XLIV. AT THE BASE OF THE GIANT’S THROAT

  Aichlan had not really known what to expect, whatever he had envisioned, it certainly was not what they found. What they had presumed were mindless beasts were in neat, orderly rows, positioned between the massive roots of the world tree. A great scar was burned into the right side of the tree, and several gigantic limbs shorn from the trunk lay scattered below. A great smoldering crater served as an impassable barrier to their right flank. Assuming their ranks followed convention, there were over a hundred and twenty-thousand to his roughly twelve thousand, ten to one odds. While there was a battalion of undead soldiers, mostly elves, the rest seemed to defy categorization. There were even mounted units, of a fashion, goblins riding massive hounds with the hindquarters of a lizard and creatures in full armor astride squat unicorns with leathery hides. More worrying were the squads of cyclops’ and giants on the enemy flanks.

  “Fuck...” Aichlan wheeled his horse around, “Fall in!”

  The call to form battle lines reverberated through the ranks, and the two-columned mass of troops slowly began to shift and morphed into fighting formation.

  “Archers!” Aichlan drew his sword. “Front!”

  The archers set up their lines as the infantry formed up behind them. Aichlan surveyed the field again, the beast on the opposing side made no moves against them. They had a position of power after all, nestled between great roots of the giant tree and that crater that seemed to have no bottom, their flanks and rear were secure. The field itself was relatively flat, save the occasional gully and ditch. The road was wide and paved in smooth brick, it would offer the most stable footing, and he would endeavor to funnel his infantry along it for as long as possible.

  “Alice, have your mages set up fire bases on our flanks.”

  Alice nodded and launched two colored orbs into the air, the red cloaked mages went to the left, and the green went right.

  “Are you just going to keep them in reserve then?”

  “No, my lady,” General Swyddog pulled his horse alongside Alice’s, “Mage folk generally don’t fare well in front line combat, it is a tactically sound move to utilize them in a fire support capacity.”

  “Who is leading Cavalry?” Aichlan barked. “Where the devil is Maleah?”

  “Here.”

  Aichlan’s face contorted in a mask of rage and confusion upon spotting Maleah on foot with the rest of the infantry. “Where is your horse Captain?”

  “Dead.”

  Despite carrying on as a footman, she still wore the uniform of a light cavalry, black coatee over elven mail and a white cotton blouse, riding boots and a short skirt in lieu of breeches. At her hip was a short sword and nestled in the crook of her arm was her lance with a black banner fluttering from the head. She was completely unsuited for the role she sought to take.

  “Here,” Eth clamored down from his saddle and gratefully led his beast over to Maleah. “Take mine, I daen’t plan on riding’ this death trap intae that.”

  Maleah retreated a step and emphatically shook her head. “I’m not on foot because I couldn’t secure a horse, generals.”

  “I know that Maleah, and frankly, I don’t give a shit.” Aichlan aimed his sword at her unarmored chest. “I’ll not have a skilled rider die as foot-man simply because she’s sad her horse died. There’s far too much at stake, and I don’t intend to have to deal with your brother upon my triumphant return.”

  Maleah bowed her head to hide tears from either anger, shame, or both.” With all due—”

  “Just get on tha fookin’ horse lass.” Eth swore as he pulled the cavalier over to his mount.

  Aichlan stifled a laugh. “Aye, thank you Eth. Get on the horse Maleah.”

  Just as Maleah opened her mouth to protest, a child weaved her way through the ranks and tugged at her hem. Her hair was black as soot, and she wore a flat black smock dress. Her eyes, golden as the moon, Aurum, and her expression were unlike any child Aichlan ever came across. Something about her bothered him, she looked like someone he felt he should know, but knew it was impossible. Her presence in general was baffling.

  “M’leah, you should ride the horse.”

  Aichlan took off his gauntlet and rubbed his eyes. “Is that a child?”

  Maleah pulled the girl close to her, a defiant glint in her ruby eyes. “She is already an accomplished mage, she’ll stay in the rear with them. Out of the way.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, why is there a child here?” Aichlan shook his head and took a breath to calm himself. “No, send her to the back with Clarissa.”

  “I’m not going to zee back.”

  Aichlan felt the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes and did his best to untense his muscles. “Clarissa, Your Excellency, I cannot allow a Cardinal to see front line action. You and the other healers must be held in reserve until the initial push is done.”

  She shot him a look to wither steel. “You aren’t in The Order any longer, General, and thus you have no say on matters concerning the church.”

  Aichlan pressed his palms against his eyes, hoping to prevent a headache. “This isn’t a matter of the Church Clarissa, its common fucking sense!”

  Clarissa crossed her arms and turned up her nose with a huff. “The order has been given Aichlan, zee healers will support the infantry, and I shall support Eth and yourself as you make a push for zee enemy Commander.”

