catching only air. He moved into the gap, and continued to hew a path through the Narkang defenders, hearing the clatter of armour in his wake as the Cheme men surged up to support him. Over their heads he could see the minotaurs had leaped over the ditch and were battering the enemy - they’d already torn a hole in the line and the enemy were looking hard-pressed to fill it.
More and more of his soldiers poured over the ditches, eagerly charging in the wake of the minotaurs — then a great shaking ran through the ground again. Styrax hissed his defiance and pushed on, not waiting to watch as the Narkang mage ripped another bloody great hole in the ground underneath his monstrous shock-troops. He answered with lances of darkness and flame that gouged furrows through the ground and ripped soldiers in half. The defenders were definitely buckling under the assault, unable to resist the pressure being exerted by his minotaurs and Reavers.
The Menin white-eyes had congregated near the rear of the enemy line, not far from where Styrax himself was standing. They were fighting back to back, leaping forward to kill with axe and shield before withdrawing, howling maniacally all the while. The white-eyes moved with such speed and aggression the Narkang could barely get close enough to bring their pikes to bear. The Cheme infantry were pressing further and further forward, and Styrax cast darting spirals of slicing magic into the supporting troops. They were inching closer to the mage’s platform.
There was a crash beside him as the soldier on Styrax’s left vanished and a heartrending scream rang out. When he turned, he saw the soldier’s body lying behind him. A ballista bolt had turned him into a bloody, shrieking mess. Captain Hain took one look and dropped his axe into the injured man’s neck, saving him a last few seconds or minutes of pain before moving to take his place. Styrax, furious, flicked his free hand towards the ballista and shouted arcane words over the clamour, and the air around it burst into flame, engulfing both engine and crew.
The white-eye, seeing an enemy commander ahead of him, struck out, but missed as the red-helmed nobleman jumped back and out of the way. Styrax moved with breathtaking speed, kicking the man in the chest and knocking him flying, then swiftly dispatching the hurscal next to him. He fought on, his upward blow taking out the man in front of him, the downward sweep taking care of the man behind him. He stepped into the gap they left, lunged right to impale a soldier, sweeping his leg out to kick the feet from underneath another, then trampling him to his death and he moved on another foot.
He moved so quickly that the next figure to loom into view was almost decapitated before he’d seen them; Styrax checked his blow just in time and Kobra’s fanged swordpoint glanced harmlessly off the Reaver’s cheek-guard. The smaller white-eye was shaking with bloodlust and euphoria; at Kobra’s touch the Reaver reared backwards in surprise, but wasted no time in throwing himself at Styrax. The Menin lord sidestepped the maddened Reaver and dodged his axe, twisting as the Reaver’s momentum carried him past and cracking him on the back of the head. The blow dropped the white-eye instantly, and the Cheme soldiers behind him jumped the felled man without stopping.
Their goal was in sight.
Seeing the defenders’ line torn open, Styrax allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. A rabble of frantic soldiers stood between him and the mage’s platform, but behind him he could hear his Bloodsworn and the remaining Reavers making their presence felt. And away over the moor he could feel the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn coming closer, the beat of his hooves echoing in Styrax’s mind. He ran forward, crackling bands of energy wrapping his sword, eager to be unleashed at the mage ahead.
As though in response, the ground began to rumble again, faster and more urgent this time, and above him the air roiled, tinted red - by blood, or magic? Styrax couldn’t tell; the air was suffused with both. All he could see around him was frantic movement and swirling dust, the chaos of war - and he its beating heart. He screamed, and pushed them on, one last drive to the heart of the enemy’s defences, to break them before Karkarn’s Mortal-Aspect could get to them.
Daken rolled in the blood-spattered dirt, his fingers stiff around the handle of