“It will be a slaughter-yard.”
“That does not sound like a terribly edifying spectacle.”
“Perhaps if you were a corpse raven or a scavenger devilwing it would be.”
“The poets sing such songs about battles too, of courage and glory and heroism.”
“There will be all of those. There will also be a lot of blood and pain.”
“Those are inevitable in life.”
“True enough. You’d think people would want avoid them when they are needless though, wouldn’t you?”
“You think this battle is needless then?”
It was his turn to shake his head. “I have fought in battles that were, but I doubt this will be one of them. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.”
“People always think that.”
“This time it is true though- it’s not just politicians talking. There’s never been a battle like this before, with the dead walking and the Princes of Shadow waiting on the outcome.”
“Not on this world anyway. There were battles like this on Al’Terra. Your patron must have witnessed a fair few. Your Lord Commander as well.”
“Did they have gunpowder and cannon on Al’Terra?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then there has never been a battle like this before anywhere.”
“You could be right.”
They both fell silent as they got within earshot of the commander’s suite.
Chapter Twenty
Sardec watched the Sardeans thunder closer. The great tide of walking corpses screened their human infantry. Only the wyrms behind the main force were visible over their heads. Enemy dragons circled. He was glad that there were skywatcher units present, laid out in the traditional chequerboard pattern among the other infantry. It was their job to protect their comrades from aerial assault although their weapons appeared pitiful when measured against the power of the great reptiles.
He offered up a brief prayer, hoping that Rena had taken his advice and fled as far from the battlefield as possible. He did not want her caught by the undead if the Sardeans swept over their position. He pushed thoughts of his woman from his mind. He could not afford them now, if he hoped to survive the day. He would need every faculty concentrated on his own survival and that of his men.
He walked along the front of the line. “Steady, lads,” he bellowed in his best parade ground voice. “Save your shot till they are within range and aim for the heads.”
That was one thing to be grateful for at least. The Foragers were among the best marksmen in the army. They could be relied on to make their shots count. Of course every musket ball used on a walking corpse was one less fired at a living foe. Even if the undead provided only a walking shield to the infantry behind them, they served a crucial purpose in the enemy’s plan.
Cannons boomed on the hills behind them. The ground beneath Sardec’s feet vibrated in time. Clouds of smoke and earth erupted in the Sardean line. Walking corpses were thrown skywards like rag dolls tossed by an angry child but the rest of them came on, following their drums, ignoring the carnage around them in a way that no living man could.
Sardec had to force himself not flinch as cannon balls whizzed overhead. He heard explosions behind him, and the sound of iron being twisted and wood splintered. It looked like the enemy was going in for counter-battery fire, seeking to destroy the Talorean cannons while they concentrated on clearing the undead.
He forced himself to stand tall and proud. The waiting was always the worst part of any battle. Right now there was nothing he could do save stand there and pray he was not hit before he could get to grips with the foe. He had to set an example to the men around him, who had to do the same. This was worst he could ever remember it being, perhaps because of the presence of the walking dead men, perhaps because of the feeling that this was a battle his side could not win.
He pushed those thoughts aside, telling himself it was the evil magic of the booming drums, and tried to judge the distance separating his men from the enemy. It was hard because the land rolled and sometimes the Sardeans vanished below the line of sight but he estimated that it could not be more than three hundred yards now; extreme range for a musket but still within the realms of possibility for shots like the Foragers.
He looked at Sergeant Hef, who looked at Weasel, who nodded. “Foragers only. Fire!” he bellowed. Moments later the first wave of shots tore into the oncoming dead men. Many staggered, a few fell, their heads torn asunder by the heavy shot. Those coming on behind tripped and were trampled but they did not stop. They marched on, inexorable as a glacier, reducing the corpses they trampled to jelly.
Shots continued to ring out as the Foragers kept a hail of fire on the undead. Despite orders other units began to join in, sending a hail of fire tearing into the enemy line. In places the Sardeans stopped, as a wall of corpses built up ahead of them, but the main body of the foe kept coming on, swirling round the islands of bodies, marching ever forward, unstoppable as death.
Rik saw the lines come together. Musket and cannon fire tore great holes in the undead line. Some of the walking corpses simply picked themselves up after being knocked down and came on. Others, legless, dragged themselves along the ground. All of them seemed animated by one terrible implacable will. None of them showed the sort of fear and indecision that a human trooper might after coming under such withering fire.
Volley after volley rang out but still they came on, with the Sardean infantry bringing up their rear and preparing their weapons. The sound of their fifes and marching drums cut through the sound of battle. Over them towered huge wyrms, their howdahs filled with riflemen, trained sharpshooters picking out selected targets.
Now the walking dead tore into the Talorean line and their presence brought terror. It was not just fighting the massed ranks of the undead; it was the terrible threat that you might be infected by their disease, or rise again to fight against your comrades if you went down.
The Sardean artillery had inflicted some damages on the Scarlet cannon, while they had been busy fruitlessly trying to stem the tide of the undead attack. Tamara met his gaze evenly and shrugged. There was nothing to be said. She obviously shared his opinion of the way things were going.
Overhead the Sardean dragons swept forward and their Talorean counterparts rushed to meet them. Massive beasts smashed into each other in a maelstrom of teeth and claws. Two of the great creatures dropped to earth limbs and wings and tails inextricably intertwined. They fell amid the great melee in the centre of the battlefield, crushing men and walking corpses, and continuing to fight even if their riders were dead and their own bodies hopelessly mangled. Their ferocity was appalling.
The Sardean cavalry flowed round the mass of the battle, taking to the wings of the army, threatening to flank the Taloreans. It was a move that Azaar appeared to have anticipated. The guns on the hills opened fire, carving great holes in their ranks, leaving broken and mangled beasts flopping in the bloody mud. The whole right flank of the Sardean cavalry turned and fled but somehow, against all the odds, with the sort of bravery that can turn the course of battles, the cavalry on the left kept going. The Talorean cavalry rushed to intercept them and the two forces smashed together in a clash of sabre and pistol.
Asea chanted and unleashed a salamander from the ancient jars in which she kept them imprisoned. The giant elemental leapt skywards and hurtled into the battle of dragons; swiftly another and then another joined it, until their blaze lit the sky, and meteor-like other elementals rose from the Sardean line to join the fray. Witchfires underlit the clouds as the supernatural creatures smashed into each other.
Rik glared around, feeling trapped and impotent. There was nothing for him to do here. His skills were useless. His sorcery was not strong enough to have any effect on the outcome of the battle, and he was too far away to take an effective part in the fighting. All he could do was wait and act as a bodyguard for Asea, if worst came to the worst.