“To me!” S̆ams̆ādur roared above the frenzy, raising his great axe above his head as if it were a battle standard - an unfortunate necessity as his actual standard bearer had taken an arrow to the throat on the walls of Dūr-Sulmu and pitched off the side of the castle, taking the prince’s banner with him. When this is over…

Rallied to the sound of his voice, the durgū who were chasing the broken line of guards pulled back, save for a few who were too lost in the frenzy of battle to hear or heed commands. He roared again, straining his voice to its fullest in the hope of breaking through to them; what happened next was up to them.

After breaking out of Dūr-Sulmu, the hasty alliance of durgu and priests had rampaged through the city unchecked until they reached the lower marketplace, aiming for the city gates in the hopes of meeting up with Tsia. Unfortunately, a small army was waiting for them in the market - the forces of Dūr-Āsir, Dūr-Bihurtu, and Dūr Rabû, according to Marīltu.

Even with the priests, they were thoroughly outnumbered, though not necessarily outmatched - there was a reason the durgū were feared after all. Folding the priests into the middle of their company, the durgū had formed a shield wall and advanced against the soldiers. The men of Birnah had held their ground at first, their numbers allowing them to press the durgū on three flanks, but the dwarves’ superior strength had slowly, but surely, pushed the soldiers back until they were nearly driven out of the marketplace. It was then that, in an apparent sudden loss of morale, the soldiers had turned and fled.

His men, nearly mad with blood lust and sensing victory at hand, had broken ranks as they chased the fleeing guards, but the men of Sapīya, though they were not as strong as the dwarves, were faster. They had lost surprisingly few men as they pulled ahead of the pursuing durgū, and that was when S̆ams̆ādur had realized it was all a trick, that their flight was a ploy to get his forces to abandon their protective shield wall. And even as he realized that, he spied reinforcements marching down their street, though their banner was still too far away for him to tell who was approaching. Not that it mattered. They already had the advantage but with reinforcements….

“Square formation,” he thundered, taking his spot in line as the soldiers who had returned to him quickly reformed their wall. “Retreat to the western side,” he followed up, planning to use the walls of the market to free up one of their sides. They marched slowly backward, harassed by the men of Birnah who, seeing their gambit hadn’t worked out, had quickly swallowed up the few stragglers who hadn’t heeded his call and began reforming their own line. If I hadn’t realized it… He shuddered at the thought, knowing his army would have been thoroughly smashed.

Counting on the coming reinforcements, the men of Birnah advanced quickly, smashing into the shield wall with renewed vigor. The dwarves held firm for the time, the priests healing them nearly as quickly as they fell, but S̆ams̆ādur began to fear that his strategy had been a mistake. We should have retreated to the castle. The reinforcements drew neared, and he knew he had to make a decision. If they charged now, they could probably punch through the Sapīyan lines and make a break for Dūr-Sulmu; it would come at a cost, a cost that made his stomach turn. In a charge like that, they wouldn’t be able to keep their ranks, nor would the priests be able to save all who fell. How many would we lose?

But the alternative might be even worse; if Jasper and Ihra failed in their task, once the reinforcements came his men would be trapped by a foe too numerous to defeat. They’d be forced to surrender or die. The order was on the tip of his tongue when a hand fell on his arm.

“Look!” Marīltu hissed, an exuberant dancing in his eyes, as he pointed to the oncoming troops. “Look at their banner!”

Twisting his head, S̆ams̆ādur froze as he stared down the street. The banner was finally visible, and it was not one he’d expected to see. Even from a distance, the gleaming white fortress, perched on rolling hills, popped against the emerald green background. The banner of Yas̆peh and its king. The banner of Tsia. How? By S̆ams̆a’s light, how?! His estimation of the princess skyrocketed, but he knew there would be time for question later. For now, he needed to take advantage of the opportunity she had given him.

Prepare for a charge. His command quickly passed through the ranks as he waited for Tsia to launch her attack on the men of Birnah, who, confident in the strength of their walls, paid no attention to the approaching soldiers. It never even crossed their mind that they might not be allies, and, thus, they were wholly unprepared when the first bolts of lightning arced through their back ranks. Chaos ensued and, as the soldiers faltered, struggling to identify the new foe behind them, the durgū charged.

This time, it was no trick when the soldiers’ lines collapsed. They fell by the score as the bolts of lightning that rippled through their ranks, leaping from body to body, were followed by oversized blades of wind that scythed through them like overrun wheat. The right and left flanks, which still had avenues of escape available fled, while the middle was swallowed up by the durgū and Tsia’s combined forces. Completely outmatched, the remaining soldiers began throwing down their weapons and dropping to their knees. We won.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Of course, S̆ams̆ādur knew that the battle for the city was far from over; they didn’t have the manpower to chase down the men who had fled, a group that still outnumbered two or three to one, and once they holed up in their castles, it would be nearly impossible to root them out, but the heart of the city was now theirs. They had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, and the rest was up to Jasper. If he can kill the mage…

His exultation was cut short as the men around him froze, many of them clutching at their heads, and he noticed a faint pressure pushing down on his mind. The mage. It had to be him, but the prince had no idea how he could be exerting pressure on so many people at the same time.

