Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

And from somewhere within the phalanx, a horn sounded, and the riders facing the Trolls parted, and concealed behind them had been the heavy crossbowmen, and they released a deadly volley into the massed enemy, bringing down some fifty of the hulking brutes, Bolok out front being the first one slain.

And then with a shout from Laurent, he and Blaise and Roel and fifty others lowered their lances and charged.

And at the horn cry as well, the shields of the phalanx warriors were unlocked, and through the now-opened lines stepped the archers, Michelle among them, and they loosed a great flight of arrows, the shafts to arc down among the foe, slaying Goblin and Bogle alike.

Yet the enemy answered in kind, their arrows sissing through the air in return, but the archers had stepped back behind the first row of the phalanx and once again the shields overlapped.

And Michelle stood directly behind Galion, his shield to cover them both.

“Yahh!” cried Laurent as he smashed in among the Trolls, his lance stabbing one in the throat, to lodge in the creature’s spine, and the weapon wrenched from Laurent’s grasp as the slain Troll fell. To Laurent’s right, Roel’s spear was lost to another of the foe, but Roel hewed about with Coeur d’Acier, the silver-flashed rune-bound steel blade keen and devastating.

Blaise yet held his pike, and stabbed and stabbed as he hammered on through, but then a Troll smashed down the knight’s horse, and Blaise crashed to the soil, stunned.

The Troll loomed above him and raised his great club to crash it down upon Blaise, but then the monster jerked back, his arms falling to his side, and he looked down in astonishment at the point of the heavy crossbow bolt now jutting forth from his chest. And with a sigh he fell sideways, dead ere striking dirt. And Blaise scrambled to his feet and caught up a free-running mount and reentered the fray.

On the left flank of the phalanx, surviving Serpentines in full disarray fled from Luc’s cavalry, and the prince and his men now turned and spurred toward the enemy’s right flank. A few of the Goblins there spun ’round and bolted back into the mire, and others, seeing them flee, ran into the bog as well. Yet some stood their ground and loosed arrows at the oncoming men, some to fatally strike, others to wound, and still others to miss altogether.

In the main body of the allies, again the shields unlocked, and again archers loosed, and arrows flew and enemy fell, and arrows flew in return, some to bring down men, most to bounce harmlessly from the again-overlapping defense.

In the center, one of the Trolls bashed through the knights to reach Bolok’s corpse, and he took up the horn and blew a blast even as a crossbow bolt slew him. With ululating yells, the elements of the foe charged, and the phalanx closed ranks, the spearmen ready to meet the onrushing foe.

Luc’s cavalry rounded behind the masses of the throng, and they smashed into the unprotected rear of the enemy, and some Goblins threw down their weapons and fled, though most turned to give battle.

Luc fought his way toward the melee taking place among the Trolls and knights, even as the Bogles and the Long-Armed Wights and the throng’s greater numbers managed to smash open the phalanx. .

. . and the battlefield turned into chaos.

The Goblins rushed in among the men with dreadful effect: Skrikers shrieked out long, wordless death cries as they hacked with axes; Dunters clacked grinding noisemakers even as they laid about with clubs; Redcaps shrilled and stabbed with pikestaffs. And the Bogles and Long-Armed Wights smashed and slashed with their flails and scythes, and slew man after man.

But the men with their spears and swords and shields and greater discipline managed to form squares and deal devastating death in return.

Next to Galion, who watched for arrows and fended with his shield, Michelle stood on the battlefield, surrounded by seven Wolves, and she calmly nocked and drew and aimed and loosed, choosing Bogles and Wights as targets.

The foe veered away from Slate and the pack, all but the most foolhardy, and those that attacked paid with their lives, their throats torn away by fangs.

And still knights and Trolls and men with heavy crossbows fought in their own private battle, for should the Trolls come in among the army proper, then their effect would be overwhelming.

Elsewhere the battle raged on, and the cavalry swept through the enemy again and again, and, even though outnumbered, the humans slowly gained the upper hand, though at dreadful cost.

But then, oozing outward from the swamp came a bilious yellow-green vapor. And slowly it began to envelop the battle.

Slate lifted his muzzle and then postured before Michelle: Bad smell bad. Go!

Michelle frowned and looked at him: Go?

Slate: Go!

Of a sudden, Trit landed upon Michelle’s shoulder. “Princess! The Sickness -from the swamp it comes. You must flee.

Now!”

Michelle looked at the oncoming miasma. It did not seem to affect the throng, but men began retching, and horses nigh foundered, and Michelle gasped as a nauseating whiff filled her nostrils. Sprites flew thither and yon, crying out to the allies; and some of the wee beings fell to the ground, overcome by the dreadful vapor.

And from the slopes above the plain, there came a horn cry, as Emile sounded the retreat, for the Sprites had borne the alarm to him as well.

Hacking and wheezing, some vomiting, taking up their wounded and leaving their dead behind, the men began to withdraw, snatching up fallen Sprites as they fled. Yet the throng did not pursue, for they had had enough of battle.

And in the heart of the swamp under black, roiling skies riven by flares of lightning, Orbane released Hradian, and she fell to the flet beside Crapaud. And Orbane looked about at the lovely putrescence and laughed, for his spell was complete: he had raised the Sickness , the great contamination, and now nothing and no one could stand in his way, and he would be ruler of all.

Under the flare of lightning and the judder of thunder raging in the black skies above, from the ridge Emile and the others watched as the miasmic cloud spread out over the battlefield.

They could see little within the bilious depths, yet now and again they glimpsed shadowy movement therein, which showed that Goblins and Bogles and Trolls yet lived. And then the yellow-green vapor began to withdraw back into the swamp, and when the field was finally clear of its dreadful presence, the ground was bare of all plant and animal life, and no corpses of horses or men or even foe remained, nor did any of the surviving throng.

All bodies were gone, though some weaponry yet remained.

“They’ve dragged our dead away,” spat Laurent.

“For what purpose?” asked Blaise.

Leon sighed and shook his head. “Goblins and such savor human flesh, and Trolls love the meat of horses.”

“You mean they’ve taken them for food?”

Laurent spat an oath, and Leon nodded but said, “Either that, or the terrible cloud has destroyed all.”

“It is the Sickness ,” said Peti.

“Sickness?” asked Emile.

“Oui. . the dreadful contamination that lies in the under-bottom of each and every swamp. Somehow Orbane has raised it up.”

“The Goblins and Bogles and Trolls seemed unaffected by it,” said Luc, “but it nearly did us in. It is a great pollution-a dreadful weapon.”

At these words, a murmur of agreement muttered among the men, but for Michelle it triggered an elusive thought along the margins of her mind. Of a sudden she snared it and said, “I think Orbane does not intend it as a battlefield weapon.” Emile turned to her. “Non?”