Chương 59: Chapter 57 - The Beginning

Cyril moved at the back of the First Regiment, marvelling at the conjured mist. Before his service under Degurechaff, he never would have thought magic capable of so many wondrous and terrible things. An example of the latter plodded along in the front, the giant dog creature visible only as a dark silhouette in the mist, though its heavy footfalls were heard clearly even at Cyril's position. His soldiers were likewise silent.

Though only the other commanders, Degurechaff, and the King were aware of the true numbers of the enemy, their disadvantage in that regard was obvious to all with eyes. Degurechaff's forces numbered slightly over three thousand, while the enemy numbered near ten. Worse, over half of their own numbers were unblooded levies. Yet, they were sallying out to meet the enemy in the field, after flattening half of their defences. Mad, or so it would seem. He had no doubt many of the soldiers thought the same.

At least until one of the beasts took another step, and they felt the earth shake. Cyril didn't think the upcoming battle would be a walk in the park, but he also couldn't really fathom losing. I was quite grateful to the lightning mage, whoever they were. I had wounded the flyer, so I doubted they'd be much trouble tonight, which left the lightning mage as the largest threat I knew of.

There could be others, and I would certainly keep the possibility in mind, but credible sorcerers willing to risk their lives for a petty invasion like this were bound to be rare. Especially with Nazair being largely out of the Brotherhood's eye, which made opportunities for proper magical schooling scarce. Pretty much non-existent, really. The Brotherhood was a monopoly, and very intentionally so. Which is why I was grateful to the lightning mage.

Had they some other specialty, they would be incredibly difficult to find in the chaos of a night battle. The army marched quickly. Cyril's First Regiment and Bastan's Second formed the centre, with Isengrim's Third following behind. Isengrim's War Hound was consequently held in reserve, while Roderic was with the centre, its fate to serve as a formation-breaker. If the enemy proved too well prepared, Isengrim would lend his as well.

Ortagor still commanded the cavalry, and his assigned War Hound, Rhiner, would make the few hundred-strong unit capable of punching far above their weight class. The King was with them, which was a fairly unfortunate state of affairs. I couldn't risk his life unless absolutely necessary, which limited my options. I, meanwhile, rode on the left flank alongside my personal guard. With a bit of luck, the enemy would have no knowledge of the War Hounds.

Travel had been restricted quickly, and the enemy had moved fast, without scouting properly. This was an understandable mistake, as time was on our side. The longer the Nazairi took to reach the fort, the more its defenses could be built up and the closer reinforcements would get. If only Cintra had a proper centralised military. Of the Northern Kingdoms, only Kovir could boast of a proper professional army, though Redania and Temeria weren't that far behind.

Cintra was less so, with banner lords being the standard, though the Crown had a decent force at their beck and call. In other words, the monarch had to wrangle miniature warlords with giant egos and questionable competence every time they wanted to muster troops. At least Calanthé was capable. I had faith that reinforcements would reach us in weeks at most, hopefully much less, but while they would be nice, I did not think them crucial. This wasn't a repeat of Erlenwald.

That battle might have gone in my favour, but the risks I had taken were severe. This time, the enemy had made the mistake of coming to me on my terms. I was going to make them regret it. The troops materialised out of the mists like wraiths. While this metaphor might generally be dismissed as ornery, Severin did not think it unwarranted this time, considering the giant, and seemingly obedient, monsters amongst their number. The witch had clearly innovated on her prior design.

While the camp was not fully under control, it wasn't in complete chaos either. The manner of attack had been unexpected, but the army had been prepared for the possibility of fighting large monsters. The grey creatures that had infiltrated their camp had not been capable of dealing with groups of pikemen. The soldiers didn't manage to kill them often either, but that's what sorcerers and ballistae were for.

The King watched as Duke Lucien had his head heroically ripped off his body by one of the smaller creatures that had been evading the swarming soldiers. Severin cringed. Not fully under control indeed. That would have been him, were it not for the sorceress. She stood nearby, conferring quietly with the Fitz-Morne exile and re-gathering her strength. All according to Cintra's plans, were he to guess.

The King didn't really understand whatever unholy forces governed the magical stamina of sorcerers, nor did he particularly want to, but he did know that it was not infinite. Severin had managed to get a cuirass on, which did wonders for his mood, but things still looked bleak. As soldiers scrambled to form up and deploy their pikes, a larger and heavier variety than was standard, making the process take much longer than normal, Severin steeled his heart.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He had expected that this wouldn't be easy, though he had hoped.

"Ballistae!" He bellowed, forcing the few engineering crews that still weren't paying attention to the approaching enemy to re-target. At least those that remained, and whose ballistae were still in working condition, instead of smashed into splinters by the grey monsters. The fuckers had been way too intelligent, quickly identifying the siege engines as a threat and smashing quite a few before a proper defence had been organised. More foul sorcery. The first bolts started whizzing through the air a moment later.

