The Outland Legion

by J.Logan

There is a mercenary company roaming the land. An entire legion of sellswords, but they don't ask for coin, typically. No, they ask for knowledge of events, even if only in the form of rumours, they ask for raw materials, and they ask for use of facilities with which to work those materials. In that order of preference. They are armed. They are professional. They are... lizardmen?

21. Siege of Bealivun – The Keg Ignites

Siege of Bealivun – ...The Keg Ignites

---

Eight Months Ago

—

Bonaeaix absently rubbed at his arms as he watched the hunters return from the jungles. They were carrying something between them, a somber look to their eyes. It didn't take Bonaeaix more than a second's glance to know that what they carried between them was the mangled remains of a saurus.

'I warned him,' the skink priest mumbled, swallowing down a thick lump that had formed in his throat.

A hand came down and rested on Bonaeaix's shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze. 'You did, lad.'

Bonaeaix turned his head, just enough that he could make out Attendant Klixx'takka. Klixx shook his head mournfully, eyes fixed upon the scene playing out before them.

'You can't help those who don't wish to be helped. Scar-veteran Zlarr-Ssthur chose to ignore your warning, his death is not on you.'

'He would have listened if I was a saurus,' Bonaeaix said, unable to help the bitter warble to his voice.

Klixx shook his head again, fingers tightening into another reassuring squeeze to the younger skink's shoulder. 'But the Old Ones had you spawn as a skink, one marked by Tzunki. You have a place in their designs.'

'What use am I to the Great Plan if the saurus don't listen to me? I wasn't trying to control Zlarr-Ssthur, but...' Bonaeaix trailed off, unable to properly articulate in words the feeling of failure that was swelling up in his breast.

'Zlarr-Ssthur was blinded by an irrational hatred borne of the geas. He was too young to have been weened of the geas, but his experiences with the Guardian-Mother of Madrigal had him cast off the geas far too soon.'

Bonaeaix shivered at the mention of the event that had earned Zlarr-Ssthur his scar-veterancy. The Guardian-Mother was anything but motherly to those living on the isle, she was a harsh and brutal creature that was typically avoided lest the ones unfortunate enough to have stumbled across her suffered a painful death. Zlarr-Ssthur had gotten lucky with his survival. The first time at least. His arrogance and deliberate ignoration of a warning that he was moving into her nesting grounds meant that he hadn't gotten lucky a second time.

Bonaeaix ignored the dull throbbing of his jaw, the bruise a reminder of just how intent the scar-veteran had been in ignoring anything that a skink might have to say to him, would prefer to stew in his hatred of the smaller breed of the Children of the Gods. Zlarr-Ssthur and those who had been drawn to him had died in the name of that hatred.

A small part of Bonaeaix wondered if he should actually celebrate the scar-veteran's death. At the very least, for the majority of the skinks living in Tiamoxic there would be a weight lifted from their shoulders, a relief that they wouldn't have to tiptoe around a saurus who had an attitude best likened to a carnosaur under a blood-lust.

The damage had been done though. An entire spawning wary around their larger kin because of the actions of one. Despite that, despite the fear he'd had of the saurus, Bonaeaix had still warned him. Had still tried to avoid the needless death that came from an arrogant need to prove oneself superior. In the future, Zlarr-Ssthur would be the cautionary tale told about the reason saurus spawned with the geas in place, and why the geas was only supposed to fade when the saurus reached a level of emotional maturity that could only come about through experience.

Klixx hummed thoughtfully, watched as the hunters disappeared with the remains of Zlarr-Ssthur, took them to where the last rites would be performed. The personal attendant of Annat'corri then looked at Bonaeaix with a thoughtful look.

—

Present Day – Bealivun

—

A ball of iron was lifted by practiced hands and carefully pressed into a narrow muzzle. That ball was then pushed down the length of the bore by a thick rod with a flared end, shaped to best push against the heavy ball until it was nestled against a cloth bag filled with black powder. There was a moment where nothing happened, the rod which had been pushing against the ball was removed from the metal tunnel. And then a flash, a spark deliberately set against the bag against which the ball was pressed.

The contents of that bag were ignited, abruptly detonated with a loud bang and a burst of fire, the force of which sent the iron ball propelling forward, out of the bore, out of the muzzle and into the air in an arching motion, alongside seven other such balls. But the sudden motion wasn't the only thing that had happened with the detonation of the black powder, a small fuse on the ball had lit up, slowly burnt its way down into the ball's innards. Shortly before these eight iron balls could hit the ground, their wicks reached their zenith and a small carefully portioned amount of black powder within the balls repeated the feat performed by the bags which had originally launched these iron balls into the sky.

