protected the wagons was no more than a shadow against the horde of peasants. Greater still was the army of corpses that lay all about, for the Lianese had lost so many men they were forced to carry the dead down the hill to have avenues of attack. Bodies were piled at the bottom of the hill, forming great mounds of waste, and it was into this scene that a brilliant flame burst, arcing in a wide band over the heads of the Veryan soldiers and into the Lianese mass. One of the firemages had risen, and Rhyfelwyr turned his head to see Rhocas staggering, his face drawn with a look of starvation, but his hand upraised as the flame jetted into the Lianese soldiers, incinerating many.
Rhocas played the fire in a slow sweep, burning a hole in the Lianese attack that gave moments of respite to the tired Veryan soldiers. Then the firemage turned his attention to the mass of flags that signalled a Lianese command post. A great sphere of flame flew from his hands, floating overhead to smash down upon the officers, spraying fire and sparks. Crying out in joy that the firemages had come to save them, the Veryan soldiers pressed down the hill, the sight of the flame giving them new strength and purpose. The morale of the Lianese had been severely weakened by the horrendous losses of the day, and the combination of fire and renewed assault by a foe they thought was finished broke the Lianese, and the conscripts turned and fled down the hill. With no officers and precious few regular soldiers left to command them, the rout became total, as the Veryan charged after, breaking those few pockets of resistance.
Rhocas had collapsed into a coma after the last assault, and was convulsing upon the ground as cutters sought to aid him. They tried all manner of treatment, and were able to still the jerking of his limbs, but the mage was wan and pale. The cutters carried him to the wagons, where he was covered by a thick blanket. They would wait and see whether Rhocas left them this day.
Rhyfelwyr looked about the remains of the fortifications, and at the field of death the hill had become. It ran red from the summit to the base, grass stained and sticky with blood. He was sore from many nicks and bruises, as were the others in his squad. Gwyth, as was his way, had several deep slices, but none appeared to have truly harmed the giant. They were amongst the lucky few. Most of Glanhaol Fflamboethi was dead or dying, screaming out their last breaths in anguish. Even the firemages had not survived unscathed, for protected as they had been by the cutters and the officers in the very centre of the army, when the attack had broken the ring, skirmishers had managed to slay several where they lay. After today, Rhyfelwyr thought that no one who had been here would fight again.
***
That evening, he and the squad gathered weapons and armour from their deceased friends, and stacked them high in wagons no longer needed for food. Then the bodies of the Veryan dead were formed into a massive pyramid, and a firemage, still shaky and weak, played flame across its face. The funeral pyre lit the sky for miles around, and even the fleeing Lianese stopped in their tracks to look at the column of fire that split the night. Rhyfelwyr wished he could say a prayer for the dead, but there was nothing within him now. He was an empty shell, scourged clean of thought, and soon claimed by the night.
The next morn no one stirred, and it was only as the sun reached its peak in the sky that the first of the Veryan soldiers rose from their sleep. Some few wandered about, only to collapse as they recalled the final stand of a friend, but most had no energy for tears or emotions. Instead, they stared with blank eyes, a ruined world all that greeted their sight.
Gently, those few officers left chivvied the men from their beds and into a column, and by the glimmer of a full moon, Glanhaol Fflamboethi marched to the north. The Lianese watched them go, for neither side had any more
Rhocas played the fire in a slow sweep, burning a hole in the Lianese attack that gave moments of respite to the tired Veryan soldiers. Then the firemage turned his attention to the mass of flags that signalled a Lianese command post. A great sphere of flame flew from his hands, floating overhead to smash down upon the officers, spraying fire and sparks. Crying out in joy that the firemages had come to save them, the Veryan soldiers pressed down the hill, the sight of the flame giving them new strength and purpose. The morale of the Lianese had been severely weakened by the horrendous losses of the day, and the combination of fire and renewed assault by a foe they thought was finished broke the Lianese, and the conscripts turned and fled down the hill. With no officers and precious few regular soldiers left to command them, the rout became total, as the Veryan charged after, breaking those few pockets of resistance.
Rhocas had collapsed into a coma after the last assault, and was convulsing upon the ground as cutters sought to aid him. They tried all manner of treatment, and were able to still the jerking of his limbs, but the mage was wan and pale. The cutters carried him to the wagons, where he was covered by a thick blanket. They would wait and see whether Rhocas left them this day.
Rhyfelwyr looked about the remains of the fortifications, and at the field of death the hill had become. It ran red from the summit to the base, grass stained and sticky with blood. He was sore from many nicks and bruises, as were the others in his squad. Gwyth, as was his way, had several deep slices, but none appeared to have truly harmed the giant. They were amongst the lucky few. Most of Glanhaol Fflamboethi was dead or dying, screaming out their last breaths in anguish. Even the firemages had not survived unscathed, for protected as they had been by the cutters and the officers in the very centre of the army, when the attack had broken the ring, skirmishers had managed to slay several where they lay. After today, Rhyfelwyr thought that no one who had been here would fight again.
***
That evening, he and the squad gathered weapons and armour from their deceased friends, and stacked them high in wagons no longer needed for food. Then the bodies of the Veryan dead were formed into a massive pyramid, and a firemage, still shaky and weak, played flame across its face. The funeral pyre lit the sky for miles around, and even the fleeing Lianese stopped in their tracks to look at the column of fire that split the night. Rhyfelwyr wished he could say a prayer for the dead, but there was nothing within him now. He was an empty shell, scourged clean of thought, and soon claimed by the night.
The next morn no one stirred, and it was only as the sun reached its peak in the sky that the first of the Veryan soldiers rose from their sleep. Some few wandered about, only to collapse as they recalled the final stand of a friend, but most had no energy for tears or emotions. Instead, they stared with blank eyes, a ruined world all that greeted their sight.
Gently, those few officers left chivvied the men from their beds and into a column, and by the glimmer of a full moon, Glanhaol Fflamboethi marched to the north. The Lianese watched them go, for neither side had any more
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