One Moo'r Plow

BBook 2: Chapter 44: The siege of Greysong Keep III.

The sun was upon us.

Scorching rays seared the stone, the splendors approach nearly completed. Only shielded and shaded by darkness along the walls did the defenders continue to fight, labored and weary. Blinding light so close to the walls made the archon almost impossible to see as it glided along, vanishing in and out of sight.

Sight was my weakest sense, yet smell and hearing were so drowned by the roar and rumble around me that I needed to rely on it. A vortex of dark particles spawned below the archon and yanked it downward through the air, only for it to flicker away.

Valencia's attention followed it, her hatred fully focused on the mount and its rider. Bolt in hand, I weighed the rod and tracked the flier through the skies. Bloodlust fought down, I did my best to feign patience and waited for the right moment. Even as more riders clawed their way over the walls, I stood still, arm at the ready.

The dreadknights vortex swallowed the great beast once more, darkness blotting out a portion of the second sun. Half-thought, half instinct, I hurled the javelin as the creature faded away. Not where it was. Where it would be.

The missile blurred through the air, so fast the naked eye could barely keep track of it.

Not fast enough. The archon blinked into sight and traversed upwards, just enough for the bolt to skim past underneath it. It had avoided this one.

I had a stockpile more to go.

With the strength of my arm and increasingly better aim, I speared minotaurs off their mounts. A satisfying alternative to running after every single one and doing it in person. My strength allowed me to hurl these metal rods with the same power as being shot from these massive bows, without needing to be set in place and slowly aimed.

Yet with this, my attention was split between the archon above and the riders climbing up from below. Not on the horde very nearly upon the walls. That task lay on others to stall.

I wondered then, why was Adric the one who led the defenses? From what I had seen, he was, in all respects, just a human. I had not yet seen a hint of his class or skills used. He communicated orders well through messengers and seemed intelligent, true. But in this world, that was not enough to keep up with supernatural power granted by the Gods Above. His soldiers did not move with bolstered confidence or unnatural precision. His defenses were advanced tools and careful plans, not flashy displays of power. So far, at least.

I soon had my answer.

Valencia marched along the walls, her face a display of cold under this sweltering heat.

Now. Came the simple command. The short, stout human nodded and stepped away from his retainers. Amidst the chaos, I watched as he stood over a corpse, stretched forth both hands and commanded it to rise.

It obeyed.

Shadows snaked from his outstretched hands into the freshly dead soldier as it jerked upwards, filled with unlife and vengeance. The tanned skin became pallid, shadows leaking from where its eyes were. It stood, and from it bled darkness. A taint that seeped into the dead around the undeads form and beckoned more to join it.

The ranks of the dead rose once more, come to drag their killers down with them. All along the walls, undead rose, weapons in hand and quiet as the dusk.

Below, Adric commanded to the living that remained. Prepare for the gate to be breached.

This order too was obeyed, and the walls emptied themselves of the living. Now, the dead weathered the assault.

I watched a spear fly over the wall and smite one right in the chest. A blow to kill a mortal man, chest cavity caved in entirely. The animated corpse cared little for such things. They returned to the duties not yet finished, interrupted by their untimely deaths.

Now, Adrics orders were carried out with thoroughness and speed humans would be loathe to match. The necromancers will was done with unerring precision, the defenses moving like some great machine. Zombies carried bolts and loaded ballistae with speed that matched mine, uncaring for the sun above. Pairs lugged pots of boiling oil that should have demanded several men up the ramparts, their bodies no longer caring for torn muscles and frail arms.

The minotaurs that had been felled did not stay that way. They too were bid to rise, and so they did. Weapons in hand, they joined the ranks of the dead to slay the living. Adric stepped upon the rampart and held his hands high, shadows growing long around him. Out over the valley, his will was carried, and the dead obeyed.

Dozens, nay, almost hundreds of corpses rose along the valley. Goblins and minotaurs alike were dragged back to the plane of the living, a second host being risen behind the horde.

I understood then why Adric held this position, and part of me marveled at it. An entire army was raised behind the war-host, pinching them between the dead and the walls. If they turned back to fight, the walls could rain down death with impunity, adding more corpses to their ranks.

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War-beasts lept from the walls down into the horde, undead and uncaring for the fall. Carnage now truly ensued. Undead minotaur guards huddled around Adric, their bodies there to shield him from any fire he might provoke.

They were needed.

The archon swooped down from on high, lance extended towards Adrics form.

This time, I was ready. Valencias vortex spawned with ferocious intensity, the beast made to falter in mid-air, unable to blink away. The rider battered away the bolt I hurled from underneath him, but my axe followed close behind.

