Even Gods Must Fall (28 page)

His large, wide eyes surveyed the second trench. It appeared no Dwarf rounds managed to penetrate this far, leaving the defenses rather wholly intact. Sharpened logs were leveled at dangerous angles to prevent any normal army from making a head-on charge. Fortunately the Minotaurs of Malg were anything but normal. Capable of leaping high, Krek intended on going over the defenses. Doing so would cause many casualties. He reckoned the first wave would be rendered ineffective.

Suicide wasn’t in his tactical plans, however, and he was forced to consider a second option. Fires burned around him, the residue of the barrage. Ordering the follow-on ranks to collect as much burning material as possible, Krek intended on burning the enemy out. He just had to get there first. Enemy fire was picking up. Short spears and throwing axes joined the arrows. More bulls dropped. Clearly the ease with which the first trench fell was not about to be replayed a second time.

A series of small towers were erected every fifty meters. Filled with a score of Goblins each, they provided excellent overhead cover to continue raining projectiles into the Minotaur ranks. Sooner or later the range would decrease to the point they became effective. Krek needed more firepower to break the lines. Once accomplished, he saw a clear path to the center of the enemy camp.

Snatching the nearest warrior by his armored collar, Krek ordered, “Burn the towers! Bring up the shamans!”

The bull snorted and hurried through the massed ranks to follow his orders. Krek waited impatiently, adding his own shield to the wall for his wizards. Arrows, spears, and axes thundered into his shield. More than one had already cracked from continued strikes. It wouldn’t be long before they all followed suit. He grunted under the force of multiple impacts before turning his head back to his army.

The wait seemed incredibly long but he was finally rewarded by several diminutive figures slipping through the ranks. His shaman corps, ten strong, marched with heads high. Their long antlers reached up to an average bull’s shoulders. Shirts of bones, alabaster white clung to their chests. Each bore a personally carved totem stick adorned with random fetishes of feathers and worse. Their skin was dull brown, almost green from practicing magic deep underground. Each was more dangerous than his entire army combined; they were a foe the Goblins hadn’t reckoned on.

Krek nodded and passed his shield off to the bull directly behind him. He marched to the shamans, an imposing target several Goblins aimed for but failed to hit. As one, the shamans bowed to the waist. No time for formalities, Krek bade them rise. “Take out those towers.”

He briefly considered trying to capture them intact, knowing they’d make the perfect vantage point for Brug’s snipers once the Dwarves refit and got back into the fight, but the amount of losses he’d suffer trying to take them weren’t worth it. Krek needed to break the second trench in a similar fashion to the first. Notoriously stubborn, the Goblins would die to the last before retreating from his bulls.

“As you command, sire,” the eldest shaman replied. He grinned, wicked rows of pointed teeth showing beneath thick lips. He gestured with his hand and the shamans began to spread out through the lines.

Satisfied they would accomplish their task, Krek turned his attentions back to the stalled attack. Too many bulls were down, being dragged back to the hastily erected triage area at the first trench. Dwarf engineers were already turning the former defenses around to protect against the inevitable counterattack. Once the shock of the combined assault wore off, Krek and Brug alike had no disillusions about the Goblins bringing everything they had in reserve back on the trenches. This was their only chance to secure the foothold. The sound of shovels and pickaxes joined the clash of weapons.

The wait wasn’t very long. Storm clouds rolled in, abrupt and adding further confusion to the Goblins. It had been too long since they last confronted the Minotaurs and had no working knowledge of their tactics. That ignorance was about to be exploited. Lighting crackled. Bolts of blue-red power lanced from the shaman staffs. Shockwaves rippled across the distance between lines. More than one bull was knocked to his knees as the shamans unleashed their full might. The smell of singed hair choked the air, adding to the necrotic aroma of death. Bulls howled in those first few seconds.

As one, the bolts of power struck the Goblin towers and exploded. Wood and charred corpses burst apart in the blink of an eye. Debris extended over both armies. Minotaurs roared in delight while Goblins wailed and began to understand true fear. Krek didn’t hesitate. He bellowed and his army charged. The ground was covered in a span of heartbeats. Several large holes had been blasted in the Goblin defenses, forming natural ingress points for the bulls to swarm through.

