Vol 6, Chapter 21

◆ Military Camp of the First Duke, First Duke's POV. ◆ 

He dreamed of a storm. Why?

…

A whistle jolted the Duke awake. He didn't even have time to think about punishing the whistler before thunder crashed against his ears with deafening force. The pavilion ripped apart under the blast wave, collapsing into a heap. Something metallic whizzed overhead, so small and so fast that even his Source barely tracked it. Perhaps it whistled as it pierced holes through the fine fabric, but the aristocrat, deafened and tumbling from his bed in panic, didn't hear it.

Scorching wind licked his back. The canopy of his beloved bed burst into flames. A heartbeat later came another roll of thunder… and another. Closer and farther, everywhere. Clods of cold earth rained down from the sky. A ringing in his ears.

The Duke rose to his knees, shaking dirt from himself. The plush carpet of red buffalo wool was ruined; a little flame already raced along its edge, reeking of burnt hair.

A knight-bodyguard rushed up and helped his lord stand. Smoke curled from his red cloak, blood trickled from his ears. No helmet, no halberd, only a sword in its sheath.

"What are the priests doing, damn them to the Abyss? Why hasn't the protection worked?" the Duke roared, but the knight only shook his head.

"Go to them and find out! Tell them to start the sacrifices at once! No, first bring me my armor!"

"I can't hear you, Your Grace…"

Another explosion struck so close it threw the knight onto the Duke. Shards shrieked as they ricocheted off the armor, leaving furrows in the hardened steel. The knight's broad back took most of them, but one, hissing angrily, buried itself in the Duke's leg. The armored body pinned him to the ground, shielding him from the next barrage. Soil poured down again, stinging his eyes.

"I'll have them all executed, every last one, I swear it. Now get off me! At once!" the First ordered, but the bodyguard gave no answer.

The Duke slapped the insolent fool, only to cut his hand on a shard of metal lodged in the knight's face. Thick plate had protected its owner well enough from shrapnel, but the lack of a helmet had been fatal.

The First reached for his Source to shove the body off, but… emptiness. The wards were working.

Always at the wrong time, curse them. Straining powerful muscles, the Duke finally heaved the dead knight off and wrenched the searing-hot shard of metal from his thigh. Jagged and crude, cheap stuff fit only for peasant pots, yet it had drawn blue blood.

The Duke straightened proudly to his considerable height. All around lay ruin: craters, smoke, burning tents. The camp's edge seemed intact, the enemy had clearly targeted his pavilion. In the moonlight and firelight servants ran about, yet none hurried to their lord. Shouts and orders rang from every side; the priests' chants of protection were barely audible above the din.

"Everyone, assemble! Prepare for counterattack!" the First proclaimed in his commander's voice.

Another explosion. This time further off, and the Duke could see it. A bright flash, a rush of air, earth thrown skyward. Black smoke and whining shards flew in all directions. Cursing under his breath, the Duke limped toward his dragon.

Damnation! He needed to regroup and understand what this was. Explosions churned the ground deeper in the camp. It was reckless to head there, but back there lay the only thing that could carry him far from this slaughter.

Leaving a bloody trail, he hurried toward the pens. A nearby tent suddenly collapsed and charged toward him, hooves pounding. An enemy? The Duke leapt aside as a knight's horse, its mane ablaze, thundered past, dragging more than one tent behind it.

The Abyss take it! That beast could have broken his ribs.

He scrambled up from the bloody earth and pressed on.

This part of the camp was mostly intact; knights were arming for battle. Servants hastily fitted armor onto surviving horses and chimeras. Some, riled by the noise and the smell of blood, began to go wild. A massive, bear-like monster knocked a metal plate from servants' hands with a swipe of its paw. The servants tried to flee, but the beast tore free of its chains and rushed after them. A short leap crushed one beneath its bulk, grinding every bone, while a lunge of its blunt muzzle caught another between its teeth. The servant clawed at the helmet already on his head, desperately trying to reach the creature's eyes.

A moment later the beast bit him in half, gave a menacing roar, and, chains clattering, charged off toward the camp wagons.

The Duke prayed quickly, thanking the One that the beast had not charged his way, and groped around for any kind of weapon. A sword? Good enough. Shaking off the severed hand still clutching the hilt, the aristocrat pressed on.

His dragon was very close. While most beasts were kept almost under the open sky, the dragon had a true lair. Built from boards and hides, the massive structure served only one purpose: to let the dragon sleep in comfort, sprawled on warm furs. The scaly creature was not well suited to the northern climate.

A whistle. Something crashed from the sky, easily smashing through the flimsy roof. A second.

A blinding flash seared his eyes, hot air scorched his beard and chest hair. It slammed into his body, throwing the Duke to the ground. Splinters and pieces of wall whirled past. His head rang, his vision swam. His arm barely obeyed him. The sword was gone. Broken or dislocated? No matter.