  Aichlan shot Eth a condemning glare, but his second was conveniently looking in the opposite direction. “What about this child?”

  Aichlan turned back to Maleah, only for her and the girl gone. Panicked, he wheeled his horse around to search for them, and spotted his delinquent captain astride Eth’s horse.

  “Where…” Aichlan grit his teeth together. “Where is the child?”

  Maleah shrugged. “With the mages, I guess.”

  “You people are going to be the death of me….” Aichlan muttered as he pulled on his gauntlet.

  Aichlan spurred his horse on to inspect the line, both eager to get away from the squabbling and get the operation underway. The enemy emplacement was a good one, the big ass tree and its giant roots prevented his forces from going for an envelopment, and it was unlikely he could draw them out with indirect attacks. The only option seemingly available to him was a frontal assault, something he was unwilling to accept just yet.

  He quickly made his way down the left side, signaling for Swyddog to take the right. Row upon row of gleaming silver breastplates and forest green filled his breast with both hope and pride, intercut with ranks of shirtless and tattooed elves of varying hues. His pride wanted him to believe the halberdiers of his mother land would carry the day, but he had not seen them fight in over a decade. By contrast, he had seen the ferocity of the elves, how the harder the battle only awakened greater strength. Hopefully, he had been able to instill a bit of tactics in them by osmosis, otherwise all of their strength and viciousness could be for naught.

  “General!”

  Aichlan stopped his horse as Rowena pushed her way through the ranks to meet him. Her youthful face was marred by a brow creased in anger and lips curled in a semi-concealed snarl. Her tunic-dress was the color of moss, and appeared to be made of the same, draped over a shimmering coat of mail and white collared undershirt. Her auburn hair was done up in a loose tail, with two curls framing her soft features, giving her a façade of young innocence that couldn’t be further from her true character. The gossamer stockings and slippers seemed hardly fitting for a battle, but he had seen her fight before; watched her bound up trees in moments and dance across the field of battle like a leaf on the wind, punctuated by flashes of silver and red.

  “I’m going with you.” She said flatly, daring him to disagree.

  “Of course you are, you’re the most familiar with this…place out of all of us.”

  “Then why—”

  “You’ll lead the second wave, once we’ve engaged the enemy and you’ve sufficiently weakened or broken their ranks with a hail of arrows.”

  Her indignant green eyes flashed as she jabbed a finger at him. “I shall not stand by and be coddled Aichlan, this fiend has massacred my people, and I shall be the one to see him brought to justice.”

  Aichlan turned his head towards the tree, shielding his eyes with his hand. Entire towns and cities were built upon the massive branches. Stairways and lifts were carved into its trunk, with a series of elaborate rope bridges connecting what he assumed were the various districts. Disconcerting however, was the lack of elves, there was not even a sign they had been killed or petrified as there was in Mossroot.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “We must face one obstacle at a time Rowena, clearing the field of these demons is paramount, then we can go after Osric.”

  “And what if he is finished summoning the demon by that time?”

  “What would you have me do?” Aichlan startled even himself with the veracity of his response. “Sacrifice the army so that a handful of us may attempt to bring him down?”

  His outburst caused the nearby soldiers to go silent, as they watched the exchange with bated breaths. Rather than shrink back at his rash flare of emotion, Rowena bristled. Ignoring the archers still within earshot that would serve under and beside her, she stepped forward and looked Aichlan dead in the eyes.

  “If we must.”

  “I’ll have no part in it.” Aichlan flagged down a nearby archer and ordered him to approach. “And I’ll not make commander one who is so willing to throw away the lives of their subordinates.”

  “I will kill him.” Rowena held out her hand to halt the approaching archer. “When the battle out here is done, I will hunt him down and skin him like the animal that he is.”

  Aichlan dismissed the soldier with a curt wave, and he fell back into line. “As you were then, Captain.”

  “You let them get away once general!” She shouted as he spurred his horse onward once more. “Don’t make the same mistake again.”

  With the players in position and as ready for war as anyone could be, the field was beset by an eerie calm, and a quiet so still that the wind rustling the leaves of Yggdrasil thundered like waves breaking shore. Preparations complete, Aichlan issued the order to advance. The march was slow and methodical, calculated to close the distance and force the enemies hand, not a full charge. Upon advancing to a certain point however, the enemy forces retreated a full rank in unison, forcing Aichlan to halt his own advance.

  They were no mere mindless beasts, there was an intelligence to them, for they had dropped just out of range of the archers. Aichlan held his position for what felt like an eternity, yet the enemy made no further moves. He could press his attack, backing the enemy into the trunk of the massive tree, but that would prove disastrous for his own forces, as they’d be funneled into a literal deathtrap; blocked off from one another by the damned roots and crater.

