Alan Foster - Kingdoms of Light

The trio of forward lookouts who saw the first lumpenkin were so shocked they nearly failed to report the advance before they were cut down, torn to pieces by sinewy, muscular arms longer than their own bodies. As the towering, dull-eyed, blond-furred bipeds shambled forward, heads hanging low from long necks and the backs of massive hands scraping the ground as they walked accompanying dramunculi swept the bridge with pyrovomitus, scorching the precisely set stones and incinerating anything flammable. Behind these striding horrors came the main body of the Totumakk Horde, even grimmer of countenance than usual, led by officers in terrifying armor who had heretofore remained in the background, giving orders without participating directly in battle.

Hastily struggling into his uniform, Goughfree knew as soon as he reached the high parapet and descried what was coming that this was to be the Final Battle. Today the Horde would hold nothing back. Today would bring the final, unconditional triumph of the peoples of the Gowdlands. It was with eager anticipation that he buttoned the collar of his weather jacket and heard the Shandrac Thunder begin to boom vigorously behind him.

Once again, explosive shells began to fall among the invaders, easy targets where they were packed together and concentrated on the eastern approaches to the four bridges. Once again, blood and bone, steel and stone, erupted in grisly fountains from the already battered but still intact stone arches and from the far shore. And then a strange thing happened.

The shells continued to fall, the Shandrac gunners placing them with unerring accuracy in the midst of the invaders. Explosions continued to split the air, and the fog became flavored with the acrid stink of gunpowder. But the enemy was not affected. Something was protecting them. Gazing down in disbelief, the members of the senior staff charged with the ultimate defense of the city and the Gowdlands saw that the falling shells were exploding before they reached the ground. It was as if a transparent shield of impenetrable glass had suddenly come into being above each bridge, to hover above the massed columns of advancing invaders.

"There!" shouted Colonel Borallos. The slim, dark-haired Master of Horse was accounted the sharpest of eye among all the general staff. Following the ramrod-straight line of her arm, Goughfree squinted into the fog, and finally saw what she saw.

Well back in the body of each of the four attacking columns, flanked by hairless, slate gray lumpenkin more massive of body than their taller, blonder counterparts, and attended by bird-things that sported quills instead of feathers and spatulate beaks lined with fine, needle-like teeth, was a wizard. In lieu of lustrous, flowing robes, the Four Warlocks of the Totumakk were clad in black cowls spattered with crimson paint intended to simulate flowing blood. Other than their attire, they were alike only in the evil they served up and dispensed.

One had four arms that picked invisible somethings from the air and flung them in the direction of the defending troops. Another was bloated and porcine, while a third was so squashed and profuse of jowl as to appear bodiless, as if its legs were growing right out of the bottom of its neck. The fourth, who was sorcerously assisting the assault on the Salmisti Bridge, wore a high, fat red cap the same color as its bulbous nose. Thin white wire spectacles rode that protuberant organ, while pointed teeth protruded forward and out from a slightly underslung lower jaw. The creature was reading from a handful of papers, reciting in detail those spells it had not wholly committed to memory.

In addition to sustaining the nefarious, necromantic shields that protected the advancing hordes from the effects of the Shandrac Thunder, the four warlocks called down burning sulfur and white-hot phosphorus on the defenders of the city. Small snapping fish fell among the archers and crossbowmen, while biting, stinging insects bedeviled the waiting cavalry.

As the spell-invigorated enemy threw itself against bulwark after bulwark, high on the city wall a worried Chaupunell and Zisgymond caucused with Goughfree.

"Our soldiers are brave and determined." Along with the rain, lines of concern streaked General Zisgymond's noble face. "But they cannot fight incantations. Hexes do not bleed." He gestured toward the wall, in the direction of battle. "Already the defenders of the Salmisti and Hidradny Bridges are being forced back to the towers. If these fall, the enemy will enter the city. Soon thereafter, they will be here, laying siege to the castle itself."

"Look at our people, suffering and dying beneath that which they cannot understand." Confidence could be seen slipping from Chaupunell's face, like a party mask whose strap had broken. "They fight on, but their morale is degenerating rapidly. Something must be done! Where are our own magicians?"

"Conferencing, or so I am informed. Trying to decide how best to counter this unexpected assault."

Chaupunell's face was set with concern as he surveyed the field of battle. "We cannot wait for bickering oldsters to agree upon a course of action. We must do something now."

"Do you not think I am aware of this?" Goughfree was as troubled as any of them. "We must find a way to stop the necromancers who are leading the attack, or at the least, find a means of reducing their influence." He called to several nearby couriers, who stood waiting for orders. "Inform those commanding the defenses of the Salmisti, Breleshva, Hidradny, and Zhisbrechar Bridges that they are to hold their towers at all costs. In twenty minutes we will launch a coordinated counterattack, with cavalry, at all four points." As supreme commander of the city's defense, it was within his provenance to issue such an order. He turned to the rest of the general staff.

"I want the best archers not engaged in the immediate defense of the bridges to be formed into four squads. Each is to be escorted by heavy cavalry. When the counterattack begins, they are to be rushed forward in chariots. They must penetrate the enemy lines and kill the four warlocks, or at least cause them to retreat from the field of battle. If they can do that, I think the enemy, whose confidence has presently been restored by unnatural means, will break." He indicated the castle keep behind them. "I have the utmost respect for our own learned scholars, but we cannot wait for them to concur."

It was a sound plan, the best that could be propagated under the circumstances. Even the weather must have thought it auspicious, for when the massive counterattack began, the rain turned to a light mist that was to the benefit of the waiting archers.

The Horde was hit hard. Heavy cavalry from Blest-on-Yoor and the Kingate of Hrushpar slammed into the enemy, trampling those in front, stunning those behind, and bringing the assault on the Salmisti, Zhisbrechar, and Hidradny Bridges to a shocked halt in front of the defensive towers. Only on the bridge of Breleshva did the counterattack slow and begin to falter. Narrowest of the four main bridges that spanned the Drimaud, it offered the least room for heavy horse to maneuver.

Furthermore, the attackers there were led by the wizard of the bloated red cap. Strewing balls of orange flame in front of the counterattacking cavalry, he blinded the horses while the enemy Horde surrounded them and, one by one, brought down their armored riders. Urged forward by their bloodthirsty brethren behind, those attackers in front succeeded in pushing past and over the defenders, leaving chariot-borne archers and steel-clad cavalry bobbing behind like boats trapped in a churning back-eddy at the bend of a river.

A bleak-visaged Goughfree turned away from the unsettling scene. Though he carried the sword slung at his side primarily for reasons of ceremony he now knew that it was soon to be employed in more prosaic pursuits.