Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

What had been pristine snow was now churned crimson, alive with twitching bodies writhing around broken lances. Horses, with their backs broken from a blow with a hoargoun’s club, thrashed their hooves in the snow. The rime giants, skewered by dozens of lances, faltered and fell, some pitching over into the road, others stumbling back and crushing gibberers underfoot.

Kryalniri and vylaens cast spells, but Phfas and his Zhusk compatriots used the power of the yrvtn to blunt most of these. The small contingent of Vilwanese warmages he’d been given shot their own spells. They specifically targeted the Aurolani magickers, forcing them to choose between self-defense and death. A surprising number chose the second option. Even as they died, they cast hideous fireballs that incinerated cavalrymen, or punched holes in the infantry line.

Gyrkyme laced the Aurolani formation with fire. Their swooping attacks released dozens of firecocks, which exploded against Aurolani troops or the ground. Three of them hit one hoargoun at the heart of the Aurolani center, turning him into a living torch. In his pain he crushed comrades, and his screams were enough to chill the blood of all who heard. Other firecocks wrought havoc amid the frostclaws. They killed some, and unnerved others enough that a panic swept through the Aurolani cavalry.

Cheers ran through Adrogans’ troops as the Aurolani formation began to crumble. Their left had hit and held, such that the Aurolani center came forward. Its support, the east wing, had been shorn free, leaving the flank open for a crushing charge from the Alcidese or Jeranese Horse Guards. A textbook example of how a battle should be fought, things were going too well for Adrogans for him to be comfortable.

Then he saw it.

The burning hoargoun had been cavorting and spinning, but never trying to slap out the flames that engulfed it. Instead its thick fingers tore at the harness it wore. It was attached to a satchel of heavy canvas, not unlike those troops wore to carry supplies. Save no one wears one of those into combat . On a creature the size of the hoargoun, the satchel could have contained three bullocks, and it certainly bulged with whatever its cargo was.

Adrogans watched it for a moment more, and felt Pain sink her fangs into the back of his neck. He pointed at the hoargoun and shouted at Phfas, but it was too late.

The hoargoun’s pack exploded.

The creature wearing the device literally became a crimson mist from the thighs upward. Fire blossomed for a second where its chest had been, then a thunderous blast rippled over the landscape, knocking warriors down, making snow dance, and even shattering ice over the river. A lethal spray of missiles shot out in every direction.

Gyrkyme were shredded, spiraling down with bloody feathers floating in their wake. Some of the Savarese Knights had swept around to the rear of the Aurolani center, catching the blast full force. Round lead balls and jagged pieces of bent iron punched through their armor. Sharp fragments of crockery sliced exposed flesh and the force of the blast itself was enough to send horses and riders tumbling.

But as much damage as the explosion did to the Savarese Knights, it did more to the Aurolani troops. It ate the middle out of their formation. Those it had not killed it wounded, and all the infantry had been knocked down. They struggled to their feet, dazed and disoriented, with many of them turning back to see what had happened.

Which is when Adrogans’ troops hit them. There had been no charge blown nor any signal given. One of the balls had crushed the signal horn and the hand holding it, but these men needed no signal to know when to fight. They had been shocked and some hurt by the blast, but all of them had their blood up, and the enemy became the focus for their fury.

Fighting to steady his horse, Adrogans swiped at blood dripping into his right eye. Something had hit him, opening a cut, but the pain of it was nothing compared to the pure waves of agony his yrun played into him. It swirled through him like a twisting column of fire, so he took hold of it, channeled it, then cast his gaze out over the battlefield.

There, on his left, another hoargoun was struggling with a pack. That creature was not burning, but a thin trickle of smoke rose from the corner of the burden it raised over its head. The creature’s arms went back, preparing for a long throw that would plant the device deep in amid the Mountain Guards.

Adrogans stabbed his left hand at the hoargoun and let pain flow. He let pure agony wrack the hoargoun, locking its muscles and bowing its back. The satchel sank lower, then the creature toppled backward. It hit the ground in a cloud of snow, and the satchel bounced once before it exploded.

With that explosion, the Aurolani left wing evaporated.

So did the fire atop the tower in far Svarskya.

One of the other hoargoun, one that fell in the initial charge, had been fitted with one of the explosive devices. Someone decided it should be called a boombag, and for want of a better term, it stuck. Vilwanese mages and several weapons-masters hauled it off to a small hollow and opened it. Inside they found a cask of firedirt with a long fuse surrounded by shot, metal, and ceramic debris. It appeared the device was meant to be used as the second hoargoun had attempted to use it, though one warmage did note that the harness was not really conducive to easy removal.

Could Nefrai-kesh have meant the hoargoun to commit suicide ? He looked north to the city. Lights burned, from the towers and broken walls, out to the city warrens that surrounded the inner, older city. Is he telling me that we will face such things every step of the way ?

That prospect shook Adrogans for a moment.

Phfas came to stand beside him and look at Svarskya. “You take this as a warning, yes?”

“Is there another interpretation, Uncle?”

The wizened man nodded. “The dog that does not want to right barks louder than the one that does.”

Adrogans considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Even if those devices had worked, not enough damage would have been done to allow his troops to win. And if he had meant to use the boombags to win, he would have employed them against the bridge garrison. You’re right; there is some other game being played here, and I don’t know what it is.”

The Zhusk shaman snorted. “He is foolish, if he plays games when we are making war.”

“Yes, but perhaps he has a grander prize in mind.”

“Will that stop you from winning yours?”

Adrogans smiled and rested his right hand on Phfas’ shoulder. “No, but if I knew what his prize was, we might be able to win that as well.”

“Excuse me, General, we have a report about the battle we are prepared to send to Lakaslin by arcanslata! ” The signal-mage gave Adrogans a piece of parchment, then cast a spell to make a light so he could read it. ”Is it satisfactory, sir?“

The Jeranese general nodded slowly. “This will do for my private archives. Delete any reference to boombags and give all credit for the victory here to the troops on the field, not the devastation done by those things.”

“But, sir, warning others of the devices…”

“I know, but they failed here, so perhaps they won’t be used again.” Adrogans gave the man a nod. “If we let others back home fear things they might never see, we contribute to the Aurolani effort. I won’t aid the enemy that way.”

“Yes, sir.” The signal-mage bowed and withdrew.

Phfas smiled. “You see a glimmer of his prize?”

“Not really, but we both agree Nefrai-kesh was sending a message. I’ve just decided his message was meant for me alone.” He scratched at the stitched cut over his right eye. “As such, it is unimportant to anyone else, but a message I shall take to heart.”