He immediately rode back to his line, the noise of the advancing enemy behind him seeming to intensify between the two hills. Artemisia’s comrades had spread out across the valley bottom, beyond the road, on either side. Their shields were ready.
Brynd rode in front of his own lines now, loud enough for rank upon rank of soldiers to hear what he had to say.
‘They’re coming!’ he bellowed, ‘at least thirty thousand of them against us few thousand; they outnumber us at least three to one, but here, within this valley, they cannot overpower us.’
Led by the Night Guard, the gathered soldiers began to strike their shields with their swords.
‘If the enemy breaks through, they will begin ending civilization across the Boreal Archipelago. Your children will be wiped out, your homes will be burned. There will be no future. However, if you die today in glorious victory, comrades, it will be better than being defeated and remaining alive to see what follows.’
The clamour continued and he took the unusual step of riding deeper through the ranks to repeat his message further in; then, finally, he returned to the front line.
Brynd dismounted and sent the horse back.
He stood among the Night Guard, with Artemisia and her warriors alongside them.
They waited as the ground shook and horns blared. Brynd raised his sword in the air and silence fell across the thousands behind. He waited.
The enemy continued to pour into the valley, just a few hundred yards away now, a seething mass of anger marching ever closer. . then began their charge.
Brynd lowered his arm.
A moment later and the skies darkened with hundreds of arrows, which arced into the distance and over the enemy. Brynd repeated the gesture and another wave of arrows was released, this time at a lower trajectory to take out those at the front. Brynd circled his sword in the air and the archers continued firing freely into the advancing ranks.
‘Close the line!’ he shouted.
The front row of defence locked shields and spears were pushed forward, a barbed frontier of what was left of the civilized world. Artemisia’s hundred took several paces and then locked their own.
The enemy tide could be discerned clearly now: the creatures here were hominid, of sorts, like the Okun but with hideous, blistered skin; there were worse things beyond, a few Okun in between.
The Night Guard braced themselves. Veterans from the Dragoons locked shields behind; Brynd peered over the edge of his shield, which he held with his left arm, and gripped his sword more tightly.
He counted down quickly and loudly as the first, huge wave of the enemy advance crashed into the shields and spears.
Multiple dull thuds clattered into the wall. At first, everyone’s feet slipped back because of the sheer force, but the Dragoon veterans shoved back behind the Night Guard, who gave a quick, collective heave, pressing forward with their spears.
‘Release!’ Brynd shouted.
Shields were unlocked for a brief moment as they turned and stabbed their spears, and hacked at any flesh within sight, cleaving limbs and aiming for faces and necks.
‘Lock!’ Brynd bellowed.
The shield wall re-formed, spears protruded, and again everyone shoved forward in unison.
‘Release two!’ Brynd commanded, increasingly out of breath now.
They fought for twice as long as last time, now with drawn swords, stabbing where appropriate, severing limbs, coolly ignoring the snarling faces beyond, before locking once again.
And then again.
They repeated the process with finesse, locking and releasing shields, fighting on the break, continuing for the better part of half an hour before the advancing enemy had been thinned out.
The wall had held.
When they had eliminated the bulk of the advance, Brynd gave the order for the front row of defenders to break free and stride forward over the gathered corpses, to remove what remained. He led from the front, hacking into the gawping, vicious-looking creatures, guessing where there was no armour for a quick, clean kill. He dodged crude spears, and knocked away the rough, heavy swords raised at him. Limbs and throats became prime targets, and he hacked at them like a ruthless, calculating machine.
Three, four, eight, nine, the numbers fell before him, everything slowed down, his enhancements came to light; his comrades by his side, he felt unstoppable. The creatures fell by the dozen; blood was splattered thickly across his dark armour. The ground became a sodden mulch of blood, mud and offal.
Then, lightness and a sudden rush of air.
What was left of this first wave retreated back to their own lines and, even there, chaos appeared to have broken out.
Brynd was astonished to see that Artemisia’s unit had progressed some hundred yards further up the valley; they were now surveying the wreckage of battle, thrusting their spears into anything that was still moving.
Brynd gave the command to refresh the lines. The Night Guard and front rows of veterans peeled back into their ranks and fresh soldiers were brought forward.
‘They’re not wearing much armour,’ Brug muttered. ‘They’re undisciplined and untrained. This should be easy.’
‘It’s not them I’m bothered about,’ Brynd said, ‘there’s worse beyond.’
Artemisia strode over to him, wiping the blood from her blade. ‘A good start, commander. They make splendid sport, do they not? They’ve mostly fled now.’
The Night Guard marched back through the ranks, informing the gathered men that the veterans were still at the front, and inspired them by revealing how easy the defence would be. The mood visibly changed. It seemed that these newer Dragoons wanted a piece of history.
Despite the lighter armour, Brynd felt exhausted. The Night Guard sat on rocks just up to one side, away from the front, and soon Artemisia joined them.
Brynd lifted up his helmet. ‘The infantry is no problem. These soldiers will be able to hold their own now, I’m confident of that. We must see that the dragons and garudas can help out. But there’s worse back there, I’m sure of it. Thin it out with that liquid fire — whatever it was I saw being dropped on the sea earlier. We can hold our wall for as long as it takes — but as soon as those machines get near to us, Lantuk is done for.’
An hour later, his orders were enacted. As another wave of infantry came and failed against the Imperial shield-wall in the valley below, Brynd watched a squadron of dragons sailing overhead, with what garudas could be spared. Beneath the dragons he could see huge cylindrical tubes. The dragons drifted over the advancing infantry to where there were larger and more dangerous foes beyond.
Moments later they released their cargo and fire erupted on the ground, emitting huge flames and black smoke that licked up the sides of the valley. A deep shudder and explosions could be heard shortly after. The skies darkened. Everyone watched in awe. The fighting on the front line seemed to pause momentarily as the advancing warriors on both sides assessed what was going on.
‘What next?’ Artemisia asked.
‘Send your forces down from the hills,’ Brynd declared, ‘in order to clean up any of those who are trying to flee. I don’t want any prisoners of any kind. And bring more fire — there’s a lot down there that needs burning. I’ll advance the Dragoons through the valley to kill anything that moves.’
Back outside Lantuk, Brynd wanted to see the status of the battle and the situation beyond. He took one of the Mourning Wasps up to survey the remnants of the fighting.
He soared over devastation.
Not even in the urban confines of Villiren had the bodies of the dead been piled so high. First, the valley was littered with them, and the road had transformed into a bloodied river, bordered by the blackened sides of the valley. The charred remains of gargantuan creatures lay on their sides, some still barely moving; there was no blood here, just utter blackness.