Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,58

through a lightning-quick assault.

Rolnir’s gambit of using the Pell Darga to overwhelm the outer defenses paid off. Defenders were in shock from seeing the smaller, dark-skinned warriors emerge from the twilight. The bombardment began minutes after the Wolfsreik general was convinced his raiders were already reaping a terrible toll on the enemy. Cavalry formed ranks under the catapults, advancing at a slow walk. Rolnir wanted enough time to let the horror of what was happening sink in before committing his ground forces. Fear often drove wedges into the enemy’s armor. The prisoners collected thus far from Piper’s campaign told Rolnir one thing: fear was abundant in the people of Delranan. Exploiting it would bring an end to the civil war much quicker than he anticipated, providing all went according to plan. The redheaded general was experienced enough to know that most plans failed upon contact.

Archers from Delranan and Rogscroft continued firing at a measured pace. Each archer was intended to fire twenty arrows at a rate of five shafts a minute. Given the sustained rate of fire, that was more than enough to cover the cavalry’s advance. Upon orders the archers would displace to the far side of the bivouac to screen deserters and retreating forces. Infantry support was already en route to cut off all escape routes. Rolnir had Badron right where he wanted him. The noose tightened with each passing second.

Horns bleated a dreadful wail, signaling the charge. The very ground trembled as hundreds of horsemen took off towards the poorly conceived defensive line. Badron may have been able to acquire bodies but they were raw, inexperienced peasants not made for war. Riders watched as some broke and ran. Others were cut down by their own sergeants. Fury burned within the chests of the cavalry as they watched the very people they’d sworn oaths to protect murdered for their will to live.

The wedge of horses crashed into the infantry line and tore a widening hole as it continued to pierce the depths of the bivouac. Rolnir watched through his spyglass. Men were running everywhere, many without weapons. Bodies littered the ground. He guessed there were between two and three thousand “volunteers” encamped before him. Less than a quarter appeared to have any military training. The slaughter quickened as his infantry plunged into the gaps created by the cavalry.

Orders were specific. Anyone wearing armor or armed with quality weapons was to be killed outright. The vast majority of conscripts were still in their civilian attire or given boiled-leather plates for armor, clearly distinguishing them from the reservists. That didn’t prevent hundreds from being killed as the heat of battle overtook the Wolfsreik. Revenge for all of the wrongs committed to their kingdom demanded justice. The Wolfsreik was the instrument of delivery for Rolnir’s justice.

“Captain, strike the colors. We’re riding to the fight,” he ordered, adjusting his armor one final time.

“General, are…are you sure that is wise?”

Rolnir drew his sword and pointed the tip at his adjutant. “Question me in front of my command again and I’ll strip you down before sending you in. Now, the colors.”

Horns blared again, deep, resonating sounds that echoed over the din of battle as the command group surged to join the fight. And hopefully prevent too many civilians from being slaughtered.

Infantry formations cheered as their general blew past, sworn raised and pointed at the bivouac. They were the rearguard, designed to sweep in and mop up the battle. All were experienced veterans of multiple campaigns. Most were too old to stand the front lines or lock shields with their brothers. Rolnir didn’t believe in disposable soldiers, however, and valued each and every life under his command including the Pell Darga and Rogscroft soldiers.

All flags of division were abandoned for the duration of the campaign, though he and his commanders agreed it was best to keep units together. Rolnir wanted them all to fight under one flag, to act as one army, not a band of several all vying for glory. He and Aurec both expressed concerns over too much carnage, for both wanted a strong Delranan as an ally once the madness of King Badron was ended. Their ploy worked and all three peoples attacked as one.

Swords clashed with axe and spear. The screams of pain from the dying lingered in his ears. Despite his orders, the increasing slaughter included a healthy portion of civilians who’d either been given no choice but to fight or were fanatics who bought into the lie. Those became