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Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
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<blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3478152" data-attributes="member: 15338"><p><strong>Chapter 27</strong></p><p></p><p>D'Fir stood behind the walls, watching as the Gir'thia danced amongst the flames, laughing at the fiery blasts, basking in their warmth as if they were sent for their entertainment. D'Fir, though, was concerned; the explosives blasts might not be enough to destroy the stone walls, or the fire able to burn through them, but the explosions were gouging chunks into the fortifications. If the barrage continued for long enough, the walls might start to weaken. He turned away, seeking Commander Hulia. </p><p></p><p>Gerion stood atop the hill watching the sorcerers fiery barrage, at the fiends within dancing in the flames that flickered around them. He turned to their commander, frowning. "How much longer can they keep this up? The walls seem too thick for this barrage to be effective, and those atop the wall do not seem to mind the flames."</p><p></p><p>The oval headed fiend turned his black eyes to the general, his teeth showing within his mouth. "Truly, they tire. If you think it useless, then let us stop this now. Save their remaining strength for when it will be more effective."</p><p></p><p>"Very well, do as you think best. We shall move to the next phase of the attack." He smiled as silence fell, and then laughed as the sound of rocks striking the fort came, at the chunks of wall dislodged, and the Gir'thia diving for cover. He looked approvingly at the giants, at their arms slinging the rocks with deadly accuracy and power, far more effective than any trebuchet built by mortal engineers.</p><p></p><p>Within the fort, the first of the rocks took those upon the walls by surprise. The devils of the Gir'Thia that had laughed at the uselessness of the fiery barrage, who had laughed at the Dwarven fighters that had hidden themselves from fear of the flames, were taken by surprise when the first rocks fell amongst them. When a rock smashed into one of their heads, throwing blood, bone and brains onto the dwarves below, the Gir'Thia’s mocking laughter quickly quieted, their derision and mirth disappearing in their surprise</p><p></p><p>The Gir'Thia dive down, scrambling for cover behind the crenulations. Outside, under cover of the barrage, the siege ladders started moving forward. Their move forward quickly met by the return barrage from the Fort, as, with a word of command, D'Fir had the massive catapults shoot their buckets of stones over the walls, smashing into the devils that crept forward. The sheer size of the stones did the job that rendered lesser weapons ineffective, crushing devils beneath their weight. The fiends hit did not die, but even their unholy strength left them trapped beneath the rocks, unable to participate further in the battle.</p><p></p><p>Within the walls stone blocks moved and immense ballistae, loaded with cold iron tipped javelins, sprayed their lethal loads out, scouring the devils below. Screams of pain mingled with howls of rage as the troops below broke into a run, heading for the walls, the beasts bearing the siege ladders lengthening their lumbering strides to keep pace, their bony ridges strong enough to fend off even the javelins shot with force from the ballistae.</p><p></p><p>Sister Egrit and her fellow angels now came to the fore, joining hands in groups of ten, concentrating their power into a single force, channelling their combined might through the one that stood at the fore. They concentrated, and those who stood at the apex began to glow, eyes turning silver with suppressed power. They stepped forward, peering through the ballistae ports, extended their hands, and released lances of pure power into the advancing juggernauts, sending bits of bone, skull and green blood onto the devils running beside them. It seemed that the invading force might be stopped, but the angels were few and the forces of Gerion seemingly endless. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The tramping of the army caused vibrations that could be felt by those within the hall cavern. Vibrations that could be felt, that wormed their ay into your blood, leaving behind fear and uncertainty. The forces of Harmony Hall tensed, readying themselves for the first assault, waiting to see the shape and form of the army that came to destroy them. For now, the approaching army was invisible, the vibration of their approach, combined with a deep chant, understandable, and chilling, to those that understood the tongue of fiends, its menace apparent to all who heard it, regardless of their understanding. </p><p></p><p><strong>Blood and souls to feed the fonts. Blood and souls to feed the altars. Blood and souls to feed Jelial.</strong> For those listening, the prospect of a clean death seemed welcome over the promise of having their souls devoured. If any thought that this might bolster the defenders, spur them on to fight better to make sure they did not end up on an altar, being drained of both blood and soul, they were mistaken. The words in the dark, infernal tongue of the fiends were chilling, creating despair and a longing for death.