Chương 60: Chapter 58 - The First Battle of Marnadal

We advanced. The enemy front was composed largely of pikemen, each soldier holding a hefty weapon around six metres long, formed up in what I imagined the ancient Greek phalanxes must have looked like - or trying to, at least. They did not appear terribly well-practiced with the weapons or the notoriously tricky formation, making the end result rather uninspiring. Or inspiring, if your job was to kill them.

I had little doubt the very maneuverable War Hounds could dance circles around a half-assed formation like that, unless they properly closed ranks. Which they had not. Squares of pikemen were formed all along the front, with often great spaces between each other, which the Nazairi were doing their best to close with slow, shuffling movements. Once the War Hound was on their flank, the soldiers wouldn't be able to turn their weapons in time.

Their camp was not completely unfortified, despite their lack of time - there were wooden spikes and some ditches. Nothing that would even slow a War Hound down. The ballistae were more problematic, but the War Hounds proved more nimble than even I had expected. Of course, nothing could ever be so easy. Before the centre, led by Roderic and his assigned War Hound, Wilibald, could smash into the enemy, a mage made themselves known in the most annoying way possible.

In front of our troops, the ground shook and moved, making Wilibald whine in confusion. Some in the front ranks were swallowed by the earth, their comrades working furiously to to pull them out. I scowled, recognising the spell. Stammelford's Tremors. I stared straight at the sorcerer, hidden behind the front ranks of the enemy. Time moved slowly as my reflex enhancement worked perfectly.

The crafty man seemed to be wearing a regular soldier's gambeson, making it near impossible to distinguish him from common soldiery by eyesight alone. However, one could not cast a spell as powerful as Stammelford's Tremors while remaining hidden." Aine gynvael," I cast, a red flare shooting out of my staff, before levitating dozens of metres above the sorcerer's head. The man looked at the light in confusion.

He understood a moment later, when he heard the hiss of hundreds of arrows tearing their way through the night. I smirked as the mage shielded himself, and the Tremors started fizzling, the area of the spell being far too large for it to sustain itself without the sorcerer replenishing it with his own power. The sound of horns resounded a moment later, resuming the march of my soldiers. Of course, this wasn't an opportunity I planned to ignore.

With the mage busy, I cast a little surprise that'd hopefully go unnoticed until it was too late, then prepared to attack on my own. Tim felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face. To say he regretted throwing all that lightning around earlier would not be accurate, as it was half the reason why the Nazairi army still had any sort of cohesion, but as arrows rained down all around, he thought he might have been a tad overzealous. His shield protected him well enough, but he had no illusions about the real threat.

The sorceress had noticed him, as she had been supposed to. Tim, despite the armour he wore, wasn't really a battle mage, not like Ironveil. His speciality was weather. His clothes were carefully chosen to make him stand out less, as he had not wanted to attract any unnecessary attention - or arrows. It had worked until the plan forced his hand. Ironveil should have already attacked, curse her.

Still, despite the very large upset, he would do his best to stick to his role, at least until it became clear that the woman had truly chickened out. There was still a chance something had held her up, perhaps one of the monsters. He'd still give her an earful later. Tim's hopes of the enemy sorceress forgetting about him were dashed as soon as he was bombarded with shards of ice. He winced as one hit his shoulder, the impact making him fall down.

He wasn't injured; the shield made sure of that, but it had an upper limit when it came to dissipating force. He wasn't sure how - or if - the sorceress figured that out, but being passive clearly wasn't going to work. Luckily, he still had an ace up his sleeve. As his master had always said,'When in trouble, use more power!'

"Thank you, Alzur, for inventing a spell that lets even a humble weather sorcerer defend himself against the tyrants," he muttered, his fingers already moving through the intricate gestures necessary, forgoing the chant entirely thanks to his extensive familiarity with the spell. Then, a massive lightning bolt descended from the sky as Tim smirked. He had poured extra Power into that. Ironveil's and Gauthier's plans were well and good, but sometimes overwhelming Power was all one needed.

For a few moments, night was turned into day. His smile vanished as the lightning bolt, instead of striking the sorceress and annihilating her utterly, bent. The bolt coiled, funnelled into an invisible channel away from the sorceress and into the Nazairi frontline. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! The ground exploded, sending dozens of bodies flying, while Tim gaped. Then, suddenly, Tim felt something grab his head. The last thing he heard was a crack.

I smiled in satisfaction. The lightning mage had been fairly impressive. It was a shame that no one had told him that the principles of lightning rods were very well understood by the Brotherhood at this point, making lightning a terrible element to focus on in inter-mage combat. His choice of shield had been decent, protecting him from both magic and more physical threats, but there were disadvantages to more skin-fitting protection. Namely, torsion.

Had he noticed me casting Dhu Muire and conjuring a tendril behind him, the sorcerer might have managed to protect himself. Alas, he had not, and so his head was now turned one hundred and eighty degrees the wrong way.

