Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (42 page)

I was staring quietly at the magical blaze of the funeral pyre, burning with hope that Celphata would return my soldiers to me alive. But before that could happen, I would need to capture Celphata... Hell, I would conquer Rualt as well, if need be—all I needed was time. 

"Dar, it's urgent!" the voice in the channel belonged to Raud, the fourth tifling from formerly Ivar-led recon squad. "A strange wagon train is moving towards Xantarra about two miles south of here. Four centuries are guarding the transport: skeletons, mages and five knights." 

"What's strange about it?" 

"There are thirty wagons covered with gray sackcloth, and some kind of wooden..." the tifling hesitated for a moment. "Catapults, dar! They're catapults!"

"How many?" 

"Ten catapults. They're moving slowly—should be about three hours till they reach Xantarra." 

"Understood. Keep an eye on them, we'll be there soon," I said to the scout, and switched to the officer channel. "Everyone hear that? Elnar, get everyone ready, we move in five minutes. We
must
intercept those catapults." 

Now I know why the undead army is staying put,
I thought, and felt a sense of gratitude to providence that the undead general hadn't gotten smart enough to travel with his siege weapons. Then again, thinking logically, what did he have to fear? All of the princedom's residents were presently hiding behind the besieged city's walls; the transport had a decent escort already; and, most importantly, the general had no idea my half-legion was anywhere near. 

"Wolves! Straight ahead! At a trot! March!" James shouted the commands, standing up in his stirrups. Casting one final glance at the scorched grass on the meadow, I pressed my heels into Gloom's sides, and steered him after my half-legion.

In my past life I'd only seen catapults in movies, and film directors were infamous for sacrificing logic for spectacle. That was how we ended up with beautiful women in skimpy leather skirts for armor, elves skipping along floating rock platforms as they collapsed to the ground, and millions of tons of gold stashed away in dragon caves. The point being, I was highly suspicious that my observations of catapults from movies had any basis in reality. Then again, this wasn't reality but a magical game world. Now, sure, the local women could put on armored bras and steel thongs if they wanted to, but they would only do so in a very particular setting and no more frequently than they would back on earth. Floating rock platforms were similarly hard to come by, to say nothing of dragon caves stuffed with gold. As for the wagons making their way toward the city, they too had little in common with what I'd seen in Hollywood's conceptions of medieval fantasy worlds.

Roughly twelve feet tall, they were constructed entirely of old discolored bones, each of which, in turn, seemed to be made up of forty to fifty people. Who needed theoretical mechanics and structural integrity? In movies and games these were utterly pointless sciences. Whereas in the regular world this contraption couldn't have moved five yards without collapsing, these beauties had already traveled hundreds of miles and looked as good as new. 

We were positioned about a hundred yards off the road, waiting for the right moment to attack the strange caravan. Though the aggro radius of mobs in the 180-190 level range allowed us to draw much closer, our armored horses needed this distance to pick up sufficient speed.

Serving as draft animals for the caravan were repugnant looking creatures that kind of resembled grizzly bears—that is, if you slaughtered those grizzlies, skinned them, turned their hides inside out and glued them back onto the wretched animals. Raud had been right: there were five death knights in the front, three quadrants of infantry behind them, followed by ten catapults and a long string of peculiar carts covered with dark fabric operated by skeletons dressed in rags and tatters. Carts like these were typically used by farmers to transport hay, though Korg and his crew must have needed them for their own reasons. Finally, there was another century of skeletons in the rear guard.

As a coworker of mine used to say, "Any video game you make, you had better give your players the ability to rob caravans."
This is for you, Richard,
I thought to myself, then turned to Elnar and motioned at the level 190 death knight at the head of the caravan. 

"That one's mine! We attack when he reaches that pole right there," I pointed at a fat rod sticking out of the ground. 

"Wait!" Vaessa cried into the general channel. "Those carts are carrying corpses infected with anthrax!"

"Infected with what?" I looked at the magus in shock.

