius holding him upright, taking his shaking hand in his claw and throwing it into the air.
"VICTORY!" the rat-priest cried. "PRAISE BE TO HE-WHO-FESTERS! PRAISE BE TO SHAI ALUD!"
"SHAI-ALUD!" the frantic force of rats called out, waving their bloodied spears in the air. "SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!"
Skeever added his booming bass to their cries too, and Marcus was left stricken with confusion. He looked on every blood-smeared face and saw nothing but savages that he'd led into battle, cementing himself as this prophesized hero they had wanted so badly.
His revulsion, however, would have to wait. He couldn't afford to show weakness now, not in front of creatures like these. So, he let them have his cheers. He let them parade themselves round him. He let them call him whatever name his bloodthirsty little troops liked.
If it brought him one step closer to leaving this hell, then he'd grin and bear it like the best Generals did.