Final Retribution

It had taken thirty days to create enough teleportation potions for both Peerha's army and the Knight of the Imperial Dragon's. Thirty days to prepare his troops, mentally and physically, for the final battle. It would be an ardous task. Peerha kept them motivated by reminding them that if they pulled it off, then they could finally 'lay there swords to rest and begin again the lives we have lost.'

Those words had been said the night before the battle. The entire army had gathered together and ate a feast. No rations this time either. The men and women were allowed to eat as much as they wanted. Happily they had dug in and drank there apple cider. (They weren't allowed any alcohol. Peerha didn't want them to have a hangover when they fought.) However much fun this may have been, there is no need to touch any further on the subject. What was important was the next morning.

On this next morning, the air was warm, and the sun bright and shining. Birds were singing. Peerha had gathered his troops within the swamp lands, some hundreds of yards away from the stronghold. He was confident they would not be spotted, as they were all under the protection of a powerful invisibility spell. The spell was being upheld by several mages, some of them from the the Imperial Legion.

A loud, shrill bird call went through the air. It was a signal from a scout. Vatinius' troops were making themselves known. Peerha whistled once in the same fashion. After a moment's pasued, he whistled once again, then another, and another, and ended with a lengthy whistle. Silently, his entire army started creeping through the swamp, advancing on the unsuspecting fortress.

As they neared closer and closer, Vatinius' army could be seen. They were charging at the fortress. Arrows were being exchanged from either direction. The Black Hand had definitely been caught by surprise. It was only when the Legionarres had reached the foot of the stair case that the troops began filtering through the buildings. They charged down the stairs and rushed headlong into the fight. The lone few who had foolishly ran ahead of the rest were skewered or trampled. The Legionarres bursted onto the fortress' plateau area and began attacking small gathering of cultists, even as more of them bursted out from the buildings.

Peerha stopped when he came to within a stone's throw of the fortress' walls. He listened carefully as his men crept up to him. He whistled loudly, and they stopped moving. He looked up to the fortress walls and saw that there were two sentries there. They kept all there attention focused on the battle. Suddenly an arrow hit each of them in the back, and they tipped over the edge. Peerha waited for the next part of the plan to begin.

He knew it was about to happen when he noticed himself become visible again. The mages needed the rest of their strength for this part. And after it was done, there would really be no need for invisibility anyway. He turned around and saw a sea of troops behind him. Though he knew they had been there the whole time. It was still a shocking sight to see an army suddenly appear before you. The mages made there way through the crowd and stepped out, past the front ranks.

They all stood there for a full minute, hands glowing, growing brighter by the second. The first mages unleashed there spells. A ball of ice shot out from her hands and slammed into the wall. The walls took on a glazed look, just like ice. Then another batch threw balls of fire at the freezing walls. The flames slammed against the wall and spread all along it's surface. Peerha turned away because the heat was that intense. When he looked back, he found deep cracks in it, a result of extreme heat and cold being applied to a surface, and with little to no intermission either. The final assault upon the wall were two great bolts of lightning. They struck the walls and exploded. Dust filled the air, and Peerha was pelted with tiny pieces of stone. The assault was a success.

Peerha whistled once again. The army roared a battle cry and charged forwards through the dust. As Peerha charged, the ground changed rapidly. When he had began, the ground had been convered with dust and pebbles. But every few yards he gained, the pebbles turned to stones, and the stones to roks, and the rocks to boulders. From there, the boulders became great slabs of rock. It did not get any bigger than that, because the only piece of the fortress that was bigger than a giant slab of stone was the entire fortress itself.

Before Peerha was a gaping hole in the fortress. The spells had blown a hole in the center of the stronghold's side, exactly half it's length when measured from corner to corner. The hole also almost entirely match it's heigth. Peerha could also clearly see both floors, and the many shocked and frantic cultists.

In order to get inside, Peerha still had to climb on top of a boulder, then leap onto a slab of ston that had fallen, and was now leaning against the wall; creating a perfect ramp. After Peerha had made it past those obstacles, he leapt into the stronghold.

The air was thick with dut, making it near impossible to see. It may have been bad news for Peerha and the other mercenarys, but the same held tru for the cultists as well. However, the Black Hand was in sever disarray, where as the mercenarys knew exactly what was going on and what to do. It turned out to be a huge advantage.

Peerha looked for an opponent, and then felt something pass his head so fast and so close that he could feel the wind the 'something' had created. Peerha whirled around and found a small cultist struggling with a far too oversized batle axe.

"Should have picked a smaller weapon." thought Peerha.

Peerha slashed at the throat. His opponent hit the ground. More and more mercenarys were filtering through the hole and into the fortress, so Peerha decided to move out of the way. He went to the inside wall of the hallway he was currently located, and found that that too had been blown apart.

