The night had passed by without event. Dagda had been placed on early shift, though it mattered little as sleep would not come to him tonight. Instead he had wandered all over Dún na Rí’s walls lost in his thoughts with Rwua hovering just overhead.
In the immediate aftermath of the Battle Dagda had an overriding sense of anger. At Ardgal for signalling the retreat, at the triumphant cheers of the Men as they sent Na Druaidíi backwards but mostly at himself. He couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to be sucked in by the power of the Omens. He wasn’t a child anymore, he was supposed to be in control. Instead he had put not only himself but also those around him in danger. If Tadhg hadn’t of been there...well it didn’t matter now.
After spending the previous hours going around and around the subject in his mind Dagda was resolute. There was greater battles yet to come, when the men attacked Dún na Rí he would redeem himself and he would show his true worth proving himself to his brothers and sisters. Dagda unsheathed his claíomh and placed it lightly against his left shoulder. The reports indicated that the Men were already arrived at Dún na Rí”s boundary and had decided to use the night and forest to shade their forces as the last of their numbers wound their way up the road. The final touches were being made to the preparation, extra fortifications had been piled high and heavily against the Great Door, fresh tar and oil readied and atop each division of the wall four Scytheta sat primed and ready to fire. It would be the first time they had ever been called upon. Indeed those chosen as operators had had to endure a quickfire lesson in their use and function as even those which remembered the time before the first Men Alliance struggled to recall their running. They had never been needed before.
From his position Dagda had a fine view over the land. He pulled his hood closer about him as the rain beat down mercilessly, spurred on intermittently by great bouts of thunder and lightning. An apt reflection of their current situation.
From the wall to the forest stood a gently upward sloping open area of about a hundred and ten yards. Those first Druaidíi which emerged from the vault and begun the building of Dún na Rí had designed and shaped the land as such, preventing any would be enemies from being afforded cover as they made to scale the walls. Of course no enemy had ever made it so close before. It would be the first time an outside army had ever gazed upon its walls. The thought saddened Dagda. Then again the last force of men to attempt an incursion into Belvoir found themselves up against not 1200 but 8,000 Druaidíi warriors. To be constantly harassed by groups of up to a 100 Druaidíi was one thing, being const antly set upon by groups of up to 500 at a time was quite another. What they wouldn’t give to have those numbers now. They could have even met the men face on, they didn’t though, and such thoughts were pointless to even imagine he knew.
The sudden sound of the defenders assembling alerted him back to the forest, hushed words of caution went up all around him. It didn’t take long for the source of their warnings to reveal itself. Dagda gritted his teeth as the first horns of the Men came into earshot. Hurriedly the last of the defenders took their place on the wall, Tadhg and Cormac among them. Dagda nodded in acknowledgement to both.
Seeing them now he longed for nothing more than a long night spent around the fire in Teach tabhairne. It would have to wait.
The men came creeping out of the forest spreading themselves to completely surround the castle walls. They tread lightly keeping most of their members hidden within the forest.
Spread out for the first time since entering the forest the differences in style between the men of Aileann and Milesia were quite pronounced, even by the limited torchlight. The long rectangular shields of the Milesians varied greatly from the round broad shields of the natives. The legionnaires of the Milesian Army seemed to gleam in the night’s light, their armour and helmets polished and shining. The Partholóns attire paled in comparison, at least in appearance. Dagda was far more familiar with their preferences. Unlike the Milesians they had no set established rank uniform. The Partholóns kept a more lightweight armour, tough leather tunics with linked chainmail reaching down to the knees. On their head they wore iron or steel helmets with a spectacle guard around the eyes and nose forming a mask design. Though similar each had their own certain characteristics. Of the Partholóns gathered Dagda could only make out those in front of him, he spied Earl Harfigh’s men which wore horns upon their helmets as a nod to Clair’s Sigil, the White Bull. To their right stood Earl Diarmuid O’ Meagher’s Men, donning cloaks adorned with his sigil the Boar on their backs.
The Milesians on the other hand appeared as mirrored images of each other garbed in their traditional legionnaire armour. The fading sun bounced off their iron scale armour, mid thigh length with shoulder doublings it offered strong protection. The helmet of the legionnaires was unlike any seen before the Milesian arrival in Aileann, the bowl of the helmet was constructed with iron and was fitted with earguards, stamped decorative emblems, cheekpieces and a neckguard. Even now each soldier was seemingly spotless.
Perched upon the walls Dagda had to admit they made a rather impressive sight. They wouldn’t stay impressive for long.
Far away to his left Dagda spied Ardgal and Michaél head off to take up position atop the battlements. For a moment no one moved, both Druaidíi and men stood motionless assessing the other. The night sky calmed and nothing was heard from either camp.
Then, from the centre of the men’s forces emerged the easily recognisable Branudbh and General Maximo along with their closest advisors. They were unmistakable atop their mounts, must have been sent for once the roadway had been uncovered.
General Maximo raised his right hand aloft, letting it linger he glanced patiently along both sides. When he finally brought it down it seemed as if he had released a great pressure and the heavy tension was torn into the night sky. The air rang once more to the sound of Milesian horns loud, shrill and piercing. At the same moment Brandubh motioned to his personal guard and the booming, thundering drums of the Partholóns began their ominous beat. As one the Men began to march from all sides, though spread out it made little difference to the depth of their formation. As they began their advance more and more lines revealed themselves out of Belvoir’s swarming canopy.
