Book 5 - Chapter 20 (Patreon)

The next battle was different. It started without the illusions. Instead of a wall of obscuring mist or a false army that stretched from horizon to horizon, the army of Arcaena approached in the open under the light of day.

Seeing them all at once made Brin shake his head in disbelief. This was it? This was the monstrous horde they'd been struggling against all this time? The Arcaenean army was tiny compared to the allies. He knew that there was a quality difference here. Arcaena's heavy infantry were nigh unbreakable, their heavy armored undead were each nearly as strong as a [Knight], and so far they'd held the advantage on casters. Even so, no man on the allies side could look at the two armies and imagine he was going to lose. In any war, that meant a lot, but in a war against [Witches], that meant everything.

Still, the Arcaeneans approached, using the same tactics as before. They shot first with spells and curses, and they sent a strike force of terrifying beasts, undead lizards the size of horses. The spells were countered by commoner casters, already prepared to receive them. When the lizards struck, they found a mass of polearms and a unit of [Hunters] ready and waiting for them. The lizards had quick-flicking tongues that corrupted armor and weapons, but the soldiers fought in disciplined order, quickly replacing anyone whose equipment was damaged. The soldiers took a few losses, but they didn't panic, the army wasn't distracted, and Arcaena didn't find an opening.

When the undead came to charge the position anyway, Gundavald the [Archmage of Bursting Flame] revealed himself and the undead had no choice but to draw back. Next came a force of [Knights] escorting a group of [Trappers] and casters that looked hand-selected to take him down. Gundavald disappeared under an illusion. Brin's Lance was part of the group of two-hundred knights that were sent to chase down the strike group meant for Gundavald, but they retreated before he could get to them. It was really too bad, because he was hoping he'd get to see Cowl in action.

That was looking less and less likely. Arcaena tested them again and again with careful, precise strikes, and each time, Grimwalt revealed his quality. With an army that actually listened to his orders and a command camp full of [Tacticians] and [Strategists] that were finally all pointed the same direction, they always had an appropriate response.

That didn't mean the Arcaeneans were weak. Even with the tactical advantage on the allies' side, they still took a man for every one they lost, but that didn't matter. The allies had men to spare. Arcaena didn't.

Grimwalt ordered a force of five hundred heavy infantry to engage a group with equal numbers on the Arcaenean side, and Brin expected the Arcaeneans to retreat like usual. Instead they held their ground, and Brin thought that small skirmish might turn the course of the war. That wasn't a group Arcaena could afford to lose, and all the allies had to do was keep them busy until they could be surrounded.

Instead, right before they struck, the front line of the allied force collapsed. The ones behind them revealed what had happened, since they immediately stopped and puked. Their skin grew red, and blisters formed, and a lesser form of the sickness spread to the men behind them. The Arcaeneans charged as if they'd been expecting this, stopping first to kill the ones in the front row before moving to the ones who were so weak they could barely stand.

That had to be Angelic's doing. She must've been leveling, because that sickness caught on much quicker and with much less trouble than what she'd done the first day.

An Eveladis nailed her on the first try. It shot from the allies side like a cannon ball and struck a [Dread Knight] defender, so quick that Brin very nearly lost his nearby Invisible Eyes to the pure light.

Angelic immediately burst apart in a cloud of flapping wings. Now that he saw it again, he was sure that this was different than the Skill he'd seen Galan's assassin use. That one had turned to black wings and then faded into nothing, while this was the normal [Witch] escape Skill he'd seen a few times. She transformed to dozens of little flapping wings and then flew away at top speed. 

It wasn't fast enough. Across the camp, Gualdim of Vascor, [The Eye of the Eagle], was standing atop a supply wagon, his mighty bow already drawn. He loosed, and the arrow broke the sound barrier. There was a crack, and then Angelic's quick flapping wings massed back together and she fell out of the sky, an arrow lodged in her back. Brin didn't get to see if there was a kill notification; he hadn't had any part of that. Instead, he saw new Orders being passed down the line, from the generals to the lieutenants, to the strike force commanders and on down to the Primes. A general call to charge.

It didn't happen right away. Nothing in war was that fast, not if you wanted it to happen correctly. He took special pleasure in seeing the orders passed to the Frenarian commoners. They had their own special military style of communication that lacked all of the flowery adornment than regular speech entailed. They could shout "Group 1! March!" without any of the regular articles, modifiers, or niceties that would normally make that such a mouthful. It wasn't just battlefield commands, either, military speech had its own way of saying something like "I have orders to search your pack." He sort of wished they could talk like this all the time.

