behind.
When the moment was right, Goughfree or any of the generals commanding the other bridges could draw upon well-rested reserves for a devastating counterattack to drive the attackers hack across the river. The defenders would not attempt to follow, but would instead try to reduce the enemy as severely as circumstance allowed before returning to the defense of the bridges. In the event the Horde succeeded in fighting its way across the entire length of a bridge, tall entrance gates and heavily defended city walls awaited them.
It was a good plan, a sound plan, uncomplicated and easy to implement. Goughfree, Chaupunell, Zisgymond and the other senior officers had a great deal of confidence in it. With luck, it would result in the elimination of the Totumakk Horde as an effective fighting force or threat to the Gowdlands for all time.
When battle was finally joined, standing atop the Hidradny Tower and squinting through the rain, Goughfree could see that all was going as planned. Shattering the air with a frightful ululation interspersed with individual war cries, many of which did not arise from human throats, the Horde proceeded to assault all four main bridges simultaneously. If in so doing they hoped to discover a weak point, they failed miserably. Only on the Salmisti Bridge were the defenders overwhelmed by the fury of the attack and pushed back. Hastily reinforced by cavalry held in reserve for just such a purpose, the defense stiffened at the last wall before the city gate.
Taking personal charge of the counterattack, General Zisgymond of the Grand Moied of Viezshry led a charge through the gate of massed heavy cavalry drawn from four kingdoms. The impact of the armored horse and antelope on the invaders was terrible. Those who were not trampled under hoof or cut down by lance, pike, and sword either fled back across the corpse-strewn bridge or leaped into the river to escape. Those whose weighty armor did not drag them to the muddy bottom to drown were carried off downstream by the swift current of the Drimaud and away from the field of battle. It was not a defense: it was a rout. Within the city, an elated citizenry filled the air with a spontaneity of cheers.
The effect on the rest of the enemy was profound. Seeing their hitherto indomitable colleagues slaughtered or forced into the water, the columns of attackers assaulting the other three main bridges faltered in their conviction, hesitated, and were, bridge by bridge, driven back to the far shore from whence they had come. As planned, their triumphant adversaries halted there, thrusting their weapons into the air while jeering their enemy, and returning to reconstitute their defensive positions.
That evening, Chaupunell and the rest of the senior staff took the time to congratulate Goughfree and one another.
'It's not done with yet.' Goughfree had been too long a soldier to sail easy upon a sea of acclaim. 'They were only testing us.'
'A costly test.' A euphoric commander of archers was leaning against the stone fretwork, peering through the mist. The gentle rain softened the aspect of the slaughter, whose bloody aftermath still stained the rough stone of the bridges. The Salmisti and Breleshva crossings in particular benefited from the cleansing shower, restoring the sheen of their smoothly paved surfaces from bright red to flinty gray.
'We have suffered losses of our own,' Chaupunell pointed out. 'The wounded must be seen to, and possible weak spots shored up.' He and Goughfree in concert with a pair of senior engineers set to devising revised fortifications for the endangered Salmisti Bridge.
The Horde did not wait for morning. Hoping to catch the defenders of Kyll-Bar-Bennid off guard, and before they could renew themselves with a good night's rest, the invaders launched a second attack just after midnight. Darkness allowed them to approach the defensive palisades more closely this time before they were discovered, but the surprise they achieved was only partial.
Responding with energy and determination, the defenders gave ground grudgingly on all four bridges, doing as much damage as possible before falling back where and when necessary. When the Horde threw cavalry of its own into the attack, some desperate moments ensued. Riding atop hollow-eyed hoarbeasts boasting sharp, forward-facing horns and snouts filled with serrated, snapping teeth, the Horde scattered the defenders of the previously unbreached Zhisbrechar Bridge, seriously weakening the left flank of the city's defense and threatening to breach the tower that anchored that end of the city wall. Massive as gryphons, fleet of foot as elk, the hoarbeasts were not turned by the cavalry sent to reinforce the bridge.