"An infection from Anthraxia, that's a zone deep in the Gray Frontier. I don't know much else, only that the disease had originated there. The corpses don't remain infected for long, as the infection starts to decay when subjected to sunlight. That's why the carts are covered with fabric. I also sense preservation magic cast over them."

Oh, you wise-ass comedians,
I thought to myself, barely restraining myself from laughing. A zone in the Gray Frontier, was it? Well, at least now I knew what Korg's plan was with respect to the city. First the catapults would hurl the diseased corpses over the walls, then he'd take the beleaguered city by storm. I seemed to remember a similar scenario from another classic game. As the saying goes, there is nothing new except what has been forgotten.

"Anyone who breathes in the infected air dies in ten minutes or less," Vaessa continued in the meantime. "Our priests can dispel the disease easily enough, but any diseased sentient will still suffer tremendous pain for a solid week."

"Everyone got that?" I roared into the channel. "Steer clear of the carts! Reece, burn them to the ground from a distance, along with the drivers."

"Wolves! Lances ready! Prepare to gallop... Attack!" James bellowed, and the half-legion rushed into motion like a single organism. All targets were accounted for, coordinated perfectly among all my troops. A wolf's howl—our battle song—soared over the valley, picking up in volume and intensity as we drew closer to the enemy. It must have been heard as far as Xantarra.

Aggro! One of the death knights turned his head and pointed at me with his sword. Three centuries of skeletons began turning toward the charging half-legion, throwing up their shields and closing their ranks.

"Shift!" Elnar cried out. "Full gallop!" At once all my clanmates began shifting into their true form, while spurring their mounts to maximum speed.

I shifted together with them, and popped Gloom's Charge. My target, the caravan's commander, whipped out his blade and started turning his bone horse toward me. The force of inertia hurled me against into the back of the saddle as the razorback gunned forward. The howling all around me was intoxicating. The death knight raised his rectangular shield with his left hand, and drew his right away, preparing to strike... But a moment too late.

Popping Infernal Rage, I smashed into the fiend, my lance skewering his side with a crunch. Crit! Even if the death knight did survive, being trampled by Gloom finished him off right quick. The momentum carried us further into the next pair of horse and rider. The edge of the second knight's heavy shield struck me in the right shoulder, numbing my arm completely for a moment.

"Bitch!" leaving the lance in the corpse, I raised my own shield to block his attack. The weapon, its blade radiating a marsh-like glow, caught only air, just as the knight's bone horse tumbled to the ground, like a sedan flattened by a bulldozer. Gloom, that beautiful boar, pinned the pair down with his hooves, and delivered a terrible blow with his tusks at the supine knight's chest. 

To my right, a wave of getare smashed into the enemy. Despite the skeletons having closed their ranks and raised their shields, the impact was enough to send three centuries of armored infantry flying in all directions like bowling pins. 

Strike!
I grinned with pride, alternating attacks at the knight as the latter tried to regain his footing, and reveling at the exhilarated banter in the general channel. I popped Gloom's Frenzy. The first knight's horse was back on its feet and trying to hit me with its front hooves, but Gloom's tusks were faster. The razorback knocked the animal back several yards whereupon it met a swift end, moments after its master, courtesy of one of my demons.

In the corner of my eye I glimpsed the rearguard century rushing at us from the left, their formation order more or less intact. As the skeletons got within twenty feet, they suddenly froze, immobilized by the Blizzard raging over their heads. An AoE spell bolstered by Infernal Rage was a terrible thing to behold.

"Fire Storm," Reece commanded calmly in the mage channel, and the Blizzard gave way to a torrent of molten lava.

To my left Vaessa's bonehounds were dragging the remaining death knights along the ground; the magus herself was whispering something under her breath while making strange hand gestures and looking terribly bored. 

Suddenly the wind shifted, now blowing from the direction of the carts. So foul was the stench that assaulted my nostrils then that even in demonic form I barely held back from puking. 

