Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

It was a being of pure black, except for the burning red coals that gleamed like eyes from its face. A pair of jagged wings, like a bat’s, spread behind its shoulders, waving sedately with an air of sinister power, deep and abiding menace. It strode upon taloned feet, and similarly clawed hands curled into fists at its sides. As it walked, it kicked through the debris of crushed benches and stalls, even smashed through an intact herbalist’s shop that had somehow survived the first round of battle.

To the left of the monster marched one great part of the rebel army. The Black Cross regiment, those of its members who still survived, formed the nearest flank, with its tattered battle pennant proudly raised above the two or three hundred remaining troops of that veteran company. Other units, Hylar and Theiwar and Daergar, spread out to the side of the Black Cross and advanced with the same measured tread as their fellows.

On the other side of the rebel army, the Klar, marked by their characteristic shouts and blood-curdling whoops, massed and seethed and gestured, shouting challenges and brandishing fists and weapons. Still, even as the main army advanced, the impetuous Klar curiously held their ground, for the time being holding back from the attack.

“Huh! Why is Willim holding his Klar in reserve?” asked the king skeptically. He doubted there was any way a commander could hold the berserkers back from a good fight for very long.

“I am puzzled by it,” Ragat replied evenly. “Likely, he doesn’t want them to get too far ahead of the rest of his force, so he’s biding his time before releasing them.”

“Should we pull the royal army back to the palace?” wondered the king. Mutely he pleaded with his god for wisdom. Why didn’t Reorx show him what to do?

“There’s no room for them all within the palace grounds, sire. No, we have a good formation here. My advice is to meet them where we stand.”

As if to prove the truth of his general’s surmise, the enemy commander chose that moment to release the Klar. With an unworldly howl, the mob swept forward in a rush, quickly catching up to the great army that had been marching forward for the past few minutes. At the same time, that army picked up its own pace.

King Stonespringer clenched his jaw, physically bracing himself for the imminent onslaught. The king saw swords, shields, pikes, and crossbows, all poised for battle as the two lines, each thousands of dwarves strong, swept toward a violent clash.

Yet it was the black creature at the center of the rebel army that riveted the king’s attention, and it was that monster that started the battle. Those ragged wings spread wide as it took to the air, swooping low above the plaza, straight at the middle of the Royal Division. Those brave and loyal dwarves didn’t waver; instead, they launched a volley of crossbow missiles as soon as the beast approached close enough. Jungor gaped in shock as he saw the bolts pass without effect right through the hulking black body.

“Is it a ghost?” he asked in mute horror.

But the monster immediately proved itself all too tangible as it came to ground in the midst of the Royal Division’s first line. It picked up a dwarf in each of its taloned hands and tossed the heavy, armored fighters through the air as though they were children’s toys. The bodies tumbled through the ranks of their comrades like rolling stones, shattering the neat ranks even as their bones were crushed and their flesh bruised into pulp.

Disciplined veterans formed the front of the division’s line, and many stood fast in the face of the horror, while others, in displays of exceptional courage, rushed forward to strike at the unholy monster. Dwarves stabbed and slashed with their keen steel blades, but the swords merely bounced off the creature’s sinuous black flesh. The minion swept to the right, kicking with a powerful, taloned foot, and those wicked claws raked through the line, leaving three or four dwarves ripped and bleeding in the wake of the strike.

The dwarves hurled more missiles-arrows and heavy spears-at the creature, but like the first volley, the flying weapons simply soared through the black creature’s body as if the minion were nothing more than smoke. It whirled and charged to the left, clearing out more of Ragat’s frontline warriors and driving the rest of the division back in chaos.

The rebel dwarves wasted no time in exploiting the breach. Charging Hylar, sprinting on the heels of the minion, slammed hard into the broken line, thrusting and sweeping with long swords. Some of the king’s troops tried to rally, only to be smashed by the minion as it pounced, catlike, right into the midst of the knot of brave fighters. The dwarves tried to stumble away from the lethal swiping talons and snapping jaws, only to fall victim to the Hylar skirmishers who relentlessly continued to press forward.

The rest of the rebel force came on quickly, snapping the cohesion of the royal line in many places. The heavy infantry of the Black Cross regiment, clearly desiring to avenge so many fallen comrades, smashed into the line with such momentum that the defending dwarves could only stagger backward in a daze. Here and there the shield line broke, and hulking Daergar axemen thrust themselves into any fresh gap. They hacked and chopped in every direction, splitting shields and smashing helmets, acting with such fury that the king’s troops had no choice but to mount constant counterattacks-and each new gap or melee pulled more strength from the once-impenetrable shield wall.

Then the howling Klar struck the juncture of the regular and militia lines, doing so with such force and frenzy that the defenders, those who didn’t instantly flee headlong from the maniacal berserkers, were simply cut down on the spot. Whooping with shrill cries of triumph, the Klar sprang after the fleeing dwarves, leaping on their backs and bearing them to the ground, where they were summarily dispatched with bloody hacks and crushing blows. The surge of battle was a continuous thunder.

“You men of the Echo company, stand firm there!” shouted the general to one group. General Ragat marched back and forth on the wall above and behind his troops, exhorting them to greater courage, challenging them when they began to waver. “Hold, dwarves! Gainer, look to your left!”

The king watched it all, clutching his scepter, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. Ragat’s movements had become more urgent, his voice cracking and hoarse as the pressure swelled. A company of young spearmen suddenly broke and ran; another formation of axemen was overwhelmed by the intensity of the enemy attack.

The monster seemed to be everywhere, pouncing upon helpless dwarves, using its wings to carry it along the line, rending with talons, and biting with its terrible jaws. Trailing blood from every limb, it flew up, threw back its horrid head, and uttered an earthshaking howl.

Even the most steadfast of the king’s troops quailed in the face of the unnatural horror. Ragat shouted in vain, trying to stem the growing tide of fear, but even to Jungor Stonespringer it was obvious that his royal troops were breaking in too many places to reverse the tide. Frenzied Klar scrambled over the dead bodies of their foes. The Black Cross survivors, seeking vengeance, burst through a narrow gap in the defense, and a hundred Hylar skirmishers spilled after them, savagely expanding the breach.

“Fall back! Retreat to the palace!” General Ragat finally ordered when the line had been shattered in too many places to count.

The troops of the Royal Division and the hordes of loyal militia dwarves started running for the open gates. A great throng backed up at the entry as the panicked dwarves struggled to get through, to enter the imagined safety of the palace. Others, seeing the bottleneck, turned and fled from the plaza into other escape routes, running down the many streets that led into the crowded quarters of Norbardin.