Trumpets sounded the all ready. Then they sounded the advance.

With a roar, the army lurched forward. They didn't sprint towards the enemy. The infantry started with a forward march, and the knights charged forward with a select group of great beasts to open up a path for them.

There was no chance that Arcaena would stand and fight. Already, Brin could see them begin their retreat. The only question was whether this would be an orderly withdrawal or a complete rout. He expected that Grimwalt would soon order them to slow down before they hit the enemy lines, now that it was clear they were getting what they wanted, but the order never came. The trumpets sounded the call for onward.

The Arcaeneans began to move in a panic, now that they saw it was really happening. Men fled the front lines, leaving undead behind them.

Brin's Lance faced a giant, but at ten feet tall he was still shorter than a [Knight] on horseback. Still, he'd be an excellent test. Brin sent Rhun and Cowl at him.

Rhun rode forwards. The giant swung his axe and Rhun and executed the block perfectly, leaving the giant open for Cowl. Cowl was less effective; he managed only a glancing blow on the giant, and swinging that much weight around unbalanced his horse and sent it stumbling to the side. Cowl managed to regain control, but the movement sent him outside their formation and he'd need to swing around and join the back.

Cowl might be able to carry that much weight like it was nothing, but apparently it still transferred from his body into his horse. Brin hated to admit it, but their Lance might be more effective fighting on the ground.

Meredydd came next, and using his lance he took the giant down with a thrust that tore the undead's arm off. Cid had completely forbidden Meredydd from bringing the new scythe contraption until he knew what he was doing with it.

They rode on, towards the fleeing army, and looking ahead he noticed that Sir Enderic himself was leading the charge, the level 80 [Knight of Memory]. They were really going all in. 

Sir Enderic and the other [Knights] in the front crashed straight into the enemy, completely unopposed. They turned and rode parallel to the fleeing soldiers, cutting them down from the back. The rest of them followed, and soon Brin’s Lance charged in.

Brin did his duty as well, stabbing with his spear into the fleeing enemy, but it didn't last long. The horns sounded a sudden retreat.

He felt Skill grab hold of him, guiding him to turn his horse around and increasing his speed. He could've resisted the mental effects, but decided to let it move him. Going along with the command Skills meant that he'd actually be where they expected him to be. It wasn't worth crashing his horse into someone else just because he didn't like the feeling of someone messing with his mind.

They disengaged and rode at a full gallop back to their own army which had stopped marching and was now backing carefully the other direction. Gualdim used [Knight’s Charge] to get far ahead of them and he quickly disappeared behind the allied lines.

That made Brin sweat a little bit, wondering what was so dangerous out here that they needed their most valuable [Knight] out of danger, but nothing presented itself. They rode on, and Arcaeneans continued their retreat, and the allies had stopped. They passed behind the front line without issue, then formed up again, wondering what was going on.

It looked for all the world that Grimwalt had ordered his side to retreat from their first real breakthrough just because he felt bad for all the dying Arcaeneans.

He saw it first because he was the one with the eyes. Something bulged up from the ground where Arcaena’s army had been. It looked like a swell of earth, like the planet itself was growing a big, fat pimple. The pimple grew to eight feet tall, with throbbing veins and vibrating walls that slowly shed dirt.

It came to a head, a white spot peeking through the top. Pure, paper white. It glowed, even in the daylight he could see bright light shining from it. Then it popped.

A huge sphere of necromanic energy blasted from the pimple, creating a giant sphere or whirling, destructive blackness. It was a quarter mile in diameter, reaching right up to the toes of the allies frontline soldiers. Rather than a bomb, where the energy was hotter towards the center and more dispersed at the edges, this destroyed everything in its radius equally.

Brin had a couple Invisible Eyes in there, and they were destroyed with the rest. There was no argument in the Wyrd that could have saved them. The energy’s argument was even more simple than Brin’s suns had been. Power. Destruction.

This was it. This was her. For the first time, he felt his Wyrd clash with Arcaena herself. She'd cast this spell. For her, it was a simple preprepared landmine that a trusted subordinate could use. For him, it was overwhelming. The terrible majesty left him trembling. He didn't know how much longer he could stay on top of his horse. He wanted to climb down and bury himself in the dirt.

When the bomb's blast cleared, there was nothing left inside. Every plant, every blade of grass, every worm in the ground, it was all dead. That included any wounded the Arcaenean army had left behind, though he saw their bodies begin to twitch and stir.