The Minotaur king held back, knowing his warriors needed to secure the trench before he pushed forward. This was a dangerous moment for both armies. Momentum was fragile in the best situations. He knew it could easily swing back to the enemy should they recover their wits and reform their lines. Frustrated with having to stand idle and watch, Krek was pleased to see his army slip through the gaps in a trickle at first and then a steady stream. Others ripped the sharpened logs from the ground while others still wielded them like giant spears. The outcome was never truly in doubt. Stunned, broken, the Goblins were ripe to fall. All that remained to be seen was how many died in the process.

Krek felt a great weight slip away. He never bore any doubts to the veracity of his army. They were one of the strongest fighting forces in Malweir, but they hadn’t been tested in battle since he was a young bull. Any apprehension slipped away. There would be numerous funeral pyres come the dawn, but his army had performed admirably and were cleansing the world of Goblin filth. He gestured to his flag bearer. It was time, now, before the Goblins regrouped. The Minotaur standard waved proudly over the captured battlefield.

Brug spied Krek’s wave and quickly snatched his adjutant by the collar. “Now, go back and signal Bahr to advance. We’ve established a front.”

He stayed to watch the Dwarf sprint back towards the headquarters. Hundreds of Delrananian rebels were slowly moving closer to the battle, ready to get their hands dirty for the future of their kingdom. Brug couldn’t care less about the Humans, knowing they were more than likely only going to get in the way. His attention focused on the two carts bringing a resupply of ammunition for his musketeers. A seasoned veteran, Brug would have much preferred to engage the Goblins with his axe but there was no denying the killing power his new units possessed. As long as he had ammunition, he held the advantage. Satisfied, the Dwarf general turned back to the battle.

The Wolfsreik Strikes

Aurec couldn’t stop fidgeting. A veteran of several battles, he knew this shouldn’t be any different. Unlike his previous engagements, this was a battle of attrition. He’d been the guerilla force for so long his didn’t know if his army was capable of handling a direct assault on a fixed position. A well-defended position at that. The young king paced, cracking his knuckles much to the annoyance of Rolnir and Vajna.

Command Sergeant Major Thorsson watched his king with amusement. He kept his doubts private, having been on the opposite side of such a battle. A survivor of the siege of Rogscroft, Thorsson had been fortunate to survive but he knew full well just how terrible breaking a proper defense could be. Hundreds of his friends died within the city walls in a battle that ultimately proved unwinnable. Ghosts of his former comrades visited him during those long hours in the middle of the night when sleep refused to come. It was a sacrifice he’d never admit to Aurec or the others.

“How did you sleep?” Aurec asked of a sudden.

Thorsson almost choked on his laugh. “Well enough considering the shit we’re about to get into, sire.”

Aurec was secretly jealous. He’d tossed and turned all night, thoughts of the coming battle driving him mad. He’d thought the worst of it was over until they rode out to meet the enemy under the white flag. Now it was Maleela and what she’d become tormenting him endlessly. He failed to understand how a caring, compassionate woman willingly gave her soul to the dark powers. What had happened to make her so…foul? He feared the answer would never become known. Deep inside he believed that she was going to be one of the casualties in this sad affair. His only love, a beacon that had guided him since the loss of his father, Aurec would gladly trade his life for Maleela’s.

“Relax, sire. This will work itself out. There’ll be some empty seats around the table when it’s done, but I don’t see how any Goblin army, no matter how big, can survive against the power we’ve got assembled here,” Thorsson admitted.

Aurec let his thoughts stray from Maleela back to his army. Nearly twenty thousand soldiers from three kingdoms stood ready to launch into attack once the Dwarves gave their sign. He remained confused as to what that sign might be. Thord was suspiciously reluctant to give his surprise away. Of the many attributes he attached to the stout warriors, entertainment wasn’t one. Aurec and the others had been through so much since the war began, so many transformations, that he almost didn’t recognize himself. It was no easy thing being at the sharp end of the sword for so long.

“Do you really think we can do it? Break them and….” He let the question drop, knowing it was his love of Maleela that set these events in motion. Aurec wasn’t sure how the others would react to his desire to reunite with her in the middle of this nightmare.

Thorsson frowned. This wasn’t a moment for any leader to show doubt, for doubt translated into weakness. A proper leader needed to be strong in the face of adversity, not mired in whether or not he’d done the right things leading up to the inevitable moment when steel clashed. Aurec was better than this, Thorsson mentally scolded. “Sire, this is one of the finest armies ever put to the field. The Goblins might have numbers but they’re not true warriors. Our boys’ll do it, don’t you worry.”