He crawled toward the lair, from which came a roar so powerful it rattled his bones. The enraged dragon brought down what remained of its shelter and peered blearily around. Its head swayed from side to side—it had been concussed by the shell that exploded nearby.

"Easy, easy, my boy," the Duke soothed, climbing to his feet.

Staggering, he approached the dragon and stroked its scales. Blood ran from its hind leg; some scales had been ripped away with flesh, others were studded with fragments of metal. Yet the First found no serious wounds. Excellent.

"Up, up, my good one. We must fly," he urged the stunned dragon. It opened its jaws and spewed fire like a man retching.

The cannonade of explosions finally died down.

But in their place came a much more rapid popping, carried from the direction of the wagons. The enemy was pressing the attack.

****

The moment the first salvo's thunder faded, whistles of commanders rang through the trenches. Soldiers rose and trickled forward between rows of wooden chevaux-de-frise and barbed wire. The moon lit the battlefield well enough, yet I made a note to myself—we needed to work on this problem. An army relying purely on ranged combat depended terribly on eyesight.

"Fire!" came the order from behind, and five guns roared one after another, sending their precious shells straight into the camp. I noted grimly that the fifth crew was the slowest, then waited for the result. Alas, with the camp's size it was impossible to miss, but only a few shells struck the giant pavilion in the center again. Damn.

Every shell charged with chlorate powder was worth its weight in gold, since TNT production was still in its infancy. In truth, these were our anti-air rounds. Yet we would not need to defend against griffons… if the Duke died tonight.

Clicking my tongue at the howitzers' worse-than-expected accuracy, I signaled to keep firing until the reserves were spent, then watched as battalions formed under the thunder.

"Advance!" I ordered, stepping forward to deflect arrows. Nearly a kilometer of plain ended in a low hill, where the Duke had pitched his camp. Far enough indeed to feel safe. The chained wagons added extra protection.

The first shots cracked—the skirmisher line with revolver-rifles had stumbled upon the Duke's sentries. The outcome was predictable. Columns marched through clouds of powder smoke.

Arrows and bolts flew from the hill. I raised my hand, but…

All I managed was to slow them slightly and spoil their flight. The impulse that should have sent them back at their shooters seemed to vanish into nothing.

The Abyss!

The first wounded appeared. Obeying orders, the skirmishers knelt and ceased fire, so as not to blind the line infantry with smoke. The ranks halted, raised their muskets.

"Fire!"

The muzzles blossomed with fire. Large-caliber bullets tore through the wooden defenses, punching through and cutting down defenders. Almost in unison, the butts slammed into the ground, paper cartridges were bitten open. The skirmishers fired wildly, picking off defenders. The second and third ranks pushed forward…

Wagons burst apart and rolled down the hill. With a furious roar, the giant bear-beast charged from the slope at the speed of an express train. The skirmishers scattered to the sides, but the ranks had no time to react. The chimera smashed through them without even noticing. Belatedly, soldiers stumbled away.

"Open order! Fire as ready! Kill it, kill it!""

The beast had built up too much momentum; its massive inertia gave us a few seconds as it tried to turn around. Shots thundered. Bullets tore chunks of fur and sprays of blood from its body, but at first glance only enraged the magical creature further. I drew my revolver and joined in the attempt to stop it. I aimed… What bastard had thought to strap a helmet on this thing?

The first few shots ricocheted off its massive head. I didn't even want to think how thick the steel of that bear-helmet was. Even musket fire only made the beast hesitate and shake its head, leaving nothing but dents in the armor. I had to hit the eyes, but the monster kept tossing its head so wildly it was nearly impossible. Emptying a whole revolver cylinder at random with no visible effect, I drew my second and rushed closer to the shaggy brute. Thankfully, apart from the helmet the chimera wore no armor, and though it kept dipping its head to shield its neck—if I could strike there…

Too late. The flow of bullets faltered and the beast crashed into the ranks again. Men scattered; a hedge of bayonets wouldn't stop even a well-armored knight, let alone a creature the size of two wagons. The thick smoke covering the battlefield now hindered not just the marksmen, but the beast itself from snatching more of them up.

"Astarot!" I called, and a searing spike of pain stabbed my skull, nearly making me drop my revolver.

"Eccleia. Choir," came the reply, pain riding along with it.

The Abyss! Damned priests had blocked two of my trump cards at once.

Or had they? He had answered…

"It will hurt," he warned.

"I don't care."

Unseen light seared my skin. I knew it was shining from the western part of the camp without even looking. And I felt it—it wanted to devour me. To drink me dry.

No… it already was.

"Hurry," the demon urged.