</p><p></p><p>Those within started to wonder, what was worse, the anticipation, or the actuality? Nervous soldiers stood upon the walls, the growing dread of what approached fuelling imaginations. Most stood firm, but not all were trained soldiers, not all had the nerve to stand and wait. Many were young, barely out of childhood, with but scant knowledge of how to use the weapons they gripped with white knuckles. Those worst affected sunk to the ground, whimpering in fear. </p><p></p><p>Then the music rose from within. The Master Harpist’s voice rose, aclear note that was somehow magnified, clearly audible to all. The note of his people's voices swiftly joined his. He carried a small harp; its sound magnified by his magic, his voice carrying to every corner of the city. As his melody weaved across the city, as it caressed the ears of each of the Dark Paeons, they raised their voices, all combining, finding their place in the growing harmony. The humans, halflings and others that stood amongst them, those that had sunk in despair, found their spirits raised, their courage restored. </p><p></p><p>Delire looked on, her face filled with awe. Tales told of such magical music, how the Master Harpist that ruled wound magic into the very notes, bound the people together, enhanced the music of each. The tales did not tell of the majesty, the power of such music, and she watched in wonder as the demoralising effect of the devil's tactic on approach was destroyed, leaving the defenders even stronger than before. She looked at where Jeria, Mekior and Gyv sat, and smiled. "There is still hope."</p><p></p><p>Gyv looked at her, her scared face resting on the armour-covered chest of Mekior. She smiled back, but it was a cold smile, filled with hopelessness, not sharing in the optimism of the halfling. Even with the majestic music that swirled around them, Gyv was lost in despair, in memories of children being dragged away in chains and a husband’s blood dripping off her hands. For her, the coming battle was a sacrament, a validation that her life still held meaning after her unwitting betrayals.</p><p></p><p>Jeria rose ready, his axe strapped to his back, a bow and quiver dangling from his hands. He left the room silently, headed for the walls. Mekior gave Gyv a long hug, before kissing her forehead, and grabbing his own bow and quiver. His sword hung at his side, swinging slightly as he headed out behind Jeria. Gyv jumped to her feet, a look of disgust in her face as the two left the room.</p><p></p><p>"I have been a warrior for longer than Jeria has been alive, and he leaves me here? Does he believe that my scars prevent me from wielding my sword any less effectively than before?" She stood up and grabbed a bow she had taken from the stores and her own quiver. "I am a far better shot than either of those two." She, too, marched out, leaving Delire alone in the room. Delire sighed, and followed the rest out, walking to where she knew the commanders of the forces sat, knowing the time had come for her to make the decisions that would lead to life, or death.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The sounds of battle were clear within the fort. D'Fir stood, receiving messengers that came continuously, updating him on the disposition of forces and the ongoing battle without. He watched the runners going, those coming in with the news of the battle ever more tired, more bloodied. The latest was a grey bearded veteran, one with whom he had shed blood in previous campaigns.</p><p></p><p>"It goes badly, Prince. We kill many, but there are always more. We cannot take to the walls, for fear of the rocks. The angels destroy the beasts that bear the siege ladders, but they begin to tire. Soon they will be exhausted, and the fiends will make the walls."</p><p></p><p>D'Fir bowed his head in thought, and then raised it.</p><p></p><p>"Go. Find Commander Hulia and Sister Egrit. We need help; Hulia had better be able to get some."</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>D'Mier looked over the walls, still pacing, waiting and watching for an enemy he knew must come. Behind him, General D'Haan stood silent, his face a mask that showed no emotions, reflected no thoughts.</p><p></p><p>"My liege, they will come. We will stand stoic, solid. We will remain true to the generations that have gone before. We will fight well and, if necessary, we will die well. What we will not do is become worshippers of that monster, that fiend that seeks to become a god."</p><p></p><p>D'Mier turned to look at the General, surprised at his vehemence, at his bitterness. "D'Haan, you are my cousin and you were the closest of my father's friends. Until this day, I have never heard you talk like this. What has changed, D'Haan?"</p><p></p><p>The General looked at D'Mier, and then gazed out over the walls.</p><p></p><p>"Did your father ever tell you of the time we ambushed a fiendish war party that had come below seeking slaves?"</p><p></p><p>"I believe so. Wasn't Liet, your late wife, one of those they had in chains? One of the ones destined to be a slave?"</p><p></p><p>A smile came to the General's face at that recollection of Liet, but too soon, it was replaced by an expression of pain as he continued. "There was confusion, chaos run amok when those captured were put to the sword by the devils. Even as we sought to free them, the devils sought to kill them, wasting time to perform that task rather than mount a defence against our attack. We wondered at their actions, but rejoiced in it, knowing that it made the battle easier and saved the lives of our own warriors.</p><p></p><p>When the battle was over we counted the costs, and looked at the slaves they had chosen to kill, rather than mount a coordinated defence." He paused, looking at the king, the horror of the moment still fresh in his mind.</p><p></p><p>“The devils in that group were all ones that had been summonsed here; none were destroyed in defeat, merely banished to Hell, from whence they could again be called. They chose banishment, and the creating of despair, over a futile effort at defence due to our superior numbers and the lack of any powerful fiends amongst them.