Chant of the Damned
Lansius
At the heart of the battlefield, where the war wagons were stationed, Lansius’ few hundred fought their hardest against the onslaught of a thousand. One column of rioters had gone down, but a fresh column quickly arrived to replace it. In this battle, they were like mosquitoes against giants, but even mosquitoes could be terrifying under the right circumstances. The Blue and Bronze had a plentiful stockpile of bolts, with hundreds of gold coins’ worth stored in their carts. With the help of their Great Gemstone of Light, they sent bolts flying with deadly precision.
Several SAR X-Bows were also in their possession, wielded by their best, unleashing a barrage to fend off any concentrated assault on the wagon wall. Only through the resilience of their n-at-arms and the accuracy of their crossbown did they break and blunt the rioters' relentless attacks. Hundreds of rioters were wounded by the bolts and dragged along inside the thick formation until they vanished from sight, trampled by their own. Ironically, weakness and powerlessness inside the crush killed more than the bolts themselves.
Finally, the rioters’ center could not take the punishnt any longer and began to withdraw, replaced by two fresh columns. But battlefield maneuvering was a delicate process, especially for untrained columns. Even from a distance, the sound of confusion, mishaps, frustration, and accidents was clear. It gave Lansius’ center and his wagon wall a mont to catch their breath and assess their damage.
In this manner, the fighting on the right wing and at the center showed promise.
Yet the fight on the left side was turning into a nightmare.
Under the bright white light from the Prize of Cascasonne, Lansius watched as his veterans and recruits, shouting and groaning, struggled to hold their spear wall against the swarm of mindless fanatics. Everyone was unsettled by how willingly the rioters fought to their deaths. n with nothing but layers of linen and ragged wool for armor on their chests charged the spears, flinging their weapons wildly before falling under a rain of thrusts.
His n had taken several steps back to preserve their line, giving ground to the imnse pressure of the rioters’ attacks.
Behind the line, Da Daniella and a concerned veteran continued to search the dead for clues, but they found nothing except so indication that drugs had been used.
"Can drugs do such things?" Lansius muttered to himself, feeling like a fool for basing his knowledge on his world's history, a place that didn't even have an alchemist guild.
The question wasn't even necessary. He had seen it with his own eyes. The rioters who clashed against this section of the line had acted like mindless ghouls, unwavering in their attack despite wounds and pain that would have brought down normal n. Shaking off his thoughts, Lansius saw his n around him, all eager for guidance.
His eyes quickly shifted to Sterling. “Get the slingers," he instructed. "Tell them to bring everything they have.”
"At once." Sterling ran to the back of the wagon carts where the slingers were last positioned, helping with the wounded.
Lansius turned his attention back to the line and rushed to a weakened section. He gripped a recruit by the shoulder and pulled him back.
"My Lord," the recruit stamred, stunned as Lansius took his spear and stepped forward to join the fight among his veterans.
"My Lord, you're with us!" a veteran exclaid, sweat streaking his face as he pressed shoulder to shoulder with the others, the line tightening as Lansius' guards joined their ranks.
Amid glances and hurried salutations, Lansius raised his voice for all to hear. "n, what is this setback? Is this what a gold coin just bought ? I was pleased to see the right wing striking deep into the rioters' flank. Why is this section giving less?"
Groans of protest and frustration erupted along the line.
"My Lord, there's sothing wrong with them," one man shouted, gritting his teeth as he jamd his spear into a fanatic pressing against the line.
"No fear in their eyes, not a bit," another called, breathlessly yanking his spear free and stabbing again at a new attacker.
"They lost their limbs and still they fight!" a third cried out, struggling to keep his spear level as a screaming zealot tried to climb over it.
"I count us as stupid, but they are sothing truly special," soone comnted with a bitter wit.
"It's like fighting the dead," ca a hoarse voice further down.
"Ghouls," a veteran muttered, and the rest barked it in grim agreent.
"Patience, n. Don't get discouraged," Lansius responded amid the clash of iron and steel ringing through the lines. "If you face problems, don't just take them at face value." He turned to Daniella. "Da."