That was when Goughfree called forth the Shandrac Thunder. From strategically superior positions atop hills behind the city walls, the famed assembled artillery of the Twin Dominions poured fire and destruction upon the invading Horde. Explosions ripped through the rain and split the night as projectiles fell like hail on the bridge and the far shore. Terrified by the flash and sound of exploding shells, panicked hoarbeasts whirled in retreat, trampling their own reinforcements underfoot and sowing panic and confusion among all manner of befuddled attackers. When the defenders of the Zhisbrechar followed the bombardment with a furious counterattack of their own, they were met with little resistance. Debased beast and brute homunculus alike went down beneath scything sword and thrusting pike.
Once more, victory belonged to the defenders. Once again, the enemy had failed even to mount a persistent assault on a city gate. Around Goughfree, senior staff and attendant guard celebrated gleefully. Only the general himself did not participate. Though chided for his reserve, he explained that he could not bring himself to rejoice. Something worried his thoughts like a nipping eel that had clamped its jaws around his ankle and would not let go.
Where was Khaxan
For the next three days, nothing more threatening than heavy rain pummeled the defenders of the Gowdlands. From a strategic standpoint, the pause made no sense. Chaupunell in particular was surprised by the hiatus—surprised and pleased, since it gave the defenders time to rest, to recover, and to repair some of the damage done to their forward defenses on the four main bridges.
Of course, Goughfree knew, the enemy was using the time to recuperate as well. The Horde had suffered terrible losses. Hundreds of bodies, some too ghastly in appearance to touch, washed up on the narrow shingle beaches at the base of the city walls and docks. The defenders, too, had suffered. But if anything, morale within and behind Kyll-Bar-Bennid was higher than ever, thanks to the unified forces of the Gowdlands having repulsed not one but two attacks of significance. And while their flow was reduced in number, reinforcements continued their steady trickle into the city.
On the morning of the fourth day after the midnight attack on the bridges, the interminable rain gave way to a light fog. Hanging over river and city, shore and plain, it imparted an eerie and unnatural peace to the panorama of devastation. Even the local waterfowl, who in the absence of battle had been slowly returning to favorite haunts beneath the bridges and along the silent shores, were strangely quiet.
The trio of forward lookouts who saw the first lumpenkin were so shocked they nearly failed to report the advance before they were cut down, torn to pieces by sinewy, muscular arms longer than their own bodies. As the towering, dull-eyed, blond-furred bipeds shambled forward, heads hanging low from long necks and the backs of massive hands scraping the ground as they walked accompanying dramunculi swept the bridge with pyrovomitus, scorching the precisely set stones and incinerating anything flammable. Behind these striding horrors came the main body of the Totumakk Horde, even grimmer of countenance than usual, led by officers in terrifying armor who had heretofore remained in the background, giving orders without participating directly in battle.
Hastily struggling into his uniform, Goughfree knew as soon as he reached the high parapet and descried what was coming that this was to be the Final Battle. Today the Horde would hold nothing back. Today would bring the final, unconditional triumph of the peoples of the Gowdlands. It was with eager anticipation that he buttoned the collar of his weather jacket and heard the Shandrac Thunder begin to boom vigorously behind him.
Once again, explosive shells began to fall among the invaders, easy targets where they were packed together and concentrated on the eastern approaches to the four bridges. Once again, blood and bone, steel and stone, erupted in grisly fountains from the already battered but still intact stone arches and from the far shore. And then a strange thing happened.
The shells continued to fall, the Shandrac gunners placing them with unerring accuracy in the midst of the invaders. Explosions continued to split the air, and the fog became flavored with the acrid stink of gunpowder. But the enemy was not affected. Something was protecting them. Gazing down in disbelief, the members of the senior staff charged with the ultimate defense of the city and the Gowdlands saw that the falling shells were exploding
'There!' shouted Colonel Borallos. The slim, dark-haired Master of Horse was accounted the sharpest of eye