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As the drums beat increased so too did the Mens. From behind them out of the trees came freshly made siege ladders, so many that Dagda could scarcely count. Still Na Druaidíi made no move, no signal. Another blast of the piercing Milesian horns, now the front of the men’s first wave were but fifty yards away almost at a running pace with the lack of any Druaidíi interruption fuelling their approach and dampening any trepidation.
It wasn’t until the first men had reached the castle walls that it began.
From within the inner sanctum of Dún na Rí came the deafening cry of the Horn of Samhraidh. So old it was believed to have been originally created and designed to alert Na Druaidíi to retire underground in the End Days. It’s call had not been heard in over 3000 years but to Dagda the noise could not have been any more powerful or welcome. It’s very vibrations pulsated in the air around him. Even the men were briefly waylaid by its force. It’s cry was the spark for their fuse.
A tremendous explosion erupted from within the ground as the main of the men’s first wave made their rush to Dún na Rí’s wall. As if imploded by the hand of a God the ground began to tremor and collapse inwards dragging desperately clawing soldiers down into its folds.
Confusion and alarm seized the Men, the suddenness and surprise of the attack snatching away their momentum. Na Druaidíi reacted at once as Omen fire, ice, wind and lightning cracked together into one great whispering mass weighlaying the Men’s charge even as it faltered. The ground lay ruined a sprawling mass of hollows and ravines, broken and jagged. Those first in the men’s line now ensnared in the small ground between the walls and the chasm were easily picked off by a plethora of bolts, shards and flames.
The rumbling and shaking of the ground settled and as the smoke cleared the extent of the Druaidíi’s explosion became clear. The wails of those unfortunate enough to have survived their fall and the destruction filled the air, crawling and scrambling on shattered limbs and broken bones.
When those first Druaidíi had built Dún na Rí they may not have dedicated their efforts to security but that did not mean they had none. The land from just beyond walls to the Forest had been altered and forged for this very purpose, to serve as a natural trap and eliminator against any would be attackers. At the horn’s beckoning the ancient Druaidíi’s grasp and control of Omen was revealed in the modern day and Dagda awed at its effect.
The men would now have to tread across the divide before they could even reach the Walls, the deep holes created affording the defenders far more time to strike as the men pressed. Time which we will need.
The men hesitated, the destruction giving them thought for pause,if only briefly. Yet it did take them long to regroup and all too soon the war drums began their steady beat once more which was quickly joined in by the Milesian horns sounded anew.
This time there would be no heavy charge and no rush forward. The men moved slower now, more methodical, every step a deliberate one. Their shields locked together in place they gingerly made their way upon the broken land attempting to traverse its pitfalls even as they kept their shields aloft.
The distinctive voice of Ardgal ricocheted all around Dún na Rí’s walls, Dagda had spent many hours alone as a youth in the forest with none save Rwua for witness practising and refining his Battlefield voice. Ardgal had it perfected. At his call Na Druaidíi finally stirred,
The spindly arms of the Scytheta propelled themselves at the men at an inconceivable speed, hurtling into the mess of bodies. The men making their way cautiously presented easy targets. Dagda had only seen the Scytheta in practise and never the effects on its victims. Now it was apparent for all to see. They may not have seen use in all of the city’s many years but the technology driving them was yet beyond anything the men would have ever seen. Firing at will now the bolts launched themselves at the Men, Dagda marvelled at their lethality. The bolts stayed their course until right at the moment of impact when 8 wickedly sharp arms shot forth in all directions torpedoing through shield, mail and bones. Then just as quickly the arms retracted and the bolt was wound back in once more.
That the Scytetha were effective was not in doubt but with only 4 on each wall it wouldn’t be near enough. The men came onwards marching at a steady pace, moving as fast as they dared over the uneven, unsteady ground, as the men came into range once more Dagda readied his longbow, though not the conventional weapon of the Druaidíi, through hunting and required practise every member was more than proficient, Dagda amongst them.
Ardgal called the bows to arms and the collective sound of Na Druaidíi drawing arrows and pulling back the taut springs of their yew longbows filled the air. The men were gradually approaching, picking up their speed as they moved yet they remained tight in formation, shields interwoven together presenting few areas to target.
“The legs and the arms, they are the best bets to land, or perhaps a well placed headshot if you can time it right.” Cormac muttered at the side of his mouth just loud enough for Tadhg and Dagda alongside him to hear. Most skilled and comfortable with ranged weapons, the bow seemed to be a mere extension of his arm. Tadhg grunted at the advice his face twisted in concentration. “Headshot? I’m just trying to make sure it fires the damned thing, I hate bows.”
Tadgh notched an arrow, muttering to himself all the while, “I can’t fuckin wait til they get up here.”
Cormac smiled, “You make a swoosh noise when Ardgal calls Tadhg, I’ll take out enough for both of us, no one will be the wiser, and when this is over I’ll speak nought of it.”
Now it was Tadhg’s turn to smile, “Very well, and when the real fighting begins I’ll do likewise for you.”
“FIRE”
Argdal finally roared and at once the Druaidíi’s arrows rained down upon the men as they ascended towards the Castle Walls. The men were prepared for such and their tight formation checked most.
“FIRE AT WILL.”
The Druaidíi acted accordingly and the sound of arrows firing now relentlessly took over. Dagda zoned in on his next target, his first arrow had been waylaid by the shields of the men, this time he waited until the head of a soldier became briefly exposed as he stumbled forward. Dagda smiled satisfied as the arrow slammed into the Milesians face and sent him crumbling to the ground. His fellow soldiers left him sprawled where he lay, minds focused only on the wall and its levelling they came steadily onwards. Dagda drew again, he had his first victim of the day. It would not be the last.