פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Chapter Thirteen: Primal Fight

As the hours drew on, Stef Reimos strained to control his impatience. The Horde had arrived with the dawn, dark bodies covering the far shore, until nothing could be seen in the distance but the blackness of the gathering shadowspawn. But they had not attacked yet, seemingly satisfied with waiting for all their numbers to gather, against the trapped Band. Stef had a clear view of the gathering storm, as Hill's replacement, Drogan Trystan, seemed to follow the same philosophy of placing Stef in the line of fire. Stef's squad was positioned at a section of the first fieldworks, lined up behind the jagged wall. The sharp fieldworks designed to keep the Trollocs at bay and Stef safe did not please the disgruntled sergeant at all. Of all the works he had worked behind, this had to be the shoddiest piece of sheep fodder...light, even a soft wind could probably blow the entire thing over. Half of it was scavenged wagon parts hastily sharpened to points; the other was some honed local sapling, which had to be burned to curtail their homicidal tendencies.

"Light, I wished we had some Saferi phalanxes with us right about now, barbarians though they be." Stef grunted wistfully, "Our swords are too short for this kind of work. But as long as I'm wishing, I'd rather have all of the Saferi here, and me in Safer, with a mug of mulled ale and a fire." Glancing forward at the scorching sun, Stef amended, "Or at least chilled wine in the shade of a tree that won't attempt to eat me."

"Yeah? That makes it two of us," Tayren wiped the sweat from his head, "What are the bloody spawns waiting for. They expect us to drop our weapons and surrender?"

Stef spat on the ground, "You see any dreadlords? This can prove rather painful without the Sedai."

"Can't see any. There might be some staying in the back."

"Rations!" A soldier interrupted the conversation, tossing tacks to the stationed men. Stef caught his hardtack with a grimy hand, and attempted, but failed, to break it in half.

"They should use these rations for the fieldworks. Well, so much for last meals. So much the pity." Tayren groused and kicked a strut in front of him. It made an uninspiring creaking noise, but held together.

"Tayren, you break that bloody thing, we're nailing you in as replacement. I spent half the light-forsaken night hammering it in." Stef threatened him with his hardtack, when a shudder ran through the earth.

Stef turned his head to the river, to see the overwhelming sight of the Trolloc lines plowing into the water, driving towards the Band. Stef knew that although the Horde started slowly, like a boulder tumbling down a mountainside, it would soon become an unstoppable force.

Stef flexed his sword hand, and waited for the boulder to hit. Thousands and thousands of shaggy Trollocs poured into the river. Scores began to drop, plummeting into the frothy water. The caltrops placed by the specs were doing their jobs with a vengeance. But though many shadowspawns fell splashing, and a faint red sheen appeared on the water surface, the Horde did not abate. Those who fell were trampled and drowned, but there were dozens for every one that fell. They pushed past the bobbing wagon hulks at the midpoint, and came within bow range.

Arrows took flight over Stef's head, stabbing into the river and the Trollocs like a vengeful rain. The Shadowspawn was enclosed by a ceiling of arrows and a floor of spikes, but continued to plow through the river.

"GET READY!" Stef bellowed, "It's our bloody turn!"

The sergeant stepped forth to the fieldwork braces as the first wave of frothing shadowspawn stepped upon shore, greeted by the wall of spikes. Stef stabbed forth into the chest of a climbing Trolloc, who fell back with a death howl. Stef moved quickly to strike down a second clambering Trolloc, and a third, a forth. Waves and waves of shadowspawn were beaching now, attacking the fieldworks with almost suicidal determination. The front line of the Band strived to keep the Trollocs from ascending the surprisingly resilient fieldwork.

However with waves of Trollocs slamming into the wall, parts of the support began to crumble, and shadowspawn began to break through. Stef thrust up into a Trolloc who had almost managed to scale the works, pushing the corpse back over. However, this gave time for two Shadowspawn to climb over, their torsos scored with red from the spikes, but still healthy enough to put the soldier on the defensive.

Warding off the blows, Stef heard the signal he was waiting for, the beating of swords against shields, echoing down the lines, as more soldiers took it up. Stef gave a cursory tap with his sword while backing away from the fieldworks and shouted, "MOVE BACK!"

Other officers had also taken up the call, and the entire infantry line shifted away from the fieldwork. Only a bright flare and a loud crackling noise signaled the sudden arrival of the fire chewing through the fieldworks. Flammable Naphtha rested in a shallow pit dug beneath the fieldworks and also soaked the wood of the supports. With the front line about to break, the designated soldiers had thrown burning torches into the wall, causing flames to race down the naph-soaked fieldworks.

Swarms of Trollocs had begun scaling the fieldworks without the humans warding them off, when their beady eyes caught sight of the approaching inferno. The shadowspawn attempted to leap back from their perches, but were stopped by the press of their fellow Trollocs behind. The fire tore through the fieldworks, burning hotly from the naph, chewing through wood and flesh alike. Howls of pain infused the air, and a blackened mass fell off the burning wall in front of Stef.

A wall of fire now separated the bulk of the Horde and the Band of Red Hand, buying them valuable time. Stef's squad quickly finished up the remnants of the Trollocs' advance wave, and retreated back towards the second fieldwork. Keeping together, they streamed through the narrow openings and took up a new position at the second work.

"We got over-run too bloody fast." Stef cursed, "We only got four left."

"We're dead otherwise." A soldier growled.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not rolling over for a spawn." Stef snapped. The fire of the first fieldwork began to die down, and Trollocs began to swarm through again, pounding against the next layer of fieldworks.

The Band of Red Hand soon found themselves at the last fieldwork, the black ashes of the first four fieldworks a testament to the day's trials. Though at each wall, they had slain thousands of shadowspawn, the Horde kept throwing itself at the besieged humans.

"We need a bloody miracle to get us out of this mess." Stef muttered to himself as he fought to dislodge a Trolloc from the work, "What the bloody hell is Vader waiting for?"

As Stef ducked below the reach of a climbing Trolloc, he heard a distant bugle. Not from behind him, but faintly in front of him. The horn came again, its clarity pointing to a human origin.

Then a raptor flew over the fraught Band, a bird of magnificence and grace, a red eagle. The sigil of their home lent Stef strength once more, his tired spirit propped up. He heard himself shouting, "Carai an Caldazar!", and attacking forward with a fury that surprised even him.

Stabbing in through the mist that veiled his mind was the distant horn, growing in intensity and volume, its origin growing closer and closer. The men around Stef had taken up the cries, their swords clearing shadowspawn from the wall.

A Trolloc in front of Stef fell headless from the fieldwork, giving the soldier a view of the river and distant coast. Past the waterway, the Horde had begun to mill in chaos, as a host of humans tore into them from the other side. A host of red-cloaked soldiers bearing the standard of the Caldazar and Red Hand.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