</p><p></p><p>They had chosen their victims well; children and babies lay dismembered, bleeding, dying slowly. We did not have the means to save them; we had to choose- watch them die slowly, or spare them the pain by killing them ourselves." He fell silent, his eyes dead. "We spared the children their pain, and there was not a dwarf amongst us that day that did not swear revenge. The attack against Crossroads, the victory at the Fort of Peaks, both brought a small measure of satisfaction. </p><p></p><p>My king, nothing has changed, but a battle tonight will bring the peace of revenge completed, or death."</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The passage leading up to Harmony Hall was wide enough for two carts abreast, or twenty soldiers in ranks; the massed files of devils filled the passage. At the head of the column marched heavy infantry, pikes pointed forward to discourage any cavalry charge, swords swinging by their sides. Behind them a group of crossbowmen marched, thick metal shields borne upon their backs, ready to fire over the heads of the infantry. All had a single look, lacking the individuality of more powerful devils; thick, bald, red heads with black crests down the centre, no nose but two oblong slits between eyes set behind thick bony ridges, their mouths filled with sharp teeth. </p><p></p><p>Behind them came elephant-like beasts of burden, towing siege engines behind. Following behind those came the more powerful devils, each upon a mount that moved with the grace of a great cat, but had a skin of black scales, a spiked tail and a flat face with short, sharp tusks. They joked amongst each other, while avoiding drifting too close to the general that commanded them.</p><p></p><p>Degrith looked at the army around him, the supply wagons and camp followers behind. He rode a dragon, one he had captured and tamed aeons ago, long before he had come to this world. It had grown in stature and might till now it allowed him to ride from friendship. It was far too mighty for him to defeat in combat, only friendship kept him upon its back. He scratched it behind its ears, the red scales rippling under his touch. The immense head turned to regard him.</p><p></p><p>"Your soldiers do not seem to appreciate you." The voice was deep, a hint of laughter within. "Or perhaps it is me they object to? Many wonder why I abide your presence. They have spent too long plotting and scheming; they have forgotten the simple pleasures of friendship."</p><p></p><p>Degrith, sitting atop his old friend, laughed. "They are fiends; they have not forgotten the pleasures of friendship- they have never experienced it! Much the same could be said of your kin, could it not? How many of your kind have enduring friendships or loyalties beyond themselves?" He fell silent as the chant of the march rose about him, as each foot, fiend or mount, rose and fell in unison, shaking the ground, vibrating the walls, freeing small stones that dropped from the ceiling, bouncing loosely along the ground. He looked up, concerned.</p><p></p><p>"Don't worry, General. The roof will not collapse on us. Unless they have set it to do so, like they did to destroy the army Gerion sent against them in the city from which they fled." </p><p></p><p>Degrith turned to regard the speaker. Smaller than he, just over seven feet tall, but with four arms, each heavily muscled and adorned with battered bracers upon each forearm. The speaker was easily identified: Miedda, a well-known duellist and favourite at Jelial's court. Curious, and a small wonder in itself, that he had left the comforts of the city for such a campaign.</p><p></p><p>"And how would you know? The rock above us will not be dissuaded from dropping for fear of your scimitars, or by your charming tongue." Degrith's look was one of disdain; he had little time for some petty noble who felt like a taste of battle, who was there to merely bask in the glory of a victory, but would flee at the first taste of defeat. He expected anger, defiance, perhaps the ranting of a noble that thought he had not received the respect he felt was his due. What he did not expect was laughter.</p><p></p><p>"Ahh, General, you know little of me. I was not always at court. I did my time as a mercenary, trying to rebuild a fortune that was lost to the family when the Lord of the Third decided he had one general too many, and confiscated the family estate. Seems that our family had endured too long, too many born devils, and not enough promoted from lesser forms. He used my father to demonstrate to others why they should not think of ever being disloyal, or why they should not allow too many powerful whelps top be born." He stared out, at the ranks before him. "The Lord of the Third can be very inventive, and I was forced to watch, an object lesson to cement my ties to him. After all, how many in the Hells care about family?"</p><p></p><p>"So, you fled, worked as a mercenary and then came here? Still doesn't explain why you think you know why the rock is safe."</p><p></p><p>"True enough. My time as a mercenary taught me much. I fought in many of the skirmishes that the Lords indulge in. Everyone denies that any battle is taking place, even as opposing armies clash on the field of battle. It is funny in a way, armies of mercenaries fighting for money, in battles that no one actually cares about, where who wins or loses is but a temporary situation till the next battle. When last did the borders of the circles change? How often do the extents of the demesne of one duke shift into that of another. No one truly expects there to be change, for one Lord to take over the realm of another, yet the battles still go on."</p><p></p><p>"And so it was when I found myself fighting in the interminable tunnels between the fifth and sixth circles. I learnt much about rock then; about what was stable and what was dangerous." He glanced at the roof, at the walls, running his hands along the rock of the walls. "This tunnel is old rock; it will not collapse without more assistance than some noise and vibration."