S̆ams̆ādur’s question was answered a moment later as the clouds above them darkened. The rain intensified, so cold that it was almost ice, and in the center of the clouds, the prince glimpsed something staring back. A monstrous eye, its pupil completely black and its sclera covered in dozens of foul runes. Thorn-covered tendrils sprouted from where its eyelashes should be, wriggling with a mind of their own. He knew it then for what it was, the eye of Duluhhu himself. Though it was a shadow of its former glory - for its owner had long since passed - the ancient relic glared at the city, willing all to fall beneath its spell, and groans of pain rippled through his ranks as his men dropped to their knees, hands clasped to their head. They weren’t the primary targets of the ritual, though.

It was the prisoners, their minds already weakened by the small spells and cantrips Rahmû had forced on them over the preceding year, whose eyes turned a milky white. It was the prisoners who lurched to their feet and, with all restraint or thought of self stripped from their mind, fell on his men like a pack of wild animals.

Kruvas̆.

A deafening din filled the hall as the hungry ghosts descended on the guards. The injured one succumbed almost immediately as a specter pounced on the open wound, gnawing his arm off in a fraction of a second. Jasper stepped back as another two guards were dragged to the ground, their armor doing nothing to stop the ghosts’ spectral class.

But then his looming victory was unceremoniously crushed. The hall pulsed with light as one of the guards, with something clutched in his hand, raised his arm above his head and screamed. “As̆uṣi ēṭemmī ana ēkallim…”

Jasper couldn’t make out the man’s words over the keening wail of the specters, but the meaning quickly became obvious. As he chanted, a golden shield rapidly expanded around the group, driving the specters before it and banishing all it touched.

Just one of the specters escaped the shield’s rapid expansion, hiding behind Jasper impotently. With the threat removed, the remaining guards reorganized and, lowering their long spears, marched toward him, still covered by the golden shield. Crap.

He backpedaled rapidly and recast Flame Charge, wincing as he felt the strain of his essence dipping dangerously low. But as the white-hot flames rapidly spread across his body, and he swung the burning glaive in front of him in broad, wild sweeps to keep the guards away, the guards clearly withdrew. Despite their mind-controlled status, they still seemed to preserve some elements of strategic knowledge and self-preservation and apparently had not forgotten the fate of the last guard to be touched by that fire. Bunching together defensively, they kept the long spears lowered, forcing him into a standoff.

Unfortunately, Jasper knew they could afford to wait. For now, the white flames were enough to force a stalemate but once his essence ran out, he’d be helpless. I need to end this now.

He eyed the guards with a frown, running through the paltry list of options he had. Purge seemed pointless - the men were mind-controlled, not evil. Punishing Hand and Fiery Shackles didn’t do what he needed; freezing them in place for a few seconds wouldn’t prevent the long spears from keeping him at bay. Only Shooting Stars seemed useful, but their armor had protected them from the worst of the explosions. He was sure he could overwhelm them if he had more essence, but as it was…

The answer came to him in the form of an old folktale. Arnold von Winkelfried. With a thud, he rested his glaive against the floor and, drawing a potion out of his bag, uncorked the top. Then, not giving himself time to think of how badly it was going to hurt, he charged toward the pikes.

He twisted to the side as he reached them, presenting as small of a target as possible, but one of the spears still punched through his armor, slicing across his abdomen and punching through the side. He pressed forward, screaming in pain as he slid up the shaft of the spear and reached a hand to the guard’s face.

The spear fell from the guard’s grasp as the white flames leaped from Jasper’s hands onto his beard, rapidly eating away at his flesh. Jasper surged through the hole he’d opened in their formation, dragging the spear he was still impaled on behind him, as he swept the burning glaive through the gathered guards and the white flames did the rest.

Unable to break the hold over their mind, they pressed in around him even as their armor melted from the heat of flames, even as their skin withered and shriveled. He downed the healing potion in one swift gulp, despite the spear still stuck in his side, and pressed on, relentless as he seized the final moment of opportunity. And when the fires ceased, the hall was silent.

He dropped to his knees with a grunt, wrestling with the spear sticking out of his abdomen. Trapping the shaft against the floor with his foot, he snapped it and pulled the shortened end out of his body with a groan. He downed a second potion and devoted the last dregs of his essence to casting Circle of Forgiveness, before he staggered to his feet, surveying the hall grimly. He looked away from the bodies, sickened by the scene of carnage, and then he remembered Ihra.