Aurec found comfort in the words, despite the harsh tone in which they were delivered. This was no time for selfish indulgence. He was a king and expected to act accordingly. Rebuked, Aurec said, “Thank you, Thorsson. It is easy to forget myself. I am still young and largely inexperienced after all.”

“It’s the young ones that keep the army fighting. Remember that,” Thorsson added.

The generals arrived, engaged in deep conversation.

“…doesn’t matter if we don’t know what they’re planning,” Vajna argued.

Rolnir threw up his hands in exasperation. “For the hundredth time, Vajna, I don’t think we’ll be able to miss it. You heard the Dwarf king. He’s a sly one and makes no mistake.”

“I don’t like entering an engagement, especially one this big, without knowing the proper moment.” Exasperated, Vajna couldn’t help but take out his frustrations on those around him.

Aurec wanted to grin but first ensured there were none of the rank and file lingering within earshot. “Generals. Are we prepared?”

“As much as we can be,” Rolnir answered.

Vajna rolled his eyes.

Tension filled the space between them. It had only been a few moments since the end of the parley, but to each it might have been a week. Suddenly the ground shook and thunder filled the sky. Smoke and flame belched from the Dwarf lines followed closely by massive explosions. Aurec’s mouth dropped open. Never in his wildest imagination could he have imagined such destructive power. Screams from the Goblin lines could be heard rising above the lingering aftershock in a grizzly chorus. The thunder boomed again with similar results.

Aurec turned quickly to his shell-shocked generals. “Gentlemen, I believe that’s our sign. Proceed with the assault.”

Each saluted, less crisp than it might have been, and went to their respective commands. Vajna hurried off to give the order for the catapult batteries to open fire. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder and jump with each new salvo from the Dwarven cannons. Flames and smoke billowed above the Goblin defenses. How much death and destruction being committed was beyond him, however, and he lacked the stomach to think long on it. He had his own task to perform and it was going to cost many lives. Nothing in the combined army arsenal was comparable to the new Dwarf weapons.

“What in the hells is that?” the catapult battery commander shouted as Vajna drew close.

Truthfully, the general didn’t rightly know himself. All he knew was he was glad to have the Dwarves on their side. “It doesn’t matter. Fire at will, commander. Let’s strike some of that fear from our ranks. We can’t let the Dwarves have all of the fun.”

“Yes sir!”

Satisfied, Vajna next headed for his cavalry. It had been too long since he had been given the ability to take his horse warriors into the field. Thousands of soldiers and horses milled nervously, riders desperately trying to calm their mounts as the artillery barrage continued. His company commanders were gathered, awaiting orders. One extended the reins for Vajna to snatch.

“My friends, this is it. Speed of horse is the key. We move fast and don’t stop until after we’re through their lines. I want three wedges for the attack. We go in directly behind Rolnir’s heavy infantry assault forces. Don’t stop. Aim for the center of the enemy camp. Drive them off of the front line and we break them on our steel. Questions?”

There were none. Not that he expected any. He nodded his unspoken appreciation for all that they had endured over the past winter and what they were about to go through in mere moments. These were the defining moments of a generation. None of them knew what was at stake, Vajna included, but that changed nothing. They had a task to perform. The end of the war was in sight. Plans had changed. Enemies had changed. The unexpected arrival of the Goblin army threatened to throw the entire campaign out of whack but Aurec and his command staff adjusted admirably.

Vajna reached up and stroked his mount’s dark neck. The horse snorted and rubbed its cheek against Vajna. Nerves ran high amongst them all. Not that he blamed anyone. The sheer madness involved in what they were about to attempt was staggering. The old general almost looked beyond the battle and to his well-deserved retirement. There was danger in that, looking beyond what needed to happen first. Fearful that his distractions might get his people killed, Vajna went over his instructions in his head.

Catapult rounds arced over the field and crashed hard into the Goblin defenses. Unlike the withering punishment doled out by the Dwarves, these were designed to crush and break. There would be no field of bodies to demoralize friend and foe alike. Vajna and the others accepted their place in the battle, secretly lamenting the amount of lives they feared were going to be lost. It was far too late to worry now.

He watched as scorpions were rolled into firing positions. The giant weapons were akin to crossbows but the similarities ended there. Each was capable of firing three six-foot-iron spears simultaneously. Cranked through a series of pulleys, the weapons could pierce stone as easily as armor. There was no safe place for the Goblins to hide.

