The Broken Isles

‘Now what?’ Lan repeated. ‘What’s he going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Fulcrom said.

‘We should try to fight,’ Lan said. ‘Defend the people we can. See if some can escape in time — or until this Frater Mercury decides to help.’

‘You’re right,’ Fulcrom said. ‘I’ll give the order.’

They began to move towards their mare, watching the crowds begin to move past them and over the slope.

‘We’ll probably get killed before nightfall,’ Lan said nonchalantly. ‘I’m fine with that, but before that happens, I just wanted. . I never got a chance to say thank you — for giving me something I’ve never had before.’

Fulcrom placed a finger on her lips. ‘It isn’t a charity I’m running. I’m in love with you, Lan, or had you not noticed? Now then.’ Fulcrom placed his foot in the stirrup and levered himself up. He offered to take Lan’s hand, even though she didn’t need it. She just tuned in to her internal powers and leapt up effortlessly.

After giving instructions for those at the head of the convoy to continue downhill towards Frater Mercury, Fulcrom and Lan galloped down the line, passing the miserable and concerned faces until they met up with clusters of soldiers. Fulcrom had been careful in planning their route to navigate close to the few military installations, outposts and training camps that were scattered throughout the wilderness. The further they travelled, the more soldiers they accumulated. Granted it had not been much, perhaps a couple of hundred troops here and there, but that was better than nothing. Just as importantly, Fulcrom had located a few cultists who had lost most of their relics, but still clutched a few items that might come in useful — and now was just such a time to try.

As Fulcrom and Lan dashed down the vast line, he gave the orders for any soldiers, cultists and anyone who could bear arms to follow. Those on horseback came immediately and the rest progressed quickly on foot, brave and determined.

Even from this distance, Fulcrom could already see the horrors that lay ahead.

The swarms that had spilled from the alien structure were individual warriors all right, but they looked like nothing he had ever seen before, not even what came down into Villjamur. Their armour looked more like black shells. .

These are no ordinary creatures.

His small group of defenders eventually arrived at the rear of the convoy, where the black things were lining up to face them. The sun was sliding from the sky, over the distant hills and behind the enemy. The sunlight was right in Fulcrom’s eyes. Yet another disadvantage.

He estimated that perhaps four or five thousand of the black creatures had now assembled.

‘It’s horrific,’ Lan breathed. ‘Look at them all.’

‘I’d rather not,’ Fulcrom replied, dismounting from his horse.

‘I’ll see to the people’s safety again,’ Lan said from the saddle. ‘Do you want me to stay and fight? Wherever you want me, I’ll go.’

‘No, do what you do best, help people, and be careful,’ Fulcrom replied, holding her fingertips for a little longer. ‘Make sure everyone gets their chance to get up that hill and out to sea.’

Lan smiled softly and nodded, before riding towards the last few hundred people.

No kiss goodbye. No longing embrace. To do so would have seemed to tempt fate.

‘I hope that’s not the last I’ll see of you,’ he whispered.

Remnants of the City Guard, Dragoons and Regiments of Foot began to adopt their pre-planned formations, which was essentially two standard lines of defence.

They stood now near the base of the hill, which flattened out to a vast stretch of abandoned farmland hardened by the snow and ice. There were two largely dead forests either side of these fields, up on slightly higher ground. Aside from that, the terrain was even, just a barren, featureless stretch of land. It would make the fighting straightforward, though Fulcrom didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing. He marched over to a band of cultists, seven of them who had remained loyal to the cause of the convoy, united by their homelessness. Some had brought crude catapults, and such weapons were very welcome right now. The cultists began assembling their makeshift war gear on the spot. One had a sack of relics which she brought down from a nearby cart; another began dragging their catapults — three in all — into a neat row.

They were like none Fulcrom had seen before — like enormous wooden crossbows, the height of a human or rumel, and each sitting on a two-limbed stand. They didn’t look as if they should stay upright, but they did.

Fulcrom moved around behind the cultists offering a simple suggestion. ‘I want you to use these catapults as heavily as is possible. Show no mercy. Don’t hold up. Give everything you’ve got.’

‘Ballistas, mate,’ one of them said. ‘They’re ballistas, not catapults. And we’ll do our best. We’ve got a few hundred munitions, mate. All depends on the torsion springs mind — these are pretty old. Still, should do the trick, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Fulcrom replied, having no idea.

He watched them load up with munitions and aim them towards the enemy lines. In order to get a better view of the scene, Fulcrom climbed up onto the nearby cart. The few hundred Empire soldiers had formed a row now, protecting the rear of the convoy — it might not be much, Fulcrom thought, but it was at least a layer between them and the refugees.

Behind, the cultists had lined up the three ballistas and were now making minor adjustments to the mechanisms, before aiming them at the enemy.

It looked futile, Fulcrom had to admit. ‘What’s the furthest you’ve ever shot one of those things?’

‘’Bout half a mile at best,’ one replied. ‘Why, how far away are the fuckers?’

‘I’d say nearly half a mile,’ Fulcrom said.

‘Right you are, chief. Want us to fire?’

‘Might as well,’ Fulcrom said.

‘Uh, investigator?’ one of the cultists was pulling at his legs. Fulcrom looked down and then up to where the man was pointing. In the sky, on the other side this time, there were yet more forms — drifting down towards the other side of the convoy about a mile or so away.

Fulcrom held his hands over his head. ‘Shit!’ he shouted despairingly. ‘What now? Are we not hunted enough already?’

‘Fucked if you do, fucked if you don’t, eh?’ the cultist said.

‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Fulcrom said, ‘but I’m not going down without taking down some of that lot. You with me?’

‘That’s the spirit, chief,’ the cultist laughed and returned to the others. ‘Ready, lads?’

‘Release your munitions,’ Fulcrom ordered.

The cultists each pulled a lever at the back of the ballista and Fulcrom barely had time to notice the munitions launch off with a thwack into the distance. They rocketed in huge arcs and, for a moment, Fulcrom thought they were going to fall short, but they carried on going and eventually connected with the ground. Something flashed: a moment later came the sound of explosion. A disproportionately large purple fireball began spreading and smoke bubbled and billowed upwards into the sky.

Fulcrom felt his spirits soar. Soldiers in the front two rows were visibly excited.

‘Not bad, chief, eh?’ one of the cultists said, slapping another on the back. ‘Right, next one.’

Another set of munitions were released and sent arcing through the sky. They closed the distance gracefully, before once again causing fireballs. This time Fulcrom saw enemy numbers caught up in the upward-billowing inferno and he felt the cart shake beneath him.

Those things are horrific, he thought; for a moment he felt deep sympathy for whoever was on the opposing side. But then something hardened inside of him. These repugnant things deserved everything that could be thrown at them.

Another munition, another fireball; four, six, ten, and still they kept coming — the cultists showed little mercy, but the black-armoured enemy continued to march, through the smoke, towards their Jamur lines.

It’s the waiting that’s the worst part of all this, Fulcrom thought as he drew his sword.

Despite the munitions that thundered into them, back over their first rows, and thinning them out randomly, there was no stopping the sheer flow of. . creatures. Fulcrom felt a lump in his throat. The creatures were running