"My Lord?" Daniella answered promptly from behind. The n recognized her firm yet endearing voice.
"The center and center-right aren't facing this ghoulish problem, correct?" Lansius asked.
"Indeed, My Lord. They haven't encountered these kinds of opponents," she confird aloud.
He pressed on. "How about our far left wing?"
Daniella turned to check, but her view was blocked. A tall veteran answered instead, "No, My Lord. It's easier over there. They're not seeing the sa trouble."
"Then this is an isolated case," Lansius concluded.
His n exchanged glances, wondering what the Lord was getting at.
"Powerful drugs are costly," Lansius continued. "They're exotic, worth their weight in gold if not silver. I doubt even the monastery can drug a thousand. There can't possibly be that many. These are ant to scare us, to push us into retreat."
Doubt lingered along the line, but Lansius' words had planted a seed. And for a mont, fear and worry loosened their grip.
"Every fanatic you kill is one they cannot replace. Their numbers are not endless. In fact, I believe there are only a few hundred at most. Hold the line, and we’ll end this madness!" Lansius shouted, intent on keeping their spirits up despite the relentless hardship.
With trendous effort, the n held the line, thrusting their spears and trying every trick they could think of to fight the fanatics. Lansius’ guards took on most of the fighting themselves, forcing him and Da Daniella to supervise the battle from the second ranks.
From behind, Sterling waded up to Lansius and said, "My Lord, they're here."
With a relieved breath, Lansius stepped back, Daniella in tow. They saw the slingers, powerfully built but mostly unassuming n in light armor. Each had helpers carrying bags and wooden boxes strapped to their shoulders.
"How many fire bottles do we have?" he asked.
The helpers quickly lowered the wooden boxes, letting the slingers check their contents. "Combined, we have eleven left," the senior slinger reported.
Lansius held his breath for a mont, wondering if it would be enough, before recalling sothing. "I have given the alchemist guild access to Volatile Oil and a good deal of money. Don’t you have samples of the concoction they're able to produce?"
The two slingers exchanged glances. "But those are recently made, My Lord. Untested."
"And what better mont to test them?" Lansius countered.
The slingers did not argue, but hurried their helpers to retrieve the items from the wooden box.
"How many of them?" Lansius asked as they carefully placed three round clay spheres, protected by nests of hay and each larger than a fist, onto the ground.
"Just these three, My Lord."
The other slinger, already preparing his sling, said to Sterling, "You might want to get the Lord and the n in front to clear the way."
"Wait," Lansius stopped them. The idea of letting his n fight burning, pain-dulled fanatics was a daunting prospect. A column of ghouls was already a lot of trouble, but a column of burning ghouls would be terrifying. "You don't want to target the n in front. Lob it high into the midst of their formation."
The two slingers nodded sharply. Within a breath, the fuse hissed, churning smoke as if alive.
"Slingers! Clear the way," Sterling barked, ordering the n to move aside. Even though the throw would be parabolic this ti, there was still a risk.
The two swung their slings overhead several tis, building montum before launching with precision. The projectiles flew in a wide arc. The two new concoctions, still unnad, crashed into the midst of the fanatics’ formation. In the blink of an eye, the area nearby erupted in flas. At first, it looked like an ordinary fire attack, but the fire spread rapidly and engulfed a much wider area.
The effect, however, was limited, and his n were underwheld. Moreover, they doubt that fire would deter these ghouls, let alone stop their advance.
But Lansius had expected as much. He turned to the slingers and said with a steady gaze, "I want you to create a wall of fire in the middle of their formation. Drop them close together, but not overlapping."
"My Lord," called a wounded veteran sitting nearby, clutching his bandaged right arm. "I doubt fire will scare these n. They don't even fear spears or swords."
"That's exactly what I'm aiming for," Lansius replied, leaving the veteran puzzled.
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He returned to the slingers and said, "You'll understand soon. For now, burn a line. Separate their rear from their front. Scorch it. Use all your stockpiles. I want the center of their column burning bright."