Undead didn't work like that. You couldn't kill someone and immediately turn them; raising the dead took time and effort, a dedicated ritual. But he wasn't going to start putting limits on a being like Arcaena, not when he still felt the fear of her in his veins. Those bodies were going to rise.

One thing was for sure: he wasn't going to cross the corrupted earth. He'd leave the Order if they tried to make him do that. Luckily for him, when Grimwalt sounded the advance again he split his army into two parts and went around the blight.

They moved again, and Brin forced himself to stay on his horse. His body wanted to bolt, to run or hide or fight, though that last one only if the others failed. He didn't want to sit up high on a horse like a big, dumb, target. He wanted to hide.

He knew it wasn't rational, that it was a side-effect of coming into indirect contact with Arcaena's magic, but that didn't help anything. He wished he still had [Directed Meditation] and he could shut off all his unnecessary thoughts for a while.

He did have one thing he could try, but at the same time he couldn't, because he was too scared. And wasn't that a laugh. He actually did laugh, panicked and hysterical, which drew frowns from his Lancemates. He clamped his jaw shut.

He didn't dare use [Mirrored Duplicity] on himself, because he was too afraid of Arcaena. If he lessened his fear of her to any degree, he was putting himself in danger of underestimating her, and that was too dangerous to try.

Instead, he meditated, trying to stay steady, trying to calm himself down enough to think of a real answer. It didn't seem to help, but he made it through the morning.

Meditation leveled up! 22 -> 23

They followed the Arcaenean force, but their enemies were able to travel quicker. The undead carried their supplies, and they didn't tire or need to eat, and the Arcaeneans had gained a big lead. In fact, they were already slowing down and regrouping, preparing for another attempt at repelling the invaders, but it wouldn’t happen today. The larger allied force was much slower and there was no chance they’d reach them today. 

Grimwalt apparently agreed, because he called a halt for lunch.

A bowl full of Cowl's stew eased his heart in a way that nothing else could, and by the time he finished the last spoonful, he was able to stop shivering. That was scary in its own way, because it meant that the fear he'd been feeling was real. It was a real, actual physical emotion, and not something pressed into him or some kind of lingering magical effect.

Cowl stepped up and put his hand on Brin's shoulder, and he felt the rest of the aching dread disappear. A brief spike of panic told him that his emotions were still working, but how had Cowl manipulated his mind so easily? He had resistances for that.

[Carry Burdens]. It could help with more esoteric burdens now, like fear. He said, "You don't have to do that."

"Let me, though. I need to practice this Skill," said Cowl.

Brin examined him for any sign of the fear that he must now be feeling, but Cowl was as stoic as always.

"What's got you so spooked, anyway?" Cowl asked.

Every member of the Lance looked his way; they must've all noticed his reaction and been waiting for someone to ask.

"The bomb," said Brin.

Govannon huffed in derision but before he could speak Hedrek said, "Can't blame you for that. Quite a sight!"

Brin shook his head. "It wasn't just that. I felt it, with my magic. It was..." Vast had been the word in his head when it first happened, but that wasn't quite right. He hadn't connected with her mind or her Mana pool, he hadn't seen the depths of Arcaena's power. The Wyrd hadn't been large, not like the spell array of Siphani or the curses of Awnadil. It was more like quality. Like he'd been hooting and grunting with the other apes, and now he'd heard someone recite poetry for the first time.

"Scary," Brin finished. "It was Arcaena's spell, and it was scary."

They soon started moving again, at a soldier's quick marching pace. Nothing opposed them, though Brin was careful to search for any more of those horrible pimples. It was a nice, cool day, and soon they passed areas that they'd actually needed to fight for which meant they were able to walk across clean grass rather than ash or torn-up mud. 

An hour before sunset, Grimwalt called a general halt for the night. Before they could set up their tents, a page found them.

“No, don’t bother,” said the boy.

“Why not?” asked Cid.

“You’re being summoned to report to Sir Galan.”

“Is it urgent, or do we have time to set up our tent first? I don’t want to lose our spot,” said Cid.

“I’m not supposed to say,” said the boy.

Cid stared hard, and Brin got the distinct impression that this was one of those times he was supposed to step in as a Second, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was meant to be doing.

Hedrek dropped a silver penny on the ground. “Woops. People are letting all kinds of things drop around here.”

The page rushed to pick it up. “I’m not supposed to say that you’re due for accolades.”

“Then we’ll be back here tonight?” asked Cid.

The page stepped back as if he were going to bolt, but Hedrek was already behind him with a friendly hand on his shoulder. The page smiled guiltily and said, “I’m also not supposed to tell you that you’re going on leave. You won’t need the tent.”