</p><p></p><p>"You speak like a renegade. Family loyalty, no allegiance to a lord, save the coin of your master, no ..." He was cut off, as the chant broke, from stones that flew out from the wall, cutting into the orderly ranks of the devils. Screams assailed his ears, as bolts of lightning cut through the ranks.</p><p></p><p>"Yes, I am exactly like a renegade!" Miedda's voice was soft, the warm hiss of his breath felt against Degrith’s cheek, as the blades bit into Degrith’s side, their magic biting, unbinding his very being. Beneath him, Degrith felt the dragon buck, its head trying to twist around enough to get at the attacker. It would be too late, already the world faded around him as the call of Hell surrounded him and he fell into its grasp.</p><p></p><p>With a smile, Miedda disspeared as the dragon's jaws darted down, trying to spear him on razor sharp teeth. And the keening of the dragon rose, a cry of mournign for a millenia long companion dead upon his back. And as devils poured into the ranks from the side, the dragon mourned, seemingly uncaring of those that now assailed him.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Within Harmony Hall, the column of devils had just come into sight. It stretched back into the darkness, the chant and precision marching shaking the walls of the first defences. Archers stood at the ready, knowing their range would be limited, as they could not arc their arrows due to the roof of the cavern; no matter, the enemy was as constrained as they were, even more so for thos just emerging from the tunnels.</p><p></p><p>Sheltered by cornices and crenulations ballistae were loaded, sheathes of cold iron tipped javelins stood ready to be sprayed down into the advancing horde. Behind the walls, attached to pulleys for easy lifting, massive cauldrons of molten lead stood ready to be lifted aloft and poured onto any who came too close to the walls. A group of dwarves, experts at mining and sapping, patrolled the walls from the inside, monitoring the ground and walls for the telltale vibrations and tremors that would indicate the enemy trying to tunnel from beneath.</p><p></p><p>The ranks gathered behind the massive iron and steel gates, reinforced by bands of silver-steel, gifted to them by the Fort of Livian. They stood ready, those who would ride out and attack the devils when the time came. Mekior stood amongst a group of fiend hunters. They looked at him with unadulterated hate, and many contrived to accidentally bump into him, to have the hafts of weapons dig into spaces between his armour, a few even accidentally hit him in the head with gauntlet covered hands as they loosened muscles before battle. Mekior stood firm, the reaction less than he had expected; at least none had attacked him, yet...</p><p></p><p>To one side a group of Outwalkers stood. Not used to working in large groups, they splintered into the pairs that commonly worked together, master and apprentice or two journeymen standing together. Those masters that commonly worked alone had paired off, or stood in a threesome with another master and apprentice. Jeria stood by a massive half-ogre, Blised, a cousin of Gruzz, a young Outwalker to whom he felt a sense of obligation. </p><p></p><p>He started when he saw Gyv arrive, her sword swinging at her side and bow in hand. She saw Mekior, but steered away from the Fiend Hunters, making her way to Jeria. She looked at Blised and smiled.</p><p></p><p>"You look like Gruzz. Any relation?"</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, he was my half-brother. Our late, and unlamented, father did not care overly much about forcing himself onto different women. " He looked over Gyv, her scarred features, the oft-used sword. "You knew him?"</p><p></p><p>Gyv looked away, tears in the corner of her eyes. "Yes, I was there when he died. If not for me, perhaps he would still be alive." She stopped speaking, just standing quietly by the two.</p><p></p><p>None of those behind the gate could see what happened, but they the heard cheers and shouts of encouragement. A messenger came running down, a wide grin across his face. "The devils have been ambushed, by another group of devils! The sentinels say they saw a dragon go down! Delire has ordered us to charge out, attack them head on while they are occupied with the attack on their flanks."</p><p></p><p>The cheers from those gathered below echoed the sounds from above, fading into a battle dirge as the Dark Paeons mounted and prepared their lances for the charge. Their mounts were not like the few horses that some lucky humans had, but massive lizards, bred within the caverns. Faster than horses in short bursts, they were also more fearless and less likely to bolt in a fight, though far slower over long distances. They sang as the gates were slowly wound up, holding their charge until the crossbowmen had loosed a volley into the ranks of the pike men, starting to break their defensive position. </p><p></p><p>They charged forward soon after, a massive group in a wedge, the mail coats on the lizards making a din loud enough to almost drown out the dirge that drove the warriors on.</p><p> </p><p>The archers and ballistae loosed a volley into the front rows of the pike men, the arrows and oversized javelins cutting into them. The pike men maintained their discipline and remained focussed forward; shields and armour blocked most arrows but little could block the javelins released from the powerful machines of war. More fell, weakening the defensive wall as the wedge burst into their ranks. Lances snapped, impaling devils upon their iron tips. Swords came out, blades reflecting the cavern’s dim lighting as the lizards cut a path through the ranks.