The slingers nodded and sprang into action, whirling their slings overhead and launching two more projectiles with precision. Soon, the field was dotted with more blazing fires. They were spectacular to see, but the impact was minimal. Still, they continued with their fire bottles.
Da Daniella stepped closer and asked in a low voice, "What exactly is your intention, My Lord?"
Their eyes t.
Lansius gathered his thoughts and explained, "If soone nearby bursts into flas, most people will do everything they can to get away from it."
Daniella’s eyes widened as realization struck. "But not these n," she said, her voice filled with sudden understanding.
He turned his gaze to the front as the slingers hurled more projectiles into the air, each one landing with great accuracy. Burning dots blossod and began to form a line, separating the front of the enemy column from its rear. So fanatics were struck directly by the fire bottles. Their bodies erupted in flas, their screams cutting through the night. Yet even as they burned, the ranks held and the formation refused to break.
A cold sweat crept down Lansius’ back as he realized it still might not be enough.
Several more projectiles flew, and the slingers finally launched the last of their fire bottles, each landing with astounding accuracy. Still, while the fire attack brought down many, the result was far from decisive. It was not enough to ease the pressure on their line. The strain on their spear wall was imnse, and the defenders could not hold for long. This ti, just a few steps back would not be enough.
"My Lord," a veteran captain called as he found Lansius.
Lansius turned toward the man and saw the sternness of his gaze and the clenched muscles of his jaw, who wasted no ti reporting, "We need to retreat, or the center left will crumble."
"Begin the pivot," Lansius commanded without hesitation. "Left wing, withdraw six tis twenty paces. Center left, three tis twenty paces. The rest, adjust accordingly."
Forced to relieve the pressure on his battered line, Lansius ordered his entire left wing to withdraw. There was no fanfare, only the steady, almost somber notes from the trumpets counting every twenty steps.
With heavy footsteps, the Blue and Bronze gave ground, careful not to leave their wounded comrades behind.
***
The Rioter's Right Wing
At the southernmost point of the battlefield, the rioters’ right wing battled against the Lord’s left. Even before the lines clashed, their front ranks had been demolished by relentless crossbow attack, followed by a staunch defense that broke several hundred more. Nurous brave and committed rioters died left and right against the spear wall. The rest pressed forward, hunched behind whatever protection they could find. Spears, swords, even scabbards were raised in front of faces and heads, desperate to shield themselves from bolts that seed to co out of nowhere.
Although the intensity of the crossbow attack had greatly reduced since the two lines clashed, bolts still struck here and there with horrifying results.
Worse, they were half-blinded. Even this column on the far south, which wasn’t directly under the intense glow of the false sun, still found its vision affected. The magical light was bright enough to hurt their eyes with its harsh white glare.
Suddenly, there was much less noise in the field.
The rioters at the back squinted their eyes and, to their surprise, saw the Lord's opposing column withdrawing. The false sun emanating from the Lord's ranks did not shine on the retreat, but its glow was enough for everyone to see the movent. Many were stunned by the sight, and even more grew excited, thinking this was a full retreat. A great host of rioters at the front surged forward in a raucous charge, but their hearts quickly sank as they watched the Lord's line reform.
Just as swiftly as they had fallen back, the Lord's n-at-arms bristled their spears into a new wall, the formation restored.
"Bah! They could do this all night," a hired sword said in frustration.
His comrades, forr Midlandian soldiers, were both impressed and dismayed. The Lord's army was clearly better trained and more experienced than even Lord Bengrieve’s troops in the last conflict.
Still, they had no choice but to advance. Their contract with the monastery was to defeat the Black Lord's garrison, and now they were so close to their goal. It wasn’t just the core officers; even the rioters believed victory was within reach. After all, they were far more nurous. Seizing the chance to reorganize, they left behind the first column, which had been mauled and broken, and gathered into a new formation.
With planks of wood torn from the arena as makeshift shields, the hired swords led the nervous but eager rioters and Saint sympathizers behind them. The reorganized column advanced through blood-soaked grass, stepping carefully to avoid trampling their wounded or still-breathing allies.