Claws sprouting from my right hand made the revolver useless. I switched it to my left, drew my sword, and dove into the smoke. The stench of powder tickled my coarsened nostrils. The beast's roar and soldiers' screams pointed the way.

I blundered into its rear as suddenly for me as for it. A thrust at its rump near the stubby tail was more instinct than reason. The blade sank barely at all, despite the strength of the blow. The thick fur seemed made of steel wire, and the muscles beneath just as tough.

"Stultus mortalis! Why use a sword?" Astarot groaned.

The astonished bear-beast turned its bloody muzzle toward me—and caught a hail of bullets in the face. The revolver's recoil seemed to vanish, though I hadn't even softened it with magic.

Some rounds skipped off the helmet near the eyes; a couple tore out a fang and shredded its jaw. Nasty, but not fatal.

I let go of the sword and slid between its legs. My claws ripped through its soft belly like cheese. Even the steel-like fur yielded like nothing. Entrails spilled behind me. The chimera staggered back, swiping at me.

Huge claws swept past my horns. Raising its paw was a mistake. Pushing off the ground with my tail, I lunged at its throat. Impact!

My arm jerked as my claw scraped vertebra. The beast's bones were so strong that even demonic strength couldn't cut them clean. Rivers of blood poured to the ground. Ah, how I longed to bathe in them! But no time. I rolled aside, dodging another swipe.

The chimera reeled. It was, for all purposes, already dead, but that didn't mean it wouldn't try to take me with it. I had no intention of giving it the chance.

"That's enough," I told the demon, and leveled the revolver at the beast as it finally faltered.

Shot followed shot. The dull thud of impacts on its skull told me the bullets were finding their mark, but even so the chimera swayed for several seconds before finally crashing down.

"Eat its heart…" Astarot suggested drowsily, then fell silent.

The burning in my skin eased. Only the warm blood on my hand and a hole in my trousers reminded me of what had just happened. The smoke slowly cleared, revealing bodies. Dozens upon dozens of them. Just one chimera, catching us in the open, had dealt such carnage. Orders rang out and the occasional shot cracked.

The survivors were regrouping.

A gust of wind cleared my head, black feathers brushed my cheek. Talons pierced my coat and sank into my skin.

"Caw!" the raven croaked angrily in my ear.

I tore the note from its bloody leg. A report from the observation balloons.

"The enemy is preparing a counterattack."

I froze.

A hard choice. Behind us lay open fields. Most of the Duke's forces now consisted of cavalry. Unfavorable. Even if we took the barricades, they would stop only ordinary cavalry; for monsters like the fallen bear, the wagons were no obstacle. There couldn't be many of them, surely—that beast clearly belonged to no common knight. But how many barons had the Duke brought with him? Surely more than one or two. Could we handle another pair of bears without cannons?

Only now did I realize I hadn't heard the cannonade for some time.

Shit.

Had we more explosive shells, we could have simply leveled everything. Even a few more would have sufficed: under that fire the Duke's troops would never have managed to organize a counterattack. Advancing further was reckless, promising not only heavy losses but the complete destruction of everyone I led forward, for the enemy still outnumbered us many times over.

On the other hand, if we haven't killed the Duke but only wounded him, we will hardly get another chance to finish him off. What if he was lying unconscious beneath his pavilion? If we didn't kill him tonight, tomorrow he would never come within a mile of our positions. The chance to end the war quickly would be lost, and in the end even more people would die than if we all fell here tonight.

We must take the risk.

I flipped the note, pulled out my pen, and wrote quickly:

"Three volleys at the barricades."

I tied the note to the raven and shook it from my shoulder. The bird, shaken by the cannonade and, despite magical training, not particularly dependable, was still the best way we had of relaying information from the balloons. Once again I reminded myself to find a better solution…

Across the field a trickle of men dragged away the wounded and salvaged weapons. The thinned ranks formed into two lines. Skirmishers hastily reloaded their rifles.

"Prepare to advance! Fix bayonets!"

A cannonball whistled overhead. The guns on the hill, meant to sow the field with canister, opened fire on the barricades.

…

With rather mediocre accuracy. Perhaps I was asking too much of smoothbores at a range of over a kilometer? One ball flew high into the camp. So be it. As long as it wasn't aimed at us.

The next struck true. A wagon burst into splinters, opening a gap. Shot after shot fell, sometimes so close that they made me flinch. The hills filled with smoke, delivering three iron gifts to the enemy. Silence.

That was it. Time.

I raised my hand, ready to order the charge…

Then slowly lowered it.

In the moonlight I saw a black dragon rise above the camp and fly away. It swayed from side to side, but it flew, and carried someone on its back. The rider was impossible to make out, but surely the First would never let anyone else mount his favorite.

Unlucky. The Duke had survived, and there would be no catching him now.

"Retreat."