</p><p></p><p>Running behind them, came the Fiend Hunters; a chaotic mass of superb fighters that burst into the gap provided; devastating to those pike men that had not dropped their weapons and found they were defenceless against their swords. The ranks of the Dark Paeon infantry came behind, more disciplined than the Fiend Hunters, and as effective en mass. The Outwalkers flowed along the sides, using their bows first, with devastating effect, the cold iron tipped arrows arcing over the front rows, slaughtering the devils behind before raising their own weapons to cut into those devils that had survived the barrage of arrows. Caught between the fiends behind, and the forces of Harmony Hall before them, the devils of Jelial's army discipline broke, and the real slaughter began.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Ghostknight, post: 3478152, member: 15338"] [b]Chapter 27[/b] D'Fir stood behind the walls, watching as the Gir'thia danced amongst the flames, laughing at the fiery blasts, basking in their warmth as if they were sent for their entertainment. D'Fir, though, was concerned; the explosives blasts might not be enough to destroy the stone walls, or the fire able to burn through them, but the explosions were gouging chunks into the fortifications. If the barrage continued for long enough, the walls might start to weaken. He turned away, seeking Commander Hulia. Gerion stood atop the hill watching the sorcerers fiery barrage, at the fiends within dancing in the flames that flickered around them. He turned to their commander, frowning. "How much longer can they keep this up? The walls seem too thick for this barrage to be effective, and those atop the wall do not seem to mind the flames." The oval headed fiend turned his black eyes to the general, his teeth showing within his mouth. "Truly, they tire. If you think it useless, then let us stop this now. Save their remaining strength for when it will be more effective." "Very well, do as you think best. We shall move to the next phase of the attack." He smiled as silence fell, and then laughed as the sound of rocks striking the fort came, at the chunks of wall dislodged, and the Gir'thia diving for cover. He looked approvingly at the giants, at their arms slinging the rocks with deadly accuracy and power, far more effective than any trebuchet built by mortal engineers. Within the fort, the first of the rocks took those upon the walls by surprise. The devils of the Gir'Thia that had laughed at the uselessness of the fiery barrage, who had laughed at the Dwarven fighters that had hidden themselves from fear of the flames, were taken by surprise when the first rocks fell amongst them. When a rock smashed into one of their heads, throwing blood, bone and brains onto the dwarves below, the Gir'Thia’s mocking laughter quickly quieted, their derision and mirth disappearing in their surprise The Gir'Thia dive down, scrambling for cover behind the crenulations. Outside, under cover of the barrage, the siege ladders started moving forward. Their move forward quickly met by the return barrage from the Fort, as, with a word of command, D'Fir had the massive catapults shoot their buckets of stones over the walls, smashing into the devils that crept forward. The sheer size of the stones did the job that rendered lesser weapons ineffective, crushing devils beneath their weight. The fiends hit did not die, but even their unholy strength left them trapped beneath the rocks, unable to participate further in the battle. Within the walls stone blocks moved and immense ballistae, loaded with cold iron tipped javelins, sprayed their lethal loads out, scouring the devils below. Screams of pain mingled with howls of rage as the troops below broke into a run, heading for the walls, the beasts bearing the siege ladders lengthening their lumbering strides to keep pace, their bony ridges strong enough to fend off even the javelins shot with force from the ballistae. Sister Egrit and her fellow angels now came to the fore, joining hands in groups of ten, concentrating their power into a single force, channelling their combined might through the one that stood at the fore. They concentrated, and those who stood at the apex began to glow, eyes turning silver with suppressed power. They stepped forward, peering through the ballistae ports, extended their hands, and released lances of pure power into the advancing juggernauts, sending bits of bone, skull and green blood onto the devils running beside them. It seemed that the invading force might be stopped, but the angels were few and the forces of Gerion seemingly endless. *** The tramping of the army caused vibrations that could be felt by those within the hall cavern. Vibrations that could be felt, that wormed their ay into your blood, leaving behind fear and uncertainty. The forces of Harmony Hall tensed, readying themselves for the first assault, waiting to see the shape and form of the army that came to destroy them. For now, the approaching army was invisible, the vibration of their approach, combined with a deep chant, understandable, and chilling, to those that understood the tongue of fiends, its menace apparent to all who heard it, regardless of their understanding. [b]Blood and souls to feed the fonts. Blood and souls to feed the altars. Blood and souls to feed Jelial.