The balls detonated with small carefully planned detonations, the shards of the now shattered iron balls shot down upon those that were unfortunate enough to be beneath them, but that wasn't the true purpose behind this, for the small explosion had caused the other contents of the iron balls to now spread out and come down atop the warriors of Chaos who'd had the misfortune of being caught in the radius of the spread of this delivery. Salamander bile, carefully harvested and even more carefully stored within the iron shells, was ignited, and came raining down, coating the armoured warriors with the viscous and burning substance, and even if these warriors had water at hand, this was not a flame that could be so easily quenched, water would simply spread the bile, make the molten flames worse. The warriors caught beneath this horrible weapon of choice screamed out as they were burnt, their armour did little to protect them, if anything made their situation worse as the metal was heated and contributed to the burning deaths that they suffered under the artillery barrage.

Under different circumstances, Korild might have had some appreciation for the sheer vicious brutality of this artillery barrage, could have seen the benefits that came of this weapon that didn't just inflict death upon the foe but was also burning away at the bravery and resolve of those who were fortunate enough to not be caught beneath the rain of liquid fire. It was taking everything that the more experienced warriors had to keep those lesser warriors from breaking, but even the most experienced and storied of the warriors was clearly shaken, nerves shot as they not only witnessed their comrades-in-arms flailing as they burnt to death, but the screams of agony.

His eyes lifted back to the hill, to the beasts carrying the artillery weapons that had done such damage in so few barrages. He could just about make out the motions of those mutants riding atop the beasts as they loaded the large guns anew. Twenty seconds later, the line of artillery guns fired a fresh chorus and more liquid fire splashed down upon Korild's warriors.

Korild's jaw ached under the force his teeth being ground together, a pain sparked along his nerves from one of his teeth cracked, unable to withstand the amount of pressure applied to it, but the knight of Chaos found himself uncaring of the pain.

'Knights, we need to cut this blight from the field,' he shouted out, then motioned to first one battalion then another. 'Go, charge down those mutant bastards and make them pay!'

There was a returning shout, but Korild didn't hear the words, he was glaring up at the hill, vision tunnelling and all sound becoming muted to his ears. He felt a fresh spawning of humiliation, that he would be outmanoeuvred so, that somehow these mutants would find a way to flank him and introduce a new wave of their cowardly weapons upon him from an unexpected angle.

They would suffer. He would see them all writhing in agony, begging him for a mercy he would not give. For the humiliation they had brought to him, he would personally make the rest of their existence nothing short of the most horrifying pain he could impress upon them.

#

Zak dropped down from the roof after issuing orders for the handgunners to begin making their way to the inner gate of the village. While their positioning was devastating, the forces Chaos caught in a brutal crossfire from both sides whilst they tried to clamber over the platform blocking the road and fending off spear jabs as they did so, with that one lethal volley, that marked the last of the musket infantry's ammo pool. So, he had them fall back to what was the last defensive point that they had, the line that they could not allow the enemy to pass no matter the cost. There, they could scavenge any remaining ammo from the stores, and those that were able to reload their muskets would be good for one last shot when—not if, when—the saurus and Zak fell back to the inner gate themselves.

As he oriented himself, Zak paused, the echoing vibrations of artillery-fire reaching him. Except there was no way that what he had just heard had come from inside the village. So long as the mortars were still letting off the odd shot to the field outside the settlement, they were a perpetual a reminder to the Ruinous Forces that just because they had taken the walls and finally breached the village, that didn't automatically make the outside a safe haven, not so long as those mortars had ammo. Which was going to run out soon, the Dawi manning the mortars had been relentless in getting those explosive shells delivered to the marauders at a rapid pace.

But that boom, that artillery firing... the sound had been muted, distant.

'Have they finally gotten hellcannons? After they've already finished the hard part?' Zak found himself asking incredulously.

Sergeant Haol huffed out an amused breath. 'Since when were Chaos smart enough to wait for the big guns?'

Zak narrowed his eyes in an amused grin, then stabbed his sword across the street-block, stabbed the blade into the wrist of a warrior as the deplorable human tried to clamber up the wooden structure. The human squealed in pain and fell back, though he didn't fall prone, the push of his fellow warriors managed to keep him upright and forced him forward again, even as he scrabbled at the ground in an effort to find the axe he had dropped when his wrist had been impaled. A spear punctured through the warrior's cuirass, and the frantic motions stilled.

Zak then heard the distant artillery-fire again, and his eyes narrowed as something about the sound ringed at his mind. But any real thought he could give the matter was put on pause, as another Chaos warrior managed to come near enough that Zak was able to reach him with his blade.

Time and place, he mused after the warrior dropped, and stopped thinking about the distant artillery.