  “Clever bastards, aren’t they?” Swyddog shielded his eyes from the sun as he mused. “They’re trying to draw us in.”

  “Aye.” Aichlan twisted the reins in his hands.

  “Mages?” The general offered optimistically.

  Aichlan glanced over his shoulder, two lines of archers waited at the ready, utterly useless since their projectiles could not reach the target. Behind them, the elven forces of Eth and Donough chomped at the proverbial bit, eager to see justice for their ruined homeland. Eth clad in baggy canvas trousers cinched at the ankle, two manica and a leather harness about his chest; Donough with manica on his sword arm, layered steel pauldron, and vambrace with cuir bouilli ailette on his off arm. They were a unique option, quick, sturdy, and able to use fire magic; though he had never witnessed one of them lob a fireball as far as was needed.

  He could issue a cavalry charge, but he did not have enough for it to even hope to be effective, and it was unknown if the enemy mages had taken the field or if there were archers in hiding. The only option appeared to be the mages, but Aichlan could not shake the suspicion he was little more than a marionette, the convenient counters seemed orchestrated somehow. Aichlan scratched the stubble on his chin as he thought, and only noticed Swyddog eagerly awaiting a reply when his horse began to shimmy in an agitated fashion.

  “Possibly…” Aichlan patted the restless beast on the neck in an attempt to calm him. “General, where does the enemy appear weakest?”

  Swyddog let out a low, slow whistle as he withdrew a spyglass from his bag. “That’s difficult to say my lord…”

  After surveying the field for several moments, Swyddog pointed to the center ranks, amassed in the lees of two massive roots. It made up the bulk of the enemy forces, a mélange of undead elves, desiccated corpses in black armor of Xanavene, and men in the colors of the late Laelianus.

  “There, most of the enemy infantry in the center appear to be little more than corpses,” He held out the scope to Aichlan, “and I’d rather not provoke those bruisers on their flanks unless we’ve a sure plan on how to take them down.”

  Aichlan groaned under his breath as he took the offered scope. “I was of the same mind. Trap?”

  Swyddog forced a grin and nodded. “Undoubtedly my lord.”

  Aichlan collapsed the scope and returned it to the general. They gained nothing by just standing around looking at one another, it was likely part of some grand scheme to stall for time on the part of their adversary. With more than a little reluctance, Aichlan signaled for Alice, who bounded over at a spirited trot.

  “Bring a company of mages to the front.” Aichlan said as soon as she was in earshot.

  “That bad already?” She teased.

  “Let us hope not.” Aichlan grumbled.

  Alice launched a signal into the air, and the green cloaked mages slowly broke rank and centered around her.

  When the mages had gathered, Aichlan pointed to the center column. “There, concentrate fire on the undead bastards first. Don’t pursue them should they flee, we’re just probing their defenses.”

  As soon as her ragtag band of student soldiers took up position, Alice launched an electric blue glyph into the air and weaved a layered lightning spell in her opposite hand. Her cadre of mages quickly followed suit and proceeded to rain down crushing bolts of lightning upon their foes. They walked the bolts of varying intensity up the field until they contacted their foes, whereupon they cranked up the intensity, shredding the front lines of the undead army and sundering the soil they stood upon.

  When the barrage finally ceased, the undead that still stood casually stepped over their fallen comrades and stood at the ready, their cold dead eyes giving nothing away. Alice sucked her teeth and launched a red rune into the air. Just as she and her mages prepared to launch a barrage of fire, a veritable wall of ice spikes came hurtling towards them from the rear of the enemy position. Alice was barely able to drop her casting and raise a wall of stone and soil, shielding Aichlan, herself, and the bulk of her mages. The rest of the army was not so fortunate however, as the screams of those impaled upon the spears of ice rang out in blood chilling clarity against the relative silence of the field.

  Orders for the men to get back in line fell on death ears as a flight of wyverns swooped down from the branches of Yggdrasil. Golems of dirt and clay dragged themselves up from the soil in the middle of the field and began lobbing boulders at Aichlan’s forces.

  “Damnit!” Aichlan raised his sword and attempted to steady his mount. “Loose damn you! Loose!”

  An uncoordinated volley of arrows rained down on the golems and wyverns overhead. Aichlan cursed and ducked a swooping wyvern, looking over his shoulder in horror as it belched forth a stream of fire that decimated a column of his forces.

  “Concentrate on those bloody dragons!” Alice screamed as she rapidly cast a chain of wind and ice spells.