Dust clouds rose up from the trenches. The catapults increased their rate of fire. Unlike the cannons on the Dwarf flank, Rolnir’s artillerymen had an infinite supply of ammunition. Heavy boulders went first, quickly followed by rolled balls of thatch covered in burning pitch. The fires had the potential of working against the infantry but it was a chance King Aurec decided to take.

The scorpions began firing. Spears whistled through the air before slamming into wood and flesh. Vajna flexed his hands. Massed ranks of archers marched to the front. They would cover the infantry approach and follow his cavalry into the breach. Normally cavalry wouldn’t attempt to break through well-defended lines but Aurec and Rolnir agreed that the greatest threat was the amount of reinforcements the Goblins could bring to bear from the parts of the perimeter that weren’t under siege. Despite having the luxury of open space, all three quickly decided that the enemy held the advantages.

Under the triple barrage of the combined army, the Goblins tried to dig deeper. They were an army made for rampaging across the world, not hunkering down in fixed positions while their enemies threw everything in their arsenal at them. Scores died in those first few moments, but nothing compared to the western flank. Morale remained high despite their losses, boding ill for the infantry grinding forward.

Wolfsreik infantry crashed into the Goblin trenches. Dozens were killed before reaching the wooden spikes. Goblin crossbows were murderous and highly effective against even the most heavily armored infantry. Infantrymen dropped as fast as the Goblins could reload. This was the danger moment, when the attackers needed to decide whether they had the resolve to see their task through. The defenders fought with everything they had. Wolfsreik continued to fall, leaving an armored landscape covered in red.

Swords reflected sunlight as they rose and fell. Vajna took hope as several squads appeared to have breached the outer defenses. They dropped into the trench, spreading quickly to enable follow-on forces in. The sound was sickening. The deeds being conducted in the trench were akin to cold-blooded murder.

Small fires sprouted up and down the line. Deadly quarrels slashed down from the Goblin towers. Without any magical attributes, Rolnir was solely reliant on the hopes of his catapults knocking the towers out. Thus far only one was in ruins. It wasn’t enough. Frontline commanders ordered all fire directed on the towers. Though hastily constructed, the towers were well protected from rising fire. Rising fire, but not from the scorpions.

Iron spears slammed into the towers once it became clear they were the focal point of the assault. Battery commanders barked orders as their weapon systems shifted aim and reloaded. Several towers burst apart in showers of bodies and debris from lucky strikes. Most remained standing. Infantry continued to fall. Vajna felt the strain from his mounted position. Waiting for the orders to advance left his stomach crawling. His instincts demanded he join the battle. Perhaps his actions would save some of those infantrymen being shredded by Goblin fire.
More than likely I’ll just get more people killed by getting in the way. Calm yourself, you old fool. We’ll attack when the moment is right.

Soon dust obscured his view. Vajna cursed. He needed to be able to see the battle to make the necessary adjustments. Snatching the reins, he quickly mounted. A veteran captain stepped in front of him with a firm glare etched on his face.

“Sir, that isn’t going to happen,” he said.

“Get out of the way, captain. I need to be able to see,” Vajna warned.

Others soldiers came to help bar the way. “General, we need you here, ready to lead us. Getting yourself killed won’t do us any good.”

“Which is precisely what’s going to happen if I can’t see the gods’ damned battlefield! Now, step aside.”

“No sir,” the captain replied with authority. He tilted his head to a young sergeant. “Take a squad forward and report back with actionable intelligence. Move.”

“Yes sir!”

Satisfied, the captain turned back to his general. “Now sir, if you would please stand down. We’ve got this under control.”

Fuming but knowing it was the right call, Vajna finally relented.

The wait felt long. He slid from his saddle and paced up and down the line. Whispered bits of conversation among his cavalrymen reached his ears but were blocked out by his worry. Catapults continued to fire but at a reduced pace. The scorpions were so far forward he hardly noticed the deadly whiz of projectiles being fired. Smoke and dust billowed in great clouds now, preventing any of his soldiers from seeing into the trenches. However infuriated Vajna was, he knew that Rolnir and Aurec were positively livid.

Soldiers eventually began returning, walking wounded and others being carried back on makeshift litters. It started as a slow trickle before the volume increased. Vajna was threatened with dismay. His only hope was that the amount of wounded far outweighed the dead. In just a few short minutes well over one hundred wounded returned to the marshalling area. Medics and surgeons rushed to meet them, desperately trying to save life and limb.