It thunked into the beasts furred underside, buried in its guts. Snarls and screams sounded as its flight was lost and it began to plummet towards the horde below. Arrows rained down upon it and its rider as the undead turned their focus as one, storms of missiles all directed at it.

The sun itself moved to shield it, shrinking in size and waning in power as it traveled before the horde. Brilliance gleamed, and I found myself unable to look at where the archon had been. The beast and its rider vanished, but the sun continued to come.

It fell upon us now, radiant flame like no other. Heat scorched the stones and threatened to set all alight as it descended right towards us. It was only the combined force of the mages, Valencia and Adric that repelled it. Through arcane might, it was hurled back, out over the horde once more.

It did not stay there. Its course continued out over the valley, then down upon the rocks and undead forms that harried the horde from behind.

Flame and light consumed the valley as the sun set upon these desolate rocks, unleashing one final blaze of glory.

Everything in its vicinity was scrubbed away, erased by the flash that followed as finally, mercifully, the light went out.

The valley lay empty when I regained my eyesight. The undead mass had been reduced to dust, and the back ranks of the horde caught in the blast. If the sudden deaths of their fellows had any effect on the warherd, it did not show.

Almost half their number had perished just for them to make it to the walls. In any reasonable world, this would be a rout. To lose that many lives was utterly disastrous. Armies broke before they lost even near a quarter of their soldiers.

Yet those were humans, and these were minotaurs. A lifetime of war, death and slaughter desensitized an entire race to death. They carried forward, and now, they were upon the walls.

Down to the gate. Valencia demanded. Only her and I moved as the living. Adric commanded his dead, and boiling oil was poured from the walls. Minotaur warriors marched down the stairs, serving against their fellows by the necromancers will.

Its amusing, almost. He remarked. In death, they are all made equal. No matter what race, what Class. Every one is the same. When the body dies, the soul lingers. Just for a little while. It longs to keep going. To finish the work its fleshen vessel started. It screams of hatred and rage before they accept peace.

Who am I to deny them that fury?

All of them? I wondered.

Ive yet to meet an exception. Death is the end. Yet they all want to keep going. Just for a little longer. To accomplish a little more. Drag another enemy with them. I grant them that wish.

This plain, unassuming man puppeted corpses and channeled souls, yet I sensed little innate malice from him. His words I took at face value. Little other choice, in the here and now.

The mass of undead had soon descended, the walls now cleared save for archers and those that would guard them.

We too went below to meet the war-herd.

There had been no exaggeration as to the thickness of the gate. A mass of solid steel, unforgeable by human hands. Made with Skills and magic, I struggled to think of how a conventional army might breach this without magecraft or explosives. That technology did not exist in this world, as far as I knew, and I had no intention of ever introducing it.

Yet for how impressive the gate was, no one expected it to hold up against the horde outside. They needed no siege engines or battering rams. They were minotaurs. Strength alone would do. Blows rang through the air as hammers began to strike the mass of steel that stood before me. Not one, not two, but dozens after dozens, all with the strength of an adult minotaur behind them.

The defenders arrayed behind spiked defenses here, prepared for the inevitable. Archers notched arrows from vantage points up high. And before it all stood I, greatspear in hand and claymore at my side. If there was any time to take a draft from the various potions I carried, it was now. Draughts of liquid energy I consumed until I feared I might go manic.

Now I paced in position, Valencia alongside me.

Anticipation burned in the dreadknights eyes. She sat on the ruins of a catapult, arms resting on her knees as we waited. To my surprise, she accepted the draught I offered her, chugging down the liquid energy while her gaze was still locked on the gate.

Right there, Garek. She gestured. Right on the other side of that barrier. A horde, here to kill you. Seperated only by a piece of steel. Hundreds of your kind out for your head. Are you excited?

No. I answered truthfully. Id much rather be home, tending to my crops.

I took no joy in this, experienced no thrill or rush as I cut down my enemies. Not like her.

And you?

The thrill gets old, after a while.

Hammer blows continued to rain, the steel starting to become distended. Dents were forming, the continuous stream of pounding slowly causing the gates to buckle.

Yet I savor it, always. No matter how small or cheap.

And just when Id hoped there was some spark of redemption in her. I wanted to slap myself for that thought. This woman was here to help save my life, bring low my enemies, and part of me judged her for how she did it. Monster though she was, my life was owed to her more than once now.

Gods Above willing, I would live to one day repay her.

With that thought, the massive slab of steel finally gave way, and the horde poured from those gaps.

The slaughter was upon us.