  Aichlan sheathed his sword and pulled a ball and chain flail from his enchanted saddlebag. While not a weapon he was intimately familiar with, it was one with which he could claim competence in. He raised the weapon overhead and general Swyddog barked an order for the men to stand ready. Aichlan spurred his horse on whilst spinning the spiked ball upon its chain overhead. The archers opened ranks behind him and the field erupted with the battle cry of five thousand elves, their bare feet thundering against the soil like an advancing storm.

  Aichlan struck a golem in passing, leaving an eruption of dirt and stone in his wake as the elemental construct returned to the soil. Before them, the enemy troops began their advance. Bare chested centaurs with giant battle-axes or dual wielding scimitars led the charge, swinging in towards the flanks. The undead propelled themselves forward with unexpected swiftness, sprinting with no sign of fatigue, threatening to swamp the vanguard of Aichlan’s uneven charge.

  Overhead, a wyvern shrieked as its arrow riddled body spiraled helplessly in a freefall. Aichlan was nearly thrown from his horse as it reared and stopped short of being crushed. Aichlan dug his spurs into the poor beast’s sides, circling around the still gasping wyvern as the elves simply climbed or leapt over its carcass. The wave of elven infantry crashed against the wall of approaching undead with the force of the surf against a sea cliff, sending forth a spray of rotted limbs and worm-eaten flesh.

  The air was quickly filled with smoke, the stench of decayed and burning flesh singed Aichlan’s nose as each breath choked and seared his lungs. The sickening crack of skulls and satisfying ping of ruined armor under his flail rang out over the snarling undead and battle crazed elves. They surged forth, mowing down the undead with ease, though their progress was subtly slowed and ultimately stopped by the foes that laid in wait to the rear.

  The sturdy Sons of Epsilon, dressed in full plate, armed with kite shields, pikes and longswords, broke their brief momentum. Hundreds of elves found themselves skewered on the ends of their pole-arms before they could regroup and attempt a defense. A lack of proper armor and unwieldy weapons worked against the elves however, as the Sons marched in a tight phalanx formation with a veritably impenetrable shield wall. Pillars of fire shot from the ground and from the sky, compounding chaos in the claustrophobic battle field with suffocating heat. Spears of ice ripped through his forces from the enemy rear, and lightning crashed down on the heads of their foes like cymbals punctuating each death.

  Their archer support was nonexistent, as they’re attention was concentrated on keeping the wyverns from decimating their rear. The few Aes Sidhean halberdiers that had fought their way to the front managed to breach the enemy line on a few occasions, but there weren’t nearly enough of them to make a substantial push, and they were only armed with small bucklers; facing as much difficulty as the elves in halting their enemies aggressive push.

  A son of Epsilon uttered a primal scream, like a dog being raked across a spiked bed of coals. Three elves concentrated their flames, roasting the dog-lizard beast alive, the flames burning like white hot plasma as its armor melted and dripped into a molten puddle. Without a moment’s hesitation, two dozen elves forced their way through the breach, many of whom having succumbed to a berserker rage. They tore through the rank like a molten knife through butter, immolating and hacking through their foes with a blood drunk fury. Despite their concentrated efforts, they only managed to push them back two rows before the Sons could reform their lines.

  “Footman!” Aichlan hoarsely cried, “Front!”

  The Aes Sidhean attempted to fight their way to the front and set up a line, but there were too many berserker elves wildly thrashing about. They did their best to set up behind their comrades, and those elves that had not yet succumbed dutifully pulled back. Still, Aichlan could not make the offensive push he needed with his forces so scattered. A ground shattering crack caught his attention, and Aichlan watched in horror as a giant, fat, pig-faced demon crushed half a squad of Aes Sidhean footmen under its spiked iron club. Their flank had either been broken or outmaneuvered.

  “Left!” Aichlan roared as he wheeled his horse around. “Reserves! Left!”

  The back ranks followed Aichlan’s lead as he made a beeline towards the giant. The demon had the head of a boar and the torso of a lumberjack that let his body go to pot in middle age. It also doubled the tallest man in Aichlan’s army. It bellowed and recklessly swung its club, forcing Aichlan’s men to retreat. He quickly realized the beast was serving as vanguard for a company of lightly armored lizard men and wraithlike beings with fang lined maws for faces. By now, it was too late, he had crossed the point of no return and was committed to the attack.

  The beast quickly caught sight of him and took a defensive stance, raising its massive club with what passed as a smile on its slobbering lips. Aichlan swore and threw down his flail, drawing his sword; he was going full tilt with no real idea of how to counter the bastard. Aichlan screamed, more to psych himself up than to intimidate the giant. It was clumsy, relying on sheer size and brute force; if he could cripple it, the elves at his back could finish it. Aichlan tightened his grip on the reins and held out his sword, ready to feint at the last possible moment. He would strike at its obliques, or, if he was lucky, hamstring it.