#

Boney watched as the latest barrage hit true and huffed in satisfaction. Then his attention shifted, took note of a large number of the Chaos cavalry breaking from the formations and rallying up at a new point, all now facing toward the hill that Boney, and his artillery battery, had claimed.

'They've noticed us,' he spoke out. 'Their cavalry looks to coming for us.'

Coadmit and his cohort adjusted the sights of their muskets toward the horsemen, which had after a pause started to gallop toward the hill. It would be a small length of time before they reached the artillery battery, and they had enough numbers that there was no way that they'd all be killed before reaching their destination, even if Boney had the artillery shift their focus to aid in cutting down the cavalry. But Boney had actually planned ahead before he had committed his forces to this fight. Had seen the armoured horsemen and accounted for the possibility that they'd be sent his way.

Boney looked at the bastiladons and their gunner crews. 'Fire another three more barrages, then pull back.' He then turned to look at Coadmit. 'Sergeant, fire at your discretion, then pull back in time with the bastiladons.'

Boney heard the affirmations, and then took a step forward and stared down the hill at the advancing cavalry. He inhaled, took in the air's saturation of Aethyr. He had time, this was the only chance he would get for this. He inhaled again, this time deeply, took in the Winds of Magic and allowed them to fuel him while his mind stretched and shaped those same Winds. The hand that wasn't holding his sabre came up, rested on the gold neckpiece hidden beneath his shirt, used the small piece of his old priestly regalia to ground him.

So deeply into his concentration was he that he failed to hear the thunderous applause of eight carronades firing. Despite the lack of hearing, the vibrations in his body from the event was enough to let him know that they had fired, delivered more of their payload down to the armies of Chaos below. He inhaled again, took in more Winds to fuel his effort, sculpted them with a sense of caution lest he miscast. This was not a spell he wanted to miscast, even compared to the normal sense of self-preservation that told that miscasting was a bad thing to happen.

The horses reached the bottom of the hill, now they just needed to climb. Boney pointed his blade at the approaching horsemen, and he exhaled. In doing so, he released his hold on the Winds and allowed the new shape to come into being at his direction.

There was a flash of white light as the sky, in spite of the absence of any clouds, cracked and split as a massive bolt of lightning crashed down into the midst of the cavalry formation. Those caught directly beneath the strike of lightning were killed immediately, left naught but ashes to make their existence, while those just outside of the immediate blast were thrown aside with force enough to break bones. They weren't thrown far, there were too many others around them to allow distance, at the expense of those that were hit by the flung aside horses and their riders getting knocked down, their own bones cracked. Of those not caught in the blast or the after-effects of the same, the horses panicked, loud neighs heard even by those atop the hill. It took precious time for the riders to regain control of their mounts. Time which was spent vulnerable to Coadmit and his cohort firing off their rippling volleys of gunfire.

Boney spent a few moments panting, drinking in air that wasn't infused with Aethyr, just feeding his lungs. After maybe ten seconds, he straightened his posture, silently promised himself that he would find time to practice the use of summoning a lightning bolt, both to hasten its use in future, as well as to prevent the momentary fatigue that came from shaping the Winds for such a large spell.

Certainly, without mastering that particular use of the Winds, he'd never feel comfortable with the possibility of one day bringing down a comet, which others marked with the Winds of Azyr could boast.

#

Zak mentally stumbled for a moment, eyes lifting unconsciously to the sky as, of all things, a lightning bolt slammed down from the gradually brightening sky, light enough now that it was very clear that there was no cloud in the air from which a lightning strike could have originated.

'Who the what?' he asked dumbly, batting aside an axe aimed for his neck. 'Who's the mage and who are they working for?'

Haol grunted, barely lifting his shield up in time to prevent his own forcible shortening of his height. The axe bit into the edge of his shield, and then got stuck. The saurus snarled and yanked his arm back, probably only meant to force the weapon from the grip of the one who was trying to use it, but the warrior in question was the stubborn sort who refused to loosen his grip, to unfortunate effect when he found himself pulled forward toward Haol, who slammed his head forward, bone crest hard enough that the helmet worn by the Chaos warrior buckled and dented inward. The warrior slumped, unconscious or dead from head related trauma, Zak neither knew nor cared.

'We're starting to get overrun here,' he hissed, attention lifting to the rooftops of the buildings either side of the street. Notably, there were no longer any skinks lining the edges of the roofs, no gunlines using a devastating crossfire to exposed flanks. 'The musketeers have run out of ammo.'

Haol plunged his spear into another warrior with a hissed curse. 'We can't hold this position.'

'I know,' Zak admitted before raising his voice. 'Fall back, to the gate.'

