202 Chapter Two Hundred and Two – White and Red and Black and Green All Over... (1/2)

Verd, Veis, and Amber had been in many, many combat situations.

They had done a lot of sparring against other humans, humanoids, and their pets, especially on the little missions with Feist that Hazé had dropped them off on.

Then had come the more exciting minor missions for the Void Brothers, where they ran into things that were very magical and which brought up coldly chilling memories from the depths of the Ritual of the Silver Queen, recognition and an enmity that went deeper than bone.

Their work in Zynozure with Errant, especially the stuff going deep, had involved more and more dangerous versions of this, necessitating ever more caution... and greater rewards.

And now... everything they had fought before was standing right across from them on an open field.

Feist was standing before the three girls, up on his Disk, watching the Warped anthros coming towards them with indifferent, deadly calm.

The girls had been in some larger scuffles, but they had never been on a true battlefield, where thousands contested in life and death, and one didn't run out of foes in a mere handful of breaths, nor was there an easy place to retreat to.

This was a place of cooperation, of trust in the blades beside you and the orders of the officers who commanded you. Your willingness not to run could be the lynchpin that decided the battle.

The girls stared at the creatures coming towards them, reading them, realizing that these were mutated former humans, servants of the Warped devolved to bestial forms, blind in their faith and 'gifts' of their masters. Their souls were already lost, promised away for ephemeral blessings and zealous fanaticism, ignoring the fact that all that the Warp Gods gave them, they could have gained for themselves.

No one knew better the value of their soul then a Hagchild. Giving it away to entities who valued them not at all stirred a deathly cold fire in them.

”Missiles,” Feist ordered calmly.

The Quiver on Verd's back disgorged her Bow, while Veis and Amber drew theirs from the holsters at their sides, deCompressing from Hand size to Light crossbow size, as did Feist.

”Pick your targets,” he ordered, as they looked over the ranks of Rockborn Spears in front of them. Around them, other arbalesters got ready, more Autobows rising and getting ready as they pointed at the sky. There was a scream of harpies flapping their way over, but they were just target practice if they stayed up there. However, winging in from the side was something moving very fast that was really going to give them a bad time...

Their Autobows had seen more action then those of the Dwarves, and despite the Rockborn having much bigger Heavy versions, their ranges were the same. All of them had Archer Levels, after all, and hadn't been reluctant to feed their Weapons.

A drum began to beat in their minds, as the Cantor of the Dwarves thundered through on his drums, a rhythm and beat deep from the heart of the Land, driving them on with the knowledge their ancestors were behind them and their hearts were one, giving everyone a cadence and pattern to fall into.

Lines of Rockborn, Gnomes, and even a striker force of vassal Ancients began to pivot and move, posturing up as the Warped closed in. Healers made ready, while the x-sprits of the Autoballistae began to thrum and hurl out dark and heavy loads into the distance.

Bleating and blaying forms kicked over, impaled by hungry javelins. The great horned cyclops rose up from behind the anthros, hefted its Runeball, and keen-eyed gnomes watched and waited for the thing to be hurled out. Quick fingers and Mass Dispersal spells were ready to render its weight down to a feather and make it useless.

The ballistae re-angled to the new target. The brute would be down in a minute or two to the six autoballistae, but the fight on the line would begin before then. The bloodthirsty braying and howling of the Warped was already reaching them, but nobody cared, listening to the pounding drum gathering all the impetus of history and raising it before them, and the orders being barked in curt dwarven through the Marktell, clear and precise in intent and meaning, no ability to misunderstand.

The enemy's centaurs were also unlimbering powerful bows, motile horse archers that could be extremely annoying to face... not that the shielded and armored dwarven spears cared. Those centaurs were going to learn a deadly lesson about the range of heavy crossbows, and the firing rate of autobows.

Targets were dribbled out, the arbalesters oriented, and the silent command came.

There was no sound on the dwarven side, no calls to command, no deep singing, no pointing and shouting. Only silence, everything in Marktell, and the arcs of the first volleys shot out at their still-distant targets.

The Rockborn were firing salvos, but the girls and Feist were aiming calmly, keeping their own target picks tight. Dark bolts of glassy material, trailing Banefire from borrowed Skulls, arced out and slammed into the middle front of the anthro lines. Two of the creatures were jerked off their feet with startled bleats, opening a hole in the rather loose lines that had to be quickly filled by those trampling over the ones in front.

They racked hard, lined up, fired again.

The two goat-headed sots moving up into the opening jerked and fell as the quarrels hammered into them. They racked together, aimed together.

The centaurs were just approaching their range when the flat trajectory of heavy quarrels came buzzing in and scythed through them. Garbed in little more than some loose hides, they screamed and crumpled by the dozens, shocked at the driving power of the shafts. Still, they rode up closer, as they knew the reload time of heavy crossbows meant they might take a pounding volley, but they could ride out of range before the next volley went off.

Their own arrows had just taken to the skies when the next Rockborn volleys went off, and needless to say, they weren't out of range.