Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,113

to protect against the inevitable counterattack. Once the shock of the combined assault wore off, Krek and Brug alike had no disillusions about the Goblins bringing everything they had in reserve back on the trenches. This was their only chance to secure the foothold. The sound of shovels and pickaxes joined the clash of weapons.

The wait wasn’t very long. Storm clouds rolled in, abrupt and adding further confusion to the Goblins. It had been too long since they last confronted the Minotaurs and had no working knowledge of their tactics. That ignorance was about to be exploited. Lighting crackled. Bolts of blue-red power lanced from the shaman staffs. Shockwaves rippled across the distance between lines. More than one bull was knocked to his knees as the shamans unleashed their full might. The smell of singed hair choked the air, adding to the necrotic aroma of death. Bulls howled in those first few seconds.

As one, the bolts of power struck the Goblin towers and exploded. Wood and charred corpses burst apart in the blink of an eye. Debris extended over both armies. Minotaurs roared in delight while Goblins wailed and began to understand true fear. Krek didn’t hesitate. He bellowed and his army charged. The ground was covered in a span of heartbeats. Several large holes had been blasted in the Goblin defenses, forming natural ingress points for the bulls to swarm through.

The Minotaur king held back, knowing his warriors needed to secure the trench before he pushed forward. This was a dangerous moment for both armies. Momentum was fragile in the best situations. He knew it could easily swing back to the enemy should they recover their wits and reform their lines. Frustrated with having to stand idle and watch, Krek was pleased to see his army slip through the gaps in a trickle at first and then a steady stream. Others ripped the sharpened logs from the ground while others still wielded them like giant spears. The outcome was never truly in doubt. Stunned, broken, the Goblins were ripe to fall. All that remained to be seen was how many died in the process.

Krek felt a great weight slip away. He never bore any doubts to the veracity of his army. They were one of the strongest fighting forces in Malweir, but they hadn’t been tested in battle since he was a young bull. Any apprehension slipped away. There would be numerous funeral pyres come the dawn, but his army had performed admirably and were cleansing the world of Goblin filth. He gestured to his flag bearer. It was time, now, before the Goblins regrouped. The Minotaur standard waved proudly over the captured battlefield.

Brug spied Krek’s wave and quickly snatched his adjutant by the collar. “Now, go back and signal Bahr to advance. We’ve established a front.”

He stayed to watch the Dwarf sprint back towards the headquarters. Hundreds of Delrananian rebels were slowly moving closer to the battle, ready to get their hands dirty for the future of their kingdom. Brug couldn’t care less about the Humans, knowing they were more than likely only going to get in the way. His attention focused on the two carts bringing a resupply of ammunition for his musketeers. A seasoned veteran, Brug would have much preferred to engage the Goblins with his axe but there was no denying the killing power his new units possessed. As long as he had ammunition, he held the advantage. Satisfied, the Dwarf general turned back to the battle.

TWENTY-NINE

The Wolfsreik Strikes

Aurec couldn’t stop fidgeting. A veteran of several battles, he knew this shouldn’t be any different. Unlike his previous engagements, this was a battle of attrition. He’d been the guerilla force for so long his didn’t know if his army was capable of handling a direct assault on a fixed position. A well-defended position at that. The young king paced, cracking his knuckles much to the annoyance of Rolnir and Vajna.

Command Sergeant Major Thorsson watched his king with amusement. He kept his doubts private, having been on the opposite side of such a battle. A survivor of the siege of Rogscroft, Thorsson had been fortunate to survive but he knew full well just how terrible breaking a proper defense could be. Hundreds of his friends died within the city walls in a battle that ultimately proved unwinnable. Ghosts of his former comrades visited him during those long hours in the middle of the night when sleep refused to come. It was a sacrifice he’d never admit to