Yet as they moved forward, a horror was unfolding on their left. Earlier, they had seen the Lord's fire attacks and dismissed them as nothing more than a cruel, desperate tactic. The flas had barely scattered the n in the next column, who kept their ranks despite the danger. But now, they began to notice that the fire kept growing.
"Another fire attack? But I don't hear anything," one muttered, nervousness colored his tone.
"Whose n are those?" another asked.
"The Saint's most devout," soone answered, and the rest muttered about the Believers.
They slowed their pace and watched in disbelief as the column next to them was slowly devoured by flas. They saw n step onto grass slicked with oil and unassuming puddles of fire, their feet instantly set ablaze. The victims were caught by surprise as their clothing and gear suddenly began to burn. They tried to smack out the flas, but that only made the fire spread to their hands.
Yet even more staggering, despite n in their midst completely on fire, screaming and crashing into those around them, the ranks refused to scatter. The column stubbornly kept moving, so even stepping past their fallen and still-burning comrades. And this was only the start of the horror. As n brushed against the flas, they caught fire themselves. With unnatural ease, the flas spread from body to body, catching on linen and wool, climbing up arms and necks. Raw screams rose as skin caught fire.
Yet, aside from a few who broke away, the column trudged onward, heedless of the agony around them.
"By the Living Saint. Are they mad?" one called out in fright.
Nobody had an answer. Instead, more questions arose. "What is happening?"
"Their skin is lting," another exclaid, voice ragged with terror.
But all they heard from the stricken column was the dull rhythmic chant: “Kill the Lord’s n... Kill the Lowlandians... Kill the Black Demon...”
The sight was so unnatural, so grotesque, that even the brave among them felt disturbed to their soul. anwhile, the stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick enough to make even the strongest retch.
This sorry sight made the rioters turn pale. Even the hired swords who commanded them had stopped, doubt spreading quickly through their ranks. Their will to fight crumbled. They saw the other columns behind behaving the sa way, clearly disturbed by the burning column and keeping their distance, so even stepping back to avoid it.
Slowly, the n exchanged fearful, nervous glances and heavy doubts. So began to walk away, unable to bear what they had witnessed. The terror of that night would surely follow them for the rest of their lives.
A dozen n began to move aside and run, and nobody shouted at them. Even the officers were too stunned to react.
More and more rioters lost heart. They had seen enough. Whether it was magic or sothing else, they were terrified it could happen to them. Nobody wanted to die in flas. With bated breath, they fled, heading for places where the Lord's bright white lights did not reach. Ironically, they ran toward darkness, hoping to find salvation.
It almost turned into a rout.
But seemingly out of nowhere, three rioter columns pressed in, cutting off their path of escape. Commanded by trusted aides sent by the white-haired leader, the columns swung wide in an enveloping move, aiming for the Lord's unprotected flanks and rear.
Now, among the fleeing n, so stopped to watch, their curiosity greater than their fear. Others, who had seen the true nature of war, continued on their desperate flight, minds heavy with regret and hearts yearning for the warmth of ho.
The rioters, by sheer weight of numbers, had played another hand. The battle had just turned wild and unpredictable.
***
Lansius
The Blue and Bronze's left wing had barely withdrawn and reford their line when the fanatics crashed against them. Even dulled by drugs, the fanatics remained nimble and quick, a dangerous combination. Many fell as they recklessly overstepped their own dead, slipping on blood-soaked ground. The two lines collided again with nearly the sa ferocity as before. Despite the fire attack, it seed nothing had changed.
But suddenly, fire appeared in the enemy's midst. It had always been there, but now it grew stronger. Far from creating a literal wall of flas, after the initial blaze the fire attack left only scattered, unassuming oily puddles. Yet the sticky liquid concealed a dangerous effect.
The mixture of tar, resin, volatile oil, and whatever else the Alchemist Guild had brewed spread unnaturally quickly, latching easily from foot to clothing and then to bare skin.
Yet it ant little to the fanatics who stubbornly maintained their ranks. So might have tried to force their way out but lacked the strength to break free. Almost all were dulled by the drugs, unable to comprehend the danger others faced. Thus, the tragedy unfolded as more and more burned, stumbling and shoving into anyone nearby, engulfing even more in fire.