The hole here revealed a room. Judging by all the beds, Peerha concluded that it was one of the sleeping quarters. He scanned for enemies, but no one else was there. Dissapointed, he exited the room, via doorway. As he kicked the solid-wood door open, he heard a thud and a crunching sound as it stopped mid-swing. He looked to the door, and found a large crack in it. Another thud sounded, coming from the floor. Peerha peered around the door and found a cultist slumped there, blood beginning to drain onto the floor from his head.

"There's one way to go."

------

As the battle progressed, so did it's intensity. Though long in coming, the Black Hand had finally pulled themselves out of their surprised state and began working together to defend the stronghold. Their knowledge of the stronghold enabled them to defend it easily, making it extremely difficult for either army to gain any new ground. However, since two armies were storming the stronghold, it spread the defenders thin, making it an even battlefield.

Whenever one army would gain a foothold, they would either be taken by storm and lose it, or they would lose position in an entirely new area. One particular area was having the most troublesome of diffculties.

It was the underground level of the stronghold. This place was a cavern, furnished for multiple uses. In some places, there were great long tables that were once used for eating; now they were flipped on their sides, and used as protection by cultist archers. Other places, they were bunks, or benches and other furniture. These had been assembled in a long coulumn, stretching from one end of the wide cavern to the other. The objects here had been set on fire, and the flames were blazing high, just barely licking the ceiling. Thick smoke filled the cavern, making it difficult to see, even breathe.

Behind this line of defence, in the back half of the cavern, was the the final Black Hand troops. They stood in unision, shields up in case a stray spear came there way. The archers in this battalion were firing relentlessly, felling as many as they could before they were forced into melee combat. They had an almost unending supply of arrows, and they were not hesitating to exhaust that supply.

On the other side of the burning column was the rest of the cultist. They were fighting savagely, backed into a corner. They had no where to go. They could not get to their waiting comrades; the flames would engulf them and deal them a fiery death. They could not go back through ther Stronghold. It was too full of enemies. The only place they could go was within the cavern.

Here, there were no clearly drawn lines. There were no ranks, no strategies. It did not matter where there position was. The mass of troops changed all to quickly. One moment you would be surrounded by allies, the next a swarm of enemies. On this battlefield, a soldier bore the uniform of his alliance, and fought every person bearing his enemey's own uniform. That was all there was to it.

At some moments, it would seem that the Legionarres and Mercenaries had claimed the battlefield. But then suddenly, a large host of Cultists would explode through one of it's hundreds of entrances, and the conflict would continue. Sometimes the Cultists would have the upper hand, only to have it challenged by another host of enemies.

The battle here continued for many minutes. Ten minutes came, then twenty, and it stretched to an hour. The heat was sweltering, the smoke opressive. But neither side would back down. They continued to fight, even if they would die of smoke inhalation later. At last though, the tides of the battle were levvied. The entrances were being plugged by a large host of troops, or the doors were shut and barred. After a hard, difficult struggle only three entrances remained. The battlefield no longer became reinforced with cultists, only Legionarres and Mercenaries. The cultists were finally dealt with, now three armies remained. The mercenaries and Legionarres stood on one side of the burnign column, the Cultists on the other.

Varus looked around at his troops and allies. They were panting heavily, all of them coughing, and some even trying to remove their armor. He peered through the flames, and smoke, and found his enemies were doing the same. He too felt the incredible pains this fire was inflicting. He could not bear to fight another battle in these conditions. And he suspected that his enemy could not either. Varus stepped ahead of his troops as they assembled in ranks. He walked as close to the flames as he could.

"Leader of the Black Hand Cult, I call you out! I wish to discuss a new, more favorable battlefield to us both."

Everyone waited in silence for a reply. Then it came, swiftly, an arrow that terrified and enraged everyone as it pierced Varus in the chest. It had hit dangerously close to his heart. Several troops rushed to his aid. Two of them grabbed his shoulders, and another two picked him up by the feet. The others raised their shields as Varus was carried to safety.

Meanwhile, an uproar surged through the soldiers. Arrows were fired like mad, with absolutely no aim whatsoever. They were just hoping they'd hit somebody on the other side. Buckets were filled with water from the nearby well, and poured continually on the flames. Finally though, mages cast spells of ice and snow upon the flames, and they died down to embers and mere thumb sized flames. The two armies charged into each other.

First thudding noises filled the cavern as the frontlines smashed into each other. They used their shields to slam their opponents, knocking them down to the dirt and leaving them open for a killing blow. As the thudding noise faded away, it was replaced with the typical sounds of battle, though it was magnified many times by the cavern and it's great stone walls.

Although the soldiers of the Black Hand were in far better fighting condition, their intensity could not be matched by the Legionarres. They fought for their fallen leader, some in revenge, and some in the hope that winning this battle would bring hope for Varus' life as well. The mercenaries fought with the same amount of fury because they found themselves reminded of their families. Of how they'd been killed dishonorably; just the way Varus had been shot down.

Peerha Meroe was in the thick of this mess, somewhere amidst the violent swirl of enemies and allies. Peerha picked his enemies, one at a time, and moved forward only as much as he dared. He still stayed within a sensible distance of his troops. Backup would always be handy, especially when surrounded by more than a few experienced experienced.

