149 Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine– The Fate of the Mercs (1/2)
The Camp disassembled in an amazingly short period of time. The people working it moved with quick harmony, as if they had done it all before, moving from one area to the next with aplomb as wagons were loaded and sent off.
A fair number of those wagons had no wheels, floating above the ground. Sama had never skimped on the foundation of the Ironblood, and that wasn't going to stop now. Without having to worry about the rough terrain, the first part of the caravan was moving out, with a lot of men trotting alongside or riding ahead on ready horses.
The site had already been chosen for the next camp, forty miles ahead, and one way or another, they would reach it today.
The Kaldens could only look on in envy, deeply impressed by how everything was torn up, loaded away, and then on the road, like ants devouring the camp and sending it on. There own efforts looked quite pathetic in comparison.
The North Wind helped tear the Camp down, knowing perfectly well what needed to be done, and what did not.
”Prepare to move out!” Rorn shouted at everyone, not caring what everyone else thought. ”There's going to be fighting today! We're going to secure this trail, we've got ten miles to go to meet a Warpband coming in!”
Ten miles seemed like a lot, but they had traded some of their spoils for wagons and horses of their own, to carry armor and shields and lighten their loads while they trotted along. Ten miles was nothing.
Half an hour later, everything was stowed that needed to be, and the wagons rolled out as the Kaldens headed out.
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Rorn held up his hand, reining in his horse. Fellow Marked, nearly two hundred more in number now among them then two days ago, sent the alert back through the straggling numbers marching northeast through the Badlands.
The broken landscape and mismatched terrain made it fairly easy to conceal major numbers, so scouting was of great importance. Alas for the enemy, this territory had been completely mapped out in The Map, and while it was legendary for its shifting... at least a thousand Nulls had trod down this path, Interdictions firing off, and vivic energy had baptized it. They'd already passed four battle sites, and the space here was locked down harder than steel.
In the distance, the men could see the stones warp, shift, and change, but there was a road stabbing towards Yle Tyorm that wasn't moving at all, and was completely locked down on The Map.
Rorn knew that this was part of a massive injury done to the Land, spillover from whatever catastrophe had happened at Yle Tyorm in ages past. One of the things they were doing is feeding the invaders to the Land, for the express purpose of healing this injury. These invaders bore with them a lot of chaotic, unstable energy, and once vivified and devoured by the Land, the spatial distortions were being addressed, especially the instability that the Warp Gods were taking advantage of to materialize in the first place.
The Warpband coming from ahead was escorting a great brazen Bell, an artifact that would probably have a maddening effect on the Kaldens, while frenzying the Warped. It was something they would have to take down quickly, but that was what Liiss and the other Casters did best. The Warped had made the frame out of some wood, so Barus would probably just warp it, break its frame, and send it crashing to the ground, unable to ring. Subtle magic was sometimes the best...
But now there was another threat coming in from the right.
Orders came out, men were hurrying up to form a fighting line, grabbing their armor or shields, hurrying to get into position. Archers moved up behind, spears warded the flanks, the berserkers readied themselves to charge behind the lines, while the scouts disappeared into the scrub and shadows of the copses that grew here and there between the jutting, frozen waves of grey stone.
He saw the horsemen first, scattered and straggling, clearly beaten like dogs, running from a fight.
Khadifyr began to softly chant a lay from poems passed down for a thousand years or more. If he wanted to make his legacy, he would need to set down his own Song, and drawing upon the strength of his ancestors, the legends they were, was a good way to start.
There were demonic serpents in the air, swooping down and attacking the fleeing riders, who had little defense against them. The ones in front saw the swelling lines in front of them, and desperately whipped their horses to find shelter.
”Kill them!” Rorn ordered.
Archers set in cover, arrows released, a few simple spells covered the sky with sticky webbing and fouled reptilian wings. Drakes shrieked and tumbled from the skies, and the other fliers veered off quickly, not wishing to follow the others into spirals of death.
After all, there were men on foot to prey on, too...
”Forward, easy trot!” he ordered, and the line of men swung in the direction he pointed, other Marked making sure to keep them on course. They parted to let the gasping horses file through, but otherwise spared the beaten, bloody men there no attention.
The mercenaries looked harrowed, eyes a little wild. They had come for gold and glory, and they had instead found death.
Rorn was already talking with their Guide, who was with the infantry who were fleeing for their lives, riding down Warped and harrying their flanks, slowing them down to stop the slaughter as best he might.
They were civilized men, and hadn't been prepared for the pure bloodthirstiness and savagery of the invaders... nor the fact that the least of the Warped fighters were Threes, veterans Fours, and elites Fives and Sixes. The Warped officers were all Sevens and above, and all of them had the Warped template, basically an Advanced Template that also included temperature resistance and lower food requirements... meaning all of these troops were bigger and stronger than normal humans.
As their morale faltered, the weakness fed the Warpband they had chosen to attack, and their lack of unit cohesion meant reinforcements and willingness to die holding their ground simply wasn't there. When one troop broke, their formation had an opening, and the enemy elites got into their back line. Warp Wargs had harried the cavalry, preventing them from being effective, and the riders of the enemy had tied them up long enough for the Warped to surround them with glaives and spears.
A unit of spearmen had thrown down their shields and run. Seeing their reserves abandoning them, the front line had faltered, and the berserkers of the Warp had torn them apart.
He was looking at routed cowards, a few score survivors out of over three hundred cavalry, none of them in great shape.
Rorn didn't meet with them or talk with them. Cold-faced Marked directed them to get behind the lines, while Kalden streamed past them, giving them looks of contempt and not a few not-so-hidden comments about mongrels, soft southerners, puppies on the battlefield, and the like.
”Spread it out. We've got two battles to fight today. The first is to clean up after these fools who don't know how to fight.” His words were picked up by Marked and disseminated across the Kalden lines quickly, and an eager shout went up in response. ”After that is done, we still have our own fight to undertake. Quick and clean, we kill them all and get ready for the next fight!”
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