What Aedan at first took to be a helm he realized after a few moments was not a helm at all, but Raesene’s head. The Gorgon rode bareheaded into battle, bony protrusions on his crown and two large black horns curving upward from his temples. He was still too far away to make out the Gorgon’s features, but he was grateful for that. He wondered if the legends were true about the Gorgon’s being able to slay with just his gaze. If so, how was it possible to fight such a creature?
Rank upon rank of goblins, gnolls, and ogres faced them, augmented with human mercenaries, for whom Aedan felt the greatest contempt of all. What kind of men would willingly serve an awnshegh? A creature who had once betrayed his own people to the Dark Lord.
Behind him, Aedan heard the steady tramping of feet and the rattling and squeaking of the siege engines at the rear as they rolled forward, drawn by teams of horses. They would not come into play at this stage of the battle, and perhaps might not come into play at all unless they could not turn the Gorgon’s troops and break them, force them into a retreat back into the obsidian fortress.
The enemy waited as they advanced steadily. A mile…. A thousand yards…. Eight hundred … seven… six…. When they were about five hundred yards apart, the Gorgon raised his sword, and a loud cry went up from his forces as they charged, the cavalry leading the way as they thundered across the field toward them.
“Charge!” Michael screamed, and with their battle cry of “Roele! Roele!” the Army of Anuire surged forward.
Michael headed straight for Raesene, with Aedan galloping at his side. The hoofbeats of the horses made a sound like rolling thunder as they flew toward one another, the foot soldiers running behind them.
The mounted sections met first, and the field filled with the sounds of blades ringing upon blades. Michael met the Gorgon, but they had time for only a quick exchange of blows before they were separated by the plunging beasts around them. Then both armies met with a clashing sound of metal on metal, and the air was filled with the noise of battle—men screaming, gnolls howling, goblins keening, ogres snarling, horses neighing, and above it all, the ringing clatter of swords and shields and spears. Archers on both sides loosed several volleys into the rear ranks of the opposing force, and then there were no more rear ranks as both armies melded into a vast melee as wild as it was deafening.
Aedan tried to stay beside the emperor, but it was impossible with so many bodies surging all around him. His standard fell, the shaft chopped in half by a wildly swinging blade, and one of the foot soldiers picked it up and held it aloft as Aedan reached for the shield slung from his saddle and lashed out all around him, killing and maiming to survive.
The gnolls fought like the half-beasts they were, using teeth as well as blades. One sprang up behind Aedan on his horse, and Aedan twisted, feeling teeth snap on his helm as he brought his shield around and knocked the creature off. A mounted mercenary charged him, and they engaged, Aedan with unabated fury and hatred of this traitorous human, who had sold out his own people for a few pieces of gold. Controlling their horses with their knees, they exchanged blow after blow, each blocking the other with his shield until one of the mercenary’s blows got through. The blade whooshed toward Aedan’s head, but he twisted aside at the last instant, avoiding a stroke that would have split his skull right through the helm. The point of the sword grazed the side of his face, just below the eye guard, and opened up a gash from cheek to jaw. Aedan ignored the pain, screaming through it as he lunged at his opponent. His sword took the man just beneath the arm, and the mercenary fell, screaming, to disappear beneath the swirl of bodies all around them.
The rocky and uneven ground they fought upon made footing difficult for both men and beasts, but it also meant less choking dust was raised. Still, a small cloud formed over the field of battle as the bodies milled around, slamming into one another with a frenzy. Even in the chill of this northern clime, Aedan was soon drenched with sweat beneath his armor. His arms ached from wielding sword and shield, which grew heavier as the battle drew on, and the muscles of his legs felt as if they were on fire from gripping his mount’s flanks and exerting pressure to turn it. His breath came in hoarse gasps as he fought, and every spare moment he could seize, he glanced around him wildly, searching for some sign of Michael, whom he had lost in the milling throng.
It was impossible to tell which way the tide of battle was running, whether in favor of the Army of Anuire or the Gorgon’s troops. The only way the opponents could differentiate one another was by the color of their armor. Only at close distance could humans and demihumans tell one another apart.
Aedan’s ears were ringing from the sound of battle, thousands of swords smashing away, clanging like a symphony of blacksmiths pounding on their anvils. Bodies of men and riders surged back and forth, many tripping over those who’d fallen, and those wounded unfortunate enough to be unable to rise to their feet were trampled to death within moments of hitting the ground. The screams of men and beasts mingled in the air, creating a sound unlike anything Aedan had ever heard before. No battle cries could be distinguished now, only snarls and growls and hoarse-throated screams coming from both human and demihuman throats. It sounded as if the earth were groaning.
As Aedan fought, twisting left and right and slashing out at opponents both mounted and on foot, he lost all sense of direction. But when he had a brief chance to glance around, he saw that the mountains to the north were closer now. In a flash, he realized what that meant. The Gorgon’s troops, having the advantage of fighting on their own ground, were better able to orient themselves in battle, and they were slowly pushing the Anuireans to the edge of the plain where they had met, trying to force them back against the rocky cliffs, where they could surround them. Aedan glanced up and saw black-clad archers perched up on the rocks in the distance, waiting for the Anuireans to be pushed into range of their bows.
He cried out, “Anuireans! Forward to the center! Avoid the cliffs! Beware the archers in the rocks! Push forward! Forward!”
The cry was taken up all around him as the men realized their danger and redoubled their efforts to push the enemy back. In the distance, toward the center of the plain, Aedan saw one of the siege towers burning. The Gorgon’s troops had separated Michael’s army from their siege engines and enveloped them. Now they were torching and toppling them, rendering them useless. Aedan pitied the souls who had been manning them, but he could spare no time to dwell on their loss. He was beset on all sides as he urged his mount forward, trying to make headway and fighting off opponents as he searched for Michael every chance he got. But it was becoming impossible to see anything clearly beyond a few dozen yards or so. The rocky and volcanic ground on which they fought was being churned up by now, and a grainy ash was floating in the air, making it appear as if they were fighting in a thick, dark fog.
Aedan cut down a mounted goblin, then quickly glanced around. They had gained some distance from the cliffs, but only a little, and it seemed as if they were being forced back once more, within range of those archers on the heights with their deadly crossbows, which could shoot with enough force to pierce right through armor plate and chain mail.
Then, suddenly, Aedan’s horse reared up with a cry as an ogre leapt upon it and fastened its teeth into his mount’s throat. Aedan almost lost his balance, but regained it and chopped down at the loathsome-looking creature, severing its spine, but blood was streaming from his horse’s throat. The ogre had severed a major blood vessel, and the poor horse was rapidly bleeding to death. In moments, Aedan would be forced to fight on foot.