[/b] For those listening, the prospect of a clean death seemed welcome over the promise of having their souls devoured. If any thought that this might bolster the defenders, spur them on to fight better to make sure they did not end up on an altar, being drained of both blood and soul, they were mistaken. The words in the dark, infernal tongue of the fiends were chilling, creating despair and a longing for death. Those within started to wonder, what was worse, the anticipation, or the actuality? Nervous soldiers stood upon the walls, the growing dread of what approached fuelling imaginations. Most stood firm, but not all were trained soldiers, not all had the nerve to stand and wait. Many were young, barely out of childhood, with but scant knowledge of how to use the weapons they gripped with white knuckles. Those worst affected sunk to the ground, whimpering in fear. Then the music rose from within. The Master Harpist’s voice rose, aclear note that was somehow magnified, clearly audible to all. The note of his people's voices swiftly joined his. He carried a small harp; its sound magnified by his magic, his voice carrying to every corner of the city. As his melody weaved across the city, as it caressed the ears of each of the Dark Paeons, they raised their voices, all combining, finding their place in the growing harmony. The humans, halflings and others that stood amongst them, those that had sunk in despair, found their spirits raised, their courage restored. Delire looked on, her face filled with awe. Tales told of such magical music, how the Master Harpist that ruled wound magic into the very notes, bound the people together, enhanced the music of each. The tales did not tell of the majesty, the power of such music, and she watched in wonder as the demoralising effect of the devil's tactic on approach was destroyed, leaving the defenders even stronger than before. She looked at where Jeria, Mekior and Gyv sat, and smiled. "There is still hope." Gyv looked at her, her scared face resting on the armour-covered chest of Mekior. She smiled back, but it was a cold smile, filled with hopelessness, not sharing in the optimism of the halfling. Even with the majestic music that swirled around them, Gyv was lost in despair, in memories of children being dragged away in chains and a husband’s blood dripping off her hands. For her, the coming battle was a sacrament, a validation that her life still held meaning after her unwitting betrayals. Jeria rose ready, his axe strapped to his back, a bow and quiver dangling from his hands. He left the room silently, headed for the walls. Mekior gave Gyv a long hug, before kissing her forehead, and grabbing his own bow and quiver. His sword hung at his side, swinging slightly as he headed out behind Jeria. Gyv jumped to her feet, a look of disgust in her face as the two left the room. "I have been a warrior for longer than Jeria has been alive, and he leaves me here? Does he believe that my scars prevent me from wielding my sword any less effectively than before?" She stood up and grabbed a bow she had taken from the stores and her own quiver. "I am a far better shot than either of those two." She, too, marched out, leaving Delire alone in the room. Delire sighed, and followed the rest out, walking to where she knew the commanders of the forces sat, knowing the time had come for her to make the decisions that would lead to life, or death. *** The sounds of battle were clear within the fort. D'Fir stood, receiving messengers that came continuously, updating him on the disposition of forces and the ongoing battle without. He watched the runners going, those coming in with the news of the battle ever more tired, more bloodied. The latest was a grey bearded veteran, one with whom he had shed blood in previous campaigns. "It goes badly, Prince. We kill many, but there are always more. We cannot take to the walls, for fear of the rocks. The angels destroy the beasts that bear the siege ladders, but they begin to tire. Soon they will be exhausted, and the fiends will make the walls." D'Fir bowed his head in thought, and then raised it. "Go. Find Commander Hulia and Sister Egrit. We need help; Hulia had better be able to get some." *** D'Mier looked over the walls, still pacing, waiting and watching for an enemy he knew must come. Behind him, General D'Haan stood silent, his face a mask that showed no emotions, reflected no thoughts. "My liege, they will come. We will stand stoic, solid. We will remain true to the generations that have gone before. We will fight well and, if necessary, we will die well. What we will not do is become worshippers of that monster, that fiend that seeks to become a god." D'Mier turned to look at the General, surprised at his vehemence, at his bitterness. "D'Haan, you are my cousin and you were the closest of my father's friends. Until this day, I have never heard you talk like this. What has changed, D'Haan?" The General looked at D'Mier, and then gazed out over the walls. "Did your father ever tell you of the time we ambushed a fiendish war party that had come below seeking slaves?" "I believe so. Wasn't Liet, your late wife, one of those they had in chains? One of the ones destined to be a slave?" A smile came to the General's face at that recollection of Liet, but too soon, it was replaced by an expression of pain as he continued. "There was confusion, chaos run amok when those captured were put to the sword by the devils. Even as we sought to free them, the devils sought to kill them, wasting time to perform that task rather than mount a defence against our attack. We wondered at their actions, but rejoiced in it, knowing that it made the battle easier and saved the lives of our own warriors. When the battle was over we counted the costs, and looked at the slaves they had chosen to kill, rather than mount a coordinated defence." He paused, looking at the king, the horror of the moment still fresh in his mind. “The devils in that group were all ones that had been summonsed here; none were destroyed in defeat, merely banished to Hell, from whence they could again be called. They chose banishment, and the creating of despair, over a futile effort at defence due to our superior numbers and the lack of any powerful fiends amongst them. They had chosen their victims well; children and babies lay dismembered, bleeding, dying slowly. We did not have the means to save them; we had to choose- watch them die slowly, or spare them the pain by killing them ourselves." He fell silent, his eyes dead. "We spared the children their pain, and there was not a dwarf amongst us that day that did not swear revenge. The attack against Crossroads, the victory at the Fort of Peaks, both brought a small