David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“Where is Judarius?” Ahaesarus asked as they rejoined the ranks.

“I am here,” said Judarius, curling in his wings and dropping down so they could speak face to face. Ahaesarus put his hand on the warrior’s shoulder, then let him go.

“Such cowardice!” Judarius snarled.

“They are clever, devious, and vicious,” Ahaesarus said. “Catch your breath, and combine with Ataroth’s angels. Go swiftly. We are still needed!”

The proud warrior accepted the orders, then flew away. Ahaesarus turned his attention back to the battle. During the brief skirmish between the angels and priests, it seemed Aurelia and Tarlak had managed to score a few good hits. Fire burned along the far riverside, and amid their forces he saw a gap, and in its center was a great boulder of ice. Their latest attacks fizzled and dissipated, however, the priests’ protections once more established.

Meanwhile the fighting intensified against the first barrier. The footmen had to climb atop their own dead, but the height was enough so they could stab over the wall, and several leapt across, knocking down men and pushing aside a small space that others could follow. The defenders always surrounded and slaughtered them, but each time it took them longer, and each time more made it over. If they were to hold instead of retreating to the second wall, they would need reinforcements soon.

“I want Ataroth’s assault to be against the…” he started to tell his banner carriers, then stopped. A collective roar swept across the river, and then en masse the entire army surged forward, splitting into two groups, one on either side of the bridge. When they reached the river they never even slowed.

“Milord, your orders?” asked the banner angel to his left.

“Wait,” he said. “We watch and wait. If either side, or the crossing itself, falls then all is lost. Find where we are the weakest, then descend. Make sure they are ready!”

Feeling every muscle in his body tighten, he watched the soldiers wade across the river. To make matters worse, the footmen attacking the bridge pulled back, and onward came twenty paladins of Karak, their blades burning with dark fire as they held them high.

“With me!” he cried, seeing the turn of events. “Ataroth, watch for a break in the lines. Terah, Solom, with me!”

He curled his wings in and dived, trusting them to follow. The priests were ready for the attack, for a barrage of over thirty bolts of shadow crackled through the air toward them. Ahaesarus spun, narrowly avoiding them. From the screams of pain behind him, he knew many were not so lucky. The paladins also saw their approach, and they braced themselves for the crash. Ahaesarus let his sword lead the way, and then with a horrific screech of metal, they collided.

The black fire burned his flesh, and he felt pain spike up and down his wings. He swung his sword in circles, hacking and cutting. More and more angels slammed in beside him, some even rolling through the lines with their wings curled against their bodies. Such valiant sacrifices…Ahaesarus blocked a chop of an ax, stepped closer, and then rammed an elbow into the face of the paladin. Down came his sword, finishing him off. An arrow of fire struck the blade as he pulled it back, and he looked up to see the priests approaching. Fire and shadow flew in waves, and the angels had no protection against it.

“Retreat!” he cried, taking to wing. He felt a blast of fire roll across his arm, only for an instant before he was soaring through the air, but long enough. He gritted his teeth to hold in a scream as he flew to the river. A glance back showed Terah’s group had endured the worst of the assault, losing ten men under the attack. The dark paladins were destroyed, however, which meant the bridge still had a chance.

He flapped higher, then risked a glance at his arm. Patches of his skin were black, and pieces of his armor had melted against his flesh. Come nightfall, the pain would be immense trying to remove it. Assuming they were still alive by nightfall. Fearing the worst, he looked to the river, but was stunned by what he saw. Hundreds of bodies floated in the water. The enemy soldiers attempting to cross clearly struggled against something, and as he watched he saw many drown, pushed underwater by the men behind them. Those defending the river, while lightly armored, proved more than a match. They wielded long spears and thrust them into the water, stabbing Karak’s soldiers long before they might reach the edge.

Ataroth was yet to join a side, so Ahaesarus flew to him in his position high above the bridge.

“Might they hold?” he asked.

“The humans put traps in the water,” said Ataroth. He pointed to the bank. “They’re too slow wading in their armor. The spearman are finding them easy prey. Already the rest retreat. Such poor tactics were a gamble, and we have made them pay dearly.”

“How many?”

“At least two thousand,” said the angel. “Perhaps more. We choke the river with the dead.”

Ahaesarus looked to the camp stretching for hundreds of yards on the other side of the river.

“Not enough,” he said. “They’ll push back to the bridge and forsake the water. With all their might pressing forward, we will find…Archers! Get back!”

They retreated as arrows sailed into the air, traveling much farther than he ever could have expected. Several angels fell, while others dripped blood atop the bridge’s combatants as they flew to safety. Over a thousand archers readied for another barrage, safely surrounded by footmen and guarded by the priests of Karak as they chanted and worshipped their dark god.

“Shields up!” came the cry from the men on the bridge. Arrows rained down upon them, and the noise was terrible to hear. Shouts of pain and anger followed. The army pushed into the bridge, emboldened by the archers’ success. Another rain came down, and the beams of magic that shot toward the archers hit a spherical shield and splashed against it, unable to penetrate. More thuds, more wood and steel hitting shields, and more cries of death and blood.

“They can’t hold against that,” said Judarius, joining Ahaesarus to watch. “We have to take out those archers!”

“The priests guard them,” he said. “And they have footmen around them in a wall. The moment we charge, those arrows will turn on us, not them.”

“But why else are we here?” asked Judarius. “We do what they cannot. We bleed so they might live. Hundreds of us will die. So be it. What chance do they have if the archers go unchecked?”

He watched as another volley fell upon the men on the bridge. What choice did they have?

“Get ready to give the order,” he said.

Banners lifted and spun. As the angels gathered, another volley descended upon the shields of the men. Footmen climbed over their own dead to cross the first barrier. Trumpets called below, and then the defenders abandoned the first wall. The attackers did not chase immediately, instead waiting for one more volley to land. Ahaesarus winced, but the expected slaughter did not happen. Instead the arrows bounced back as if hitting a clear wall of glass.

“Delay the order,” Ahaesarus said.

“Why?” asked Judarius. In answer, he pointed to where Aurelia and Tarlak stood side by side, their hands glowing a soft white.

“They’ve begun to protect against the arrows instead of wasting their energies attacking.”

“Then what of the priests? Might they begin their own attack?”

Ahaesarus crossed his arms, and his body rose and fell as he thought.

“They’ll test the defenses and watch us, and we’ll do the same. They suffered greatly because of their haste crossing the river. Let us see if they try such a gamble again.”

With his excellent eyes, he watched the fight on the bridge. It seemed Karak’s soldiers were struggling worse against the second wall than the first. Then he saw the half-orc in the thick of things, and he understood why. Harruq raged like a beast, his swords red blurs as they tore through armor and flesh. He’d seen him spar his angels, but never in full fury. He glanced at his own two-handed sword and wondered how he’d fare in straight combat against that berserk. Not well, he thought.