“There is a man with them, one who has walked the land for centuries. I will counter him as best I can until I drop from exhaustion. Otherwise he will slaughter your men from afar, and deny you the legend you so desperately desire.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed at the sarcasm in his final comments, but then he laughed and clapped a hand against Qurrah’s shoulder.
“They say you unleashed this horde upon our world. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Then help put them back on their leash.”
He motioned to one of his knights. The man stood beside the half-orc, his weapon drawn and his shield at ready.
“He will protect you from any wayward arrows or demon attacks.”
Qurrah chuckled, hardly believing the audacity of the lie.
“And keep me from fleeing, you mean?” he asked.
“No one flees this battle,” Theo said, a hard look crossing his face. “No surrenders, no deals, no peace. We die, or they do. The same goes for you, orc. You’ve told me your plan, and I approve. Fulfill your duties to me, to my men. You owe them. Time to repay it in blood.”
He pointed to Thulos’s army. “Their blood.”
When he turned to leave, Qurrah spoke up.
“They will send their dead first,” he said. “The barriers will make them stumble, but they will keep coming. Make sure your men are ready for that horror. And save your arrows for the enemies that still have breath.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Theo said before turning back for the front line.
The knight assigned to guard Qurrah remained quiet, but the archers around them fidgeted and stared at the distance.
“I’ve never seen an undead,” one asked. “What are they like?”
“Put an arrow through this knight and I’ll show you,” Qurrah said. He meant it as a joke, but neither the knight nor the archer found it very amusing.
“Never mind,” he said. “They are like animals, slow, dumb animals. They won’t feel pain, so an arrow does little to them other than adding decoration. Cutting their limbs and severing their spines works best, as does crushing their skulls…all jobs for swords and maces.”
“Your role remains vital to this battle,” said the knight to the archers while glaring at Qurrah.
“What is your name?” Qurrah asked.
“Osric.”
“Well, Osric, would you prefer I lie, encouraging them to waste arrows and then encounter the shock of a foe immune to pain, to cold, and who will not bleed when stabbed and will not slow when wounded?”
Osric shifted his shield so it would be more comfortable.
“Sometimes a lie prepares a man better for battle than the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” Qurrah asked, fighting a grin.
“That when a demon comes for your head, I’ll lift you up so he has an easier target.”
Qurrah laughed, and it felt wonderful. A few of the other archers chuckled along, but most clutched their bows and wished for the battle to start, or for it to never arrive at all.
“A t least a thousand men,” said Myann. “Perhaps even two. It seems they no longer trust their castles and walls, and now come to us in the open.”
“Not open,” Velixar said. “They make their stand on a bridge. Foolish. Water means nothing to the dead, nor a bridge to those that can fly.”
“Then dispose of them quickly,” the war demon said. “That is, if you view them so pitiful a challenge.”
Velixar glared. He held Tessanna by the hand as the two marched at the head of the army, surrounded by the undead. She snickered at him, and he wasn’t sure if it was mockery or honest amusement.
“Very well,” Velixar said. “I will send my dead first. While they press the enemy front, you fly over and crush their archers, then take them from behind. They won’t have a chance.”
Myann shook his head. “Risk the lives of my men, all to spare you a few more of your dead puppets? I don’t approve.”
“Our victory will be assured,” Karak’s prophet insisted.
“Victory is already assured. We can always recruit more men, raise more dead. How many villages await us along the coast if our numbers thin? But we of the Warseekers are limited until the portal reopens. Find another way. Crush them with your magic and your dead. Or should we wait for Thulos to return, so that he might see how wrong he was in placing you in charge?”
Velixar looked beyond him to the bridge. A single spell increased his vision to that of a hawk, and he analyzed its defenses. Rows of stone barriers lined the bridge’s path. In the very center a V-shaped wedge faced outward, crafted of wood and reinforced with stone. Any attackers would be funneled to either side, creating obvious chokepoints. His undead would be shoved off the bridge by the hundreds. As for his human soldiers, the archers on the far side would decimate those on the bridge who had not yet reached the front lines.
“Our army will lose thousands all because you will not risk losing a few demons,” he said.
“I would rather sacrifice every one of these humans than have a single soldier of my own die,” Myann said. “Have I made myself clear?”
Velixar’s shifting face slowed, his eyes burning with anger.
“Perfectly,” he said.
The bridge was close. It was time to act.
“They’re just the dead,” Tessanna said, watching him closely. “Send them in. Test the defenders’ mettle.”
“Archers first,” he said. “Bury the bridge in arrows.”
“As you command,” Myann said, offering a mocking bow. The demon relayed the orders. Hundreds of men carrying bows slipped through the ranks to the front. Upon call, they nocked an arrow, holding it for the briefest moment until the release order was yelled. In a great wave they sailed, raining down upon the defenders and their shields. Velixar frowned as he surveyed the damage. Too few were damaged, and only a handful of dead bodies fell from either side of the bridge, pushed off by their comrades.
“Again,” he said. More arrows sailed, but the wall of shields was thick, and the sides of the bridge aided in protecting them. After the fifth wave, Myann made a sound like the cross of a laugh and a snarl.
“Now you’re just wasting arrows!”
“Enough!” Velixar shouted. “If you want my legion destroyed, then so be it.”
He closed his eyes and sent out his orders. The undead surged forward.
“For Karak!” they cried with their mindless voices, a thundering roar that accompanied their charge. That charge slowed to a crawl when they hit the first of the barriers. The undead stumbled over them, the bones in their feet cracking. Some of those in worse condition toppled, their knees or hips tearing from their bodies as they continued on. The rest crushed the fallen, and a small bridge made of the dead formed over the stone. Velixar muttered at the simple, basic defense. His undead could slash and bite with their arms, attacking with a basic primitive sense, but gingerly lifting a leg over a barrier, followed by the other? Absurd.
Beside him, Tessanna giggled.
“Your dead look funny,” she said.
The farce repeated at the next barrier, and then the next. Beside him, Myann laughed.
“Perhaps you do need our aid,” he said. “Your minions seem eager to kill themselves without any help from the defenders.”
Velixar did his best to ignore them both.
“For Karak!” his legion shouted. Even as they stumbled and fell, they still moved forward. The sounds of snapping bones and trampling flesh had to be horrific. Soon they would reach the defenders at either side of their wedge in the center. He closed his eyes and began casting a spell. He wanted to make sure their initial surge dealt significant casualties, otherwise the fight might drag on forever. He outstretched his hand, and from his palm shot several purple balls of fire. They rotated as they flew toward the bridge, but instead of exploding amid the defenses like he hoped, they veered low and crashed into the water, their trajectory ruined.
“Have you lost your aim as well, now?” asked Myann.