measure of satisfaction. My king, nothing has changed, but a battle tonight will bring the peace of revenge completed, or death." *** The passage leading up to Harmony Hall was wide enough for two carts abreast, or twenty soldiers in ranks; the massed files of devils filled the passage. At the head of the column marched heavy infantry, pikes pointed forward to discourage any cavalry charge, swords swinging by their sides. Behind them a group of crossbowmen marched, thick metal shields borne upon their backs, ready to fire over the heads of the infantry. All had a single look, lacking the individuality of more powerful devils; thick, bald, red heads with black crests down the centre, no nose but two oblong slits between eyes set behind thick bony ridges, their mouths filled with sharp teeth. Behind them came elephant-like beasts of burden, towing siege engines behind. Following behind those came the more powerful devils, each upon a mount that moved with the grace of a great cat, but had a skin of black scales, a spiked tail and a flat face with short, sharp tusks. They joked amongst each other, while avoiding drifting too close to the general that commanded them. Degrith looked at the army around him, the supply wagons and camp followers behind. He rode a dragon, one he had captured and tamed aeons ago, long before he had come to this world. It had grown in stature and might till now it allowed him to ride from friendship. It was far too mighty for him to defeat in combat, only friendship kept him upon its back. He scratched it behind its ears, the red scales rippling under his touch. The immense head turned to regard him. "Your soldiers do not seem to appreciate you." The voice was deep, a hint of laughter within. "Or perhaps it is me they object to? Many wonder why I abide your presence. They have spent too long plotting and scheming; they have forgotten the simple pleasures of friendship." Degrith, sitting atop his old friend, laughed. "They are fiends; they have not forgotten the pleasures of friendship- they have never experienced it! Much the same could be said of your kin, could it not? How many of your kind have enduring friendships or loyalties beyond themselves?" He fell silent as the chant of the march rose about him, as each foot, fiend or mount, rose and fell in unison, shaking the ground, vibrating the walls, freeing small stones that dropped from the ceiling, bouncing loosely along the ground. He looked up, concerned. "Don't worry, General. The roof will not collapse on us. Unless they have set it to do so, like they did to destroy the army Gerion sent against them in the city from which they fled." Degrith turned to regard the speaker. Smaller than he, just over seven feet tall, but with four arms, each heavily muscled and adorned with battered bracers upon each forearm. The speaker was easily identified: Miedda, a well-known duellist and favourite at Jelial's court. Curious, and a small wonder in itself, that he had left the comforts of the city for such a campaign. "And how would you know? The rock above us will not be dissuaded from dropping for fear of your scimitars, or by your charming tongue." Degrith's look was one of disdain; he had little time for some petty noble who felt like a taste of battle, who was there to merely bask in the glory of a victory, but would flee at the first taste of defeat. He expected anger, defiance, perhaps the ranting of a noble that thought he had not received the respect he felt was his due. What he did not expect was laughter. "Ahh, General, you know little of me. I was not always at court. I did my time as a mercenary, trying to rebuild a fortune that was lost to the family when the Lord of the Third decided he had one general too many, and confiscated the family estate. Seems that our family had endured too long, too many born devils, and not enough promoted from lesser forms. He used my father to demonstrate to others why they should not think of ever being disloyal, or why they should not allow too many powerful whelps top be born." He stared out, at the ranks before him. "The Lord of the Third can be very inventive, and I was forced to watch, an object lesson to cement my ties to him. After all, how many in the Hells care about family?" "So, you fled, worked as a mercenary and then came here? Still doesn't explain why you think you know why the rock is safe." "True enough. My time as a mercenary taught me much. I fought in many of the skirmishes that the Lords indulge in. Everyone denies that any battle is taking place, even as opposing armies clash on the field of battle. It is funny in a way, armies of mercenaries fighting for money, in battles that no one actually cares about, where who wins or loses is but a temporary situation till the next battle. When last did the borders of the circles change? How often do the extents of the demesne of one duke shift into that of another. No one truly expects there to be change, for one Lord to take over the realm of another, yet the battles still go on." "And so it was when I found myself fighting in the interminable tunnels between the fifth and sixth circles. I learnt much about rock then; about what was stable and what was dangerous." He glanced at the roof, at the walls, running his hands along the rock of the walls. "This tunnel is old rock; it will not collapse without more assistance than some noise and vibration." "You speak like a renegade. Family loyalty, no allegiance to a lord, save the coin of your master, no ..." He was cut off, as the chant broke, from stones that flew out from the wall, cutting into the orderly ranks of the devils. Screams assailed his ears, as bolts of lightning cut through the ranks. "Yes, I am exactly like a renegade!" Miedda's voice was soft, the warm hiss of his breath felt against Degrith’s cheek, as the blades bit into Degrith’s side, their magic biting, unbinding his very