'One down, one severely wounded,' I thought. I was still vigilant, of course. There might be more, or the wounded flyer might try something. Yet, the enemy's front was already buckling, and even that might have been too generous of an assessment. Without mages and with most of their ballistae disabled, there was nothing they could do to stop our advance. Despite their numerical superiority, they had not managed to mount their defence properly. Not anything that could top the War Hounds, at least.

The pikemen had tried, but their formation was not wide enough. Wilibald, the mammoth-sized hound assigned to the centre, had jumped in from an unprotected side, where the enemy was still struggling to close ranks. The formation had disintegrated near instantly, those not dead fleeing for their lives. My men had poured into the breach right after the hound. Just like that, the enemy's front line began crumbling. My smile suddenly froze, the slowly building triumph replaced by a feeling of unease.

Something was wrong. I stared at the front line from my horse, but saw no issues. We were advancing, and the enemy was barely holding on. I could see multiple groups running for it already. My eyes widened as I realised what was wrong. The sounds of my guards behind me were gone. No shuffling of feet, clinking of armour, or horses snorting. I turned around, the world slowing even further.

The first thing I noticed was Aevinne using her horse as a springboard, while the rest of my guards were staring around with wild eyes, hands clutching their throats. The elf jumped, her sword thrusting forward, only to be deflected by a black blur, barely slowed down in its flight towards me. But slowed down it was. Despite the clash of steel on steel, there was no sound, only silence. Using the time bought for me, I moved, raising my staff to block the lethal blow.

Even while using my reflex enhancement, I was barely in time to prevent a sword from hitting my neck. The sword hit the metal of my staff the very next second, the impact strong enough to throw me off my horse. The black-clad attacker, their form clearly female, though their face was masked, never even slowed, disappearing in the darkness of the night sky. I fell into a roll, getting up quickly, my lips already moving, but no sound came out. I tried to breathe, and found no air. At that moment, it all clicked.

I knew what the sorceress was doing. The flight, the tree, the suffocation. Rapidly performing the gestures for Gaeth, the wind manipulation spell, I tried to seize control of the surrounding air. Unsuccessfully. Aevinne, Edwyn and Habata took position on my flanks, each of their faces unnaturally pale as they struggled with the lack of air. The rest of the guards were in no position to assist anyone.

Grateful for their protection, I poured more and more Power into the simple spell, while I silently cursed the King mentally for hogging all my best meatshields. Swords flashed twice more in that time, with my chestplate deflecting a glancing blow the second time. Then, the spell broke under my onslaught, and air rushed in, causing us all to gasp for breath. All, except Habata. Habata was dead, the royal guard lying in a pool of his own blood.

I stared ahead onto the battlefield, the figure of our attacker floating above the retreating enemy lines, before falling towards the ground at inhuman speeds, and disappearing amongst the rushing soldiers. Having my own tactics used against me, even if from a previous life, was mildly upsetting.' I was the one supposed to be doing decapitation strikes.' Flight suddenly found itself back on top of my priority list.

I had a few half-tested ways I could try and use now, but I knew better than anyone how such measures would compare to someone in their element. I consoled myself with the fact that they almost certainly did not expect me to kill their little distraction so quickly. Then I began showering the retreating enemy with arrows made of ice. Perhaps I'd get lucky and kill the hiding rat as well. I smiled to reassure my guards.

Then a flash of light blinded me, and my smile quickly turned into a scowl as I blinked the stars from my eyes. As my vision returned, the battlefield fell silent. In front of us, between my troops and the retreating enemy, stood a giant made of marble, wielding an enormous greatsword. I craned my neck. The thing must have been at least forty metres tall. My troops faltered, stopping their pursuit. Even the War Hounds stopped, their postures confused. My scowl intensified, "It's an illusion!"

I shouted, magically enhancing my voice as I prepared to dispel it. Then I noticed her. The flyer. High above my own position. Waiting. I immediately abandoned my efforts, instead spraying the sky with arrows made of ice like some environmentally friendly flak gun. The sorceress zipped away, hopefully wounded, but I couldn't count on that. The giant, meanwhile, moved.

While my shout had managed to instil some courage into the nearest troops, that all evaporated when that giant sword started descending, and over half of my men started tactically repositioning towards the rear with unseemly haste. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, then I spotted a knight near the front, their horse in a mad sprint and lance lowered. A knight with a golden plume on their helmet, after whom my entire cavalry battalion was scrambling.

The knight, King Roegnar of Ebbing, passed straight through the illusion. I could only hope his horse wouldn't stumble. It'd be just my luck if the King broke his neck. What my words alone could not do, the actions of their monarch pulled off, and my troops resumed their pursuit. It was too late to annihilate the enemy completely, but we could still make them pay a higher price.