They flew true, an easy feat considering the size of the monster. Then, because nothing could ever be easy, the creature ducked. Severin stared, then ground his teeth as spears of ice started flying towards the small siege engines. No, this wouldn't be easy at all. What were the sorcerers doing?! Aevinne rode near Degurechaff, her head on a swivel for any threats, even occasionally scanning the night sky, as the sorceress had instructed.

It was a somewhat disappointing state of affairs, if Aevinne was honest with herself. Protecting the sorceress might as well have been the most important job in the entire Kingdom of Cintra right now, and Aevinne acknowledged that, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted. The elf watched as Degurechaff waved her staff and threw her spells, systematically dismantling the enemy's siege engines. Seeing all that magic was fairly fascinating, she had to admit. Still, she hoped.

With a bit of luck, Degurechaff might decide to go on the offensive, and then she'd be able to properly avenge Ithilven. Gauthier Fitz-Morne adjusted his spectacles, watching the approaching soldiers. Even as a noble and a sorcerer, someone doubly above the common rabble, he couldn't help the shiver that passed through his body as the monstrosities approached.

He had managed to evade the creatures that had infiltrated the camp well enough, their senses unable to peer through his magic, but there was no point in evading those behemoths, not if he wanted the Nazairi army to see tomorrow. Gauthier didn't know how the sorceress had managed to create them. Couldn't even imagine, really, despite his own abilities in the Artes Biologicae. Of course, imperial education in that regard was concerned almost solely with healing, and not with… whatever that was.

It was said that the northern barbarians raised spellcasters as degenerate as they were powerful, but he had not truly believed it himself, until now. He spared a glance at Ironveil, who was standing silently next to the fuming barbarian King. However, all three of them had agreed that Degurechaff was not to be underestimated. If some of the Nazairi had to die to give them a better chance to deal with her, well, that was a price Gauthier was very willing to pay.

His own men had camped further away from the fort, so hopefully they'd be largely spared her onslaught. It was all rather ironic. He had been exiled for being unwilling to join the army, only to find himself in exactly the situation he had wished to avoid by refusing to go along with them, even though it brought great shame to his family. Not that he cared much about the pompous idiots.

Keeping the name was useful, especially when dealing with nobility, but he wouldn't piss on his dearest brother if he was on fire, let alone the rest of them. Who would have thought that mercenary work would be the only way to maintain his prior standard of living? Sure, he could have gotten rich just by curing the occasional syphilis, but that wasn't real power. The Black Company was just the start, and their ascent would begin with the death of Tanya von Degurechaff. It wasn't anything personal.

"Shhhhh," Orsik hissed, causing his guards to stop and fall silent, as he looked around. They were still in Dreadhold, but they wouldn't remain there for long if he had anything to say about that. The insane sorceress had decided to sally out, probably hoping to go out in a blaze of glory, and Orsik wasn't going to be inside the fort when the Nazairi came to sack it. Orsik saw no one, but his eyes darted around, catching on every shadow. The dwarf shook his head. This place was getting to him. Dreadhold. Monsters.

Dark sorceresses. The quicker they got out of here, the better. He motioned for his people to resume their walk towards the gates. They'd have to confront the guards there, even if there weren't many left. However, Orsik's business had concluded quite favourably, so he had the coin to spare. Once the gates materialised out of the mist, Orsik realised there was something wrong. Namely, the walls the gate was supposed to be attached to were just gone. He rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed.

Despite the lack of a wall, the gate was manned, and his party quickly noticed. Orsik cursed silently. Had they moved a bit to the right, they probably could have evaded the soldiers completely, the thick mist obscuring them more than enough for that. The dwarf gave the four gate guards his best disarming smile. The guards didn't reciprocate it, possibly because it was the middle of the night, possibly because they were considering whether they could take on Orsik's men.

The dwarf didn't think they could - the four guards were clearly the dregs, two of them even sporting obvious wounds, if bandaged ones.

"What's your business here?" the leader, one of the hale but grey-haired ones, asked brusquely.

"We were just thinking of going for a stroll," Orsik responded confidently, before handing over a pouch to the guard. The guard looked inside, then frowned, "What are you even trying to bribe me for?" He asked, voice laced with confusion, while the two wounded guards bristled.

"Err," Orsik stumbled, "Letting us go?"

"Search them!" The guard responded instantly. Orsik, too dumbfounded, didn't muster a response. They had nothing to hide anyway - nothing the army didn't already know about. A few minutes later, the head guard was looking even more confused, "Nothing," he shook his head, "On your way, then?" Orsik blinked, "We can just go?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have my money back, then?"

"No."