being. Beneath him, Degrith felt the dragon buck, its head trying to twist around enough to get at the attacker. It would be too late, already the world faded around him as the call of Hell surrounded him and he fell into its grasp. With a smile, Miedda disspeared as the dragon's jaws darted down, trying to spear him on razor sharp teeth. And the keening of the dragon rose, a cry of mournign for a millenia long companion dead upon his back. And as devils poured into the ranks from the side, the dragon mourned, seemingly uncaring of those that now assailed him. *** Within Harmony Hall, the column of devils had just come into sight. It stretched back into the darkness, the chant and precision marching shaking the walls of the first defences. Archers stood at the ready, knowing their range would be limited, as they could not arc their arrows due to the roof of the cavern; no matter, the enemy was as constrained as they were, even more so for thos just emerging from the tunnels. Sheltered by cornices and crenulations ballistae were loaded, sheathes of cold iron tipped javelins stood ready to be sprayed down into the advancing horde. Behind the walls, attached to pulleys for easy lifting, massive cauldrons of molten lead stood ready to be lifted aloft and poured onto any who came too close to the walls. A group of dwarves, experts at mining and sapping, patrolled the walls from the inside, monitoring the ground and walls for the telltale vibrations and tremors that would indicate the enemy trying to tunnel from beneath. The ranks gathered behind the massive iron and steel gates, reinforced by bands of silver-steel, gifted to them by the Fort of Livian. They stood ready, those who would ride out and attack the devils when the time came. Mekior stood amongst a group of fiend hunters. They looked at him with unadulterated hate, and many contrived to accidentally bump into him, to have the hafts of weapons dig into spaces between his armour, a few even accidentally hit him in the head with gauntlet covered hands as they loosened muscles before battle. Mekior stood firm, the reaction less than he had expected; at least none had attacked him, yet... To one side a group of Outwalkers stood. Not used to working in large groups, they splintered into the pairs that commonly worked together, master and apprentice or two journeymen standing together. Those masters that commonly worked alone had paired off, or stood in a threesome with another master and apprentice. Jeria stood by a massive half-ogre, Blised, a cousin of Gruzz, a young Outwalker to whom he felt a sense of obligation. He started when he saw Gyv arrive, her sword swinging at her side and bow in hand. She saw Mekior, but steered away from the Fiend Hunters, making her way to Jeria. She looked at Blised and smiled. "You look like Gruzz. Any relation?" "Yeah, he was my half-brother. Our late, and unlamented, father did not care overly much about forcing himself onto different women. " He looked over Gyv, her scarred features, the oft-used sword. "You knew him?" Gyv looked away, tears in the corner of her eyes. "Yes, I was there when he died. If not for me, perhaps he would still be alive." She stopped speaking, just standing quietly by the two. None of those behind the gate could see what happened, but they the heard cheers and shouts of encouragement. A messenger came running down, a wide grin across his face. "The devils have been ambushed, by another group of devils! The sentinels say they saw a dragon go down! Delire has ordered us to charge out, attack them head on while they are occupied with the attack on their flanks." The cheers from those gathered below echoed the sounds from above, fading into a battle dirge as the Dark Paeons mounted and prepared their lances for the charge. Their mounts were not like the few horses that some lucky humans had, but massive lizards, bred within the caverns. Faster than horses in short bursts, they were also more fearless and less likely to bolt in a fight, though far slower over long distances. They sang as the gates were slowly wound up, holding their charge until the crossbowmen had loosed a volley into the ranks of the pike men, starting to break their defensive position. They charged forward soon after, a massive group in a wedge, the mail coats on the lizards making a din loud enough to almost drown out the dirge that drove the warriors on. The archers and ballistae loosed a volley into the front rows of the pike men, the arrows and oversized javelins cutting into them. The pike men maintained their discipline and remained focussed forward; shields and armour blocked most arrows but little could block the javelins released from the powerful machines of war. More fell, weakening the defensive wall as the wedge burst into their ranks. Lances snapped, impaling devils upon their iron tips. Swords came out, blades reflecting the cavern’s dim lighting as the lizards cut a path through the ranks. Running behind them, came the Fiend Hunters; a chaotic mass of superb fighters that burst into the gap provided; devastating to those pike men that had not dropped their weapons and found they were defenceless against their swords. The ranks of the Dark Paeon infantry came behind, more disciplined than the Fiend Hunters, and as effective en mass. The Outwalkers flowed along the sides, using their bows first, with devastating effect, the cold iron tipped arrows arcing over the front rows, slaughtering the devils behind before raising their own weapons to cut into those devils that had survived the barrage of arrows. Caught between the fiends behind, and the forces of Harmony Hall before them, the devils of Jelial's army discipline broke, and the real slaughter began. [/QUOTE]
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Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
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