Like a deadly ga of tag, everyone around them rapidly caught fire.
Even as the fight renewed along the line, everyone could not help but notice how the enemy’s middle and rear columns were being consud by growing fire.
"By the Ancients," one of his veterans lanted at the sorry sight.
Even Lansius was distraught. He had fully expected them to scatter. The smoke and the heat should have driven any human to flee with all their strength. But there was no snap back from their daze. The middle portion of the fanatic column was now ablaze.
But eerily, the chant only grew louder: “Kill the Lord’s n... Kill the Lowlandians... Kill the Black Demon...”
The Black Demon?
Lansius cared little for this new na likely attributed to him. All that mattered was his n could now see hope of relief as fire continued to ravage the fanatics' column. The pressure on his center left would soon slacken.
However, he had no ti to breathe. Shouts from the far left alerted him to three enemy columns approaching in a wide envelopnt, swinging out toward his unprotected side.
This new developnt ant soone competent was commanding the rioters.
"Sterling," Lansius called.
"Yes, My Lord," the squire replied, standing a little taller, ready for the task.
"Take the heavy cavalry and go to our right wing. Hit them hard."
Sterling furrowed his brow, but it was Daniella who asked on his behalf, "Don't you an the left flank, My Lord?"
“No,” Lansius said firmly, ignoring the sweat trickling down his brow. "Right wing. Go and support the Camp Commander. Take the initiative if you see the chance and crush the opponent. Don't worry about our left wing."
Sterling and Daniella exchanged glances.
“Win this,” Lansius added, fixing his eyes on Sterling, “and I’ll make a knight of you.”
Sterling’s eyes went wide with surprise. He knew by rit alone he probably had accumulated enough, but never expected to hear the words tonight. “At once, My Lord,” he answered, putting everything he had into the words.
Daniella patted Sterling's arm, saying, "Don't get reckless. Rember your wife and her ntor."
"Sir Morton...?" Doubt filled Sterling’s tone.
"Yes. If you die, he'll fetch your soul and bring you back just to kill you again for leaving his only student a widow this young," Daniella quipped with a straight expression.
Sterling, usually so reserved, broke into a rare chuckle, prompting Lansius to sigh softly. He said to Sterling, "Go as a lion, but return as a man."
"My Lord." Sterling dipped his head in a crisp salute, then hurried to the waiting cavalry.
"Soon, he'll need a squire of his own," Da Daniella remarked as the two headed toward their vulnerable left wing.
Lansius snorted softly. "And I'll need a new one."
"Hard to find good talent, but we're in Midlandia. There should be soone you'll like," Daniella said calmly while observing the three columns closing in on their flank.
"Sothing tells that Sir Omin already has a list. I’d loathe to pick nas from among the Midlandians noble sons."
She lost the sternness in her visage for a mont, replaced by a fleeting, graceful smile. "I believe it’s not prudent to look down on soone just because they were born a noble, My Lord."
"Pardon my uncouthness, Da," Lansius replied, his apology genuine.
Daniella chuckled softly, waving it off as if it were nothing. "Then," she continued, "with the heavy cavalry now heading north, how exactly are we ant to survive against three columns on our flank?"
"I've made so preparations, but drugged fanatics on one side and three fresh columns on the other." Lansius drew a slow, weary breath. "The Fates have us by the throat."
All around them, their n in the left wing were making what preparations they could.
Daniella gazed at him as they stopped. "Then why are you sending the heavy cavalry north?"
Lansius t her eyes. "Because I know my army, and now, my enemy."
The rest of the cavalry, composed of a dozen light horsen, Daniella’s and Lansius’ horses, and their squires, were gathering nearby. The remaining guards and volunteers also assembled, along with the wounded who could still wield a weapon. His captain and lieutenant appeared, marching down the line with grim faces as they waited for his battle plan.
While his conversation with Daniella was deceptively calm, Lansius knew that even as a Lord with great battle acun, if his plan failed to convince his officers and guards, they would drag him away and sound the retreat.
The battle was entering its most critical stage, and everything looked grim.
***
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