"Do not stop. They are being driven back! They are afraid of us. Keep striking that fear into their souls!" Peerha yelled. He thought it was a kind of stupid thing to say, but decided it was the best thing to keep the troops motivated. And above all else, it worked.

His troops fought a little bit harder, and kept pushing them back. They did not let the Black Hand breathe, otherwise it would become a stalemate. Peerha kept the pace. He squared off against an enemy, and after figuring out his oppenent's style, skill, and vulnerabilities, Peerha delivered the final wave of attacks meant to take advantage of those vulnerabilities. Once an enemy was finished, he wasted no time in marching a few yards deeper, and facing his next opponent. His troops followed suite.

After constantly pushing and driving, what was left of the now devestated Black Hand was corralled into the very back of the cavern. This left them with a stone wall behind them, and a pissed off army in front of them. And no one was feeling very merciful.

The Black Hand fought viciously still, cornered as they were. Peerha plowed in anyways. Well actually, dove is a better term.

He leapt from his feet and dove into the front lines. If he had not, he would have been hacked to pieces by their swords. Peerha tucked into a roll when he hit the ground, and then quickly got up on his feet. Many cultists surrounded him, and they were all about to attack at once. Peerha held out his sword, and spun on his heel. The blade arced with his momentum and force.

The cultists leapt out of harm's way. Except for one, who promptly caught a face full of steel.

With a little more room to breathe, Peerha prepared to defend himself against a maelstrom of attacks. All at once, it happened.

They attacked Peerha simultaneously, weapons glinting and multiple angles. The guy to Peerha's left had started just a second faster than the others. Peerha started with him. He sidestepped in that particular man's direction. The man tried to compensate, and swing his axe down on a much closer target. The attempt was futile.

The axe swung harmlessly by Peerha's shoulder, while he himself brought his sword up to the man's throat. Keeping in mind that he still had a handful of opponents behind him, Peerha killed to birds with one stone. He brought his dagger up to the man's throat instead, and used that to dispatch him. Meanwhile, he kicked the man's body at the other cultists, causing them to scatter. Peerha seized his chance.

He threw his dagger at an opponent. It sank into his shoulder, and he fell to the ground in shock and pain; but he'd be back. Peerha ran forwards and parried a blow aimed at his side. Peerha countered, and his sword ran through the man's left forearm and all the way up to his ear. He wouldn't be getting back up again.

Something bit Peerha in his side. Peerha wheeled around and saw a cultist bearing down on him, his short sword dripping with blood. Peerha replied by slashing for the man's shoulder. He countered. The two exchanged blows with blinding speed. Sparks flew every now and then. Peerha caught a flutter of movement to his left. He dropped low to the ground, and was well rewarded. Another cultist had tried to behead him while he was occupied.

His new attacker stumbled after Peerha as he rolled backwards. Peerha dug his heels into the ground, stopping suddenly. The man kept coming, but did not realize that Peerha was waiting, his sword ready. The man walked right into Peerha's longsword.

The grunted and fell down on top of Peerha's sword. Peerha was abut to flip the body over and retrieve it, but had to duck when his former opponent threw a knife at him. Peerha stood up and drew his own kinfe once again. The cultist had his serrated shortsword though. Peerha realized then he was outmatched.

"Guess I'll have to even the odds."

The man attacked first. He swung downwards at a vertical angle. Peerha ducked and sidestepped. The man's chest was wide open. Peerha stabbed at it with his knife. It hit, but did not penetrate the cultist's leather armour. The man swung again. Peerha grabbed the man's wrists before the blade could come down. They struggled a bit. Peerha kicked him in the shins while the cultist butted his head against Peerha's own. Finally, there was an end to the deadlock.

Peerha loosed the man's sword and kicked it away. The cultist, meanwhile, punched him hard in the jaw. Peerha stepped back and massaged is mouth for a second while the cultist drew a second knife. The two squared off for a second. The cultist tensed, ready to spring. Peerha stood ready to defend. Then, the cultist fell to the ground, an arrow in his back.

"What!" Peerha thundered. "That one was mine!"

Peerha had no more time to complain however, because he was suddenly occupied with a rush of cultists. It was a suicidal attack really. There was nothing left of the Black Hand. Barely even a score of men left. But they weren't going to surrender. Peerha fought them off while his allies swarmed around him. It only took a few seconds to destroy the last of the cultists.

Peerha stood and looked around. There were a lot of bodies on the ground. The bulk of it was cultists, but every now and then a legionarre or mercenary dotted the battlefield. Wounded cried out for help, and it was delivered quickly. Peerha wiped clean his sword, and sheathed it. The battle was officially over.

About ten seconds later, everybody else realized that. A large bout of cheering went through the air. Everyone rejoiced. Just not the dead, and the wounded weren't feeling very festive either. Everyone but the dead and the wounded rejoiced. And one other person wasn't celebrating either. And that was Peerha.