You have gained a level! Current level: 191.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

Having finally regained his footing, the death knight swung his blade and caught my boar's in the withers before a dozen arrows tore into his belly. The next moment a getare unit executed a shield bash, knocking the mob back down. The soldier followed up by raising their visor and blowing me a kiss. Tilly! Well, that was certainly her style, and I couldn't even shake my fist at her in return—the girl had already joined another scuffle. Ice Blade. Crit! Tongue of Flame. Crit! Each attack took off 70 to 80 thousand HP from the knocked-down target. There was a flash, as several wagons on my left caught fire.

"Krian! Get out of the way!" Salta's resonant voice cried in the officer channel. Without thinking twice, I Jumped thirty steps to the right.

Before he'd even managed to get up, the death knight was turned into a porcupine, twitched a few times, and kicked the bucket. I looked around the battlefield, and realized it was all over. And my Charge cooldown had only just now reset! We'd obliterated over four hundred undead in the span of five minutes! 

Sliding open my visor, I smeared my nose with a blue ointment Reece had supplied me with back in Feator. Able to breathe freely at last, I slipped a pipe into my mouth, having filled it judiciously beforehand. 

Half the carts were ablaze with the disgusting sound of lard being burned in a frying pan. Reece was gesticulating wildly at his mage crew, and half the getare were examining the seized catapults with great interest.

"What are your orders?" Elnar rode up to me. The way he carried himself, you would think the air was scented with gentle lavender. 

"Get the catapults off the road! We'll decide what to do with them later," I said to him, exhaling the smoke. "Burn the carts, collect the loot. We move out to Xantarra in half an hour. Today we'll have to deal with Korg and the rest of those freaks." 

"Why go there?" James snorted, gesturing toward the city. "He and his buddies are coming this way."

"Shit!" I exhaled, watching the rows of monsters approaching in the distance, and knowing full well that Elnar had no tactical plan for this particular situation. Not when it came to bosses. We were looking at an open battle, that much was clear, but getting us through what promised to be quite an ordeal was on me and me alone. At least the skeleton army appeared to have stayed behind outside the city, else we'd need to retreat.

In truth, retreat was probably the most sensible option even now. My troops had barely more than five minutes left of their combat form, after which time it would be unavailable for forty five minutes. But I had no guarantees that, having lost his siege weapons, the general wouldn't immediately launch an assault on the city. And once he and his retinue reunited with the rest of the army, killing him would be a hell of a lot harder. No, we had to take the fight to them here and now. 

"Wolves! Formation four!" I roared into the general raid channel. "Archers and mages, take the right flank! Reece and Salta, traps on the road! Everything you've got! We must not let Korg's companions get a running start! Aritor, lock up Meresmet! Vaessa, as soon as they get close enough, shut the lich up with Silence of the Great Darkness. Warriors, the half-century is on you! Mages and archers, try to put down the lich as soon as you can—five minutes should be enough. I got Korg. Reena, make sure Aritor and I have enough heals. As soon as Meresmet is down, everyone switch to the death knights. Korg dies last! Elnar, take over." 

Barely half a mile remained till the enemy. How
did
Korg find out that his caravan was under attack? Did they have their own command chat or something? At any rate, the caravan was history now. I exhaled some smoke and looked around. 

The ground was scorched on either side of the road since the first undead invasion and the great fire that followed it. West of here, where a large village once stood, there were only frames of blackened houses, with shoots of greenery peeking out of the ashes.

I'd chosen this spot for its level terrain—for the cavalry to be able to pick up decent speed when attacking. They say in the old games your mount would travel with equal speed through woodland as through tilled farmland, instantly spin one hundred and eighty degrees, and not sustain any damage in combat.
What I wouldn't give to have those mounts for my clan,
I thought longingly, steering the boar to the right edge of the half-legion as they fell in formation. Full-immersion games had devs doing their best to avoid such glaring oversights. Merely observing another player galloping at full speed do an instant one-eighty could result in a cognitive dissonance, if not other, more serious psychological side effects.