In order to better allow them the time to retreat without being stabbed in the backs, Zak quickly shaped the Winds and directed them to the barrier that was causing such an inconvenience to the warriors of Chaos. Where it was a hurdle that was forcing the fell warriors to climb over it, the spell Zak cast turned the barrier into a source of bright light that burnt away at the eyes of any corrupted by Chaos. It would last only for ten seconds, but that was extra time that could be used by Zak and his troops to fall and reposition.

#

Korild swore angrily as the lightning bolt slammed down into the ranks of the knights that he had tasked with cutting away the cowardice of his foes.

'More cowardice,' he snarled, feeling another crack as another of his teeth succumbed to the pressure of his grinding. He swallowed down some of the blood that resulted from the abused gums and spat the remainder to the ground. 'What are they doing? Simply charge up the hill and KILL THEM! STOP WASTING TIME AND JUST KILL THOSE MUTANT BASTARDS!'

He didn't care that his screaming wouldn't be heard by the intended recipients, he was angry, nay, furious that he was being made a mockery of. He craned his head back, glared toward the camp that he had begun this assault from. He didn't know whether the Everwrath was still there, or if he had chosen to lead one of the other fronts. But the camp made a good substitute for glaring at the exalted champion himself. Safer too, though that wasn't a thought that was really at the forefront of his mind at that point. His vision was red with rage.

Another chorus of gunfire from the oversized guns atop the hill, and more of Korild's troops were incinerated by the vile substance that these mutants were hiding behind.

'Damn them. Damn the Everwrath. Damn this paltry Empire. Damn them all.'

Korild breathed in, tried to simmer his rage from burning hot flames of hatred, tried to temper it back into a cold simmering fury. Fortune finally gave him something to smile over, he took note that the knights that he had sent to purge the artillery atop that hill were nearing the peak, in-spite of the gunline that tried to scare off the oncoming cavalry.

A wide sneering grin stretched his lips as he watched, saw the way that the mutants tried to withdraw. It was too late for them, if they had really wanted to survive, they should have run while they had the chance, instead of thinking that they could feasibly alter the course of the battle by simply having a single line of guns in a flanking position. It was an irritant at best, one soon to be cut down.

#

Another barrage of artillery shells was fired off. In the fields below more of the Chaos army were lit aflame. One of the skinks atop the bastiladons called out for Boney's attention, and when the major turned to face the gunner, the green scaled skink motioned to the stockpile of iron shells.

'We've nearly used up our salamander shots.'

Boney gave a single nod of understanding. 'Switch to solid shots for the moment, but if you think you see a moment where a salamander shot would be better served, by all means.'

There was an answering chuckle, though words weren't given as the crews loaded a fresh round of shots into the artillery, though these iron balls weren't marked with a stripe of crimson paint, were simply rough iron balls. Twenty-five seconds later, the artillery guns gave another bark. That marked the final barrage before they were to fall back, as per his instruction.

He was tempted to tell the artillery guns to let off another, final barrage before their pulling back, but a glance at the now reorganised and charging cavalry coming toward them vetoed that idea. He stepped back and hopped up, grabbed the edge of the platform atop the nearest bastiladon's shell and allowed the thundersaur to carry him as it backed up at the urgings of the crew atop that same platform. Coadmit and his cohort also slowly backed away, kept a careful screening line in front of the bastiladons, and they slowly started to climb down the opposite side of the hill from which the cavalry was approaching.

#

Kaelar sneered at the strange reptiles, noting quickly that now that their futile attempt to prevent the knights of Malice from ascending the hill had failed, they were trying to flee rather than stand and fight as warriors. Honestly, what more could one expect from the weaklings of the south? Mutant or not, they were all cut from the same cloth, and inevitably, all would be crushed beneath the heels of the Warhost of Malice.

Ahead of him, those knights who had taken position at the head of the formation reached the apex of the hill, screaming out a warcry as they crested that peak...

Kaelar jumped in shock as the rapturous cacophony of gunfire echoed loudly and that entire first line of knights was cut down by the brutal volley of brutal. So, they still had some fight in them, even as they withdrew. It wouldn't help them, but maybe it would make what came next a little more satisfying. Experience had shown that it would take time for the guns to be reloaded, time in which the mutants were now vulnerable, so they were now destined for death at the hands of the knights of Malice.

The sudden need to avoid the bodies of the dead horses and their riders meant that Kaelar wasn't able to think much more beyond that. His attentions needed to be focused on directing his mount into not tripping over the new obstacles littering the ground. He managed, looked up with a battle cry and slammed his heels against his mount in order to encourage it to charge full speed.

Then, at that moment he crested the hill and could see down the opposite side, he realised that he was looking at a far larger force than he had anticipated. What had been seen atop the hill previously was not the entire force, but instead a single portion of a far larger whole. That realisation distracted him from noticing the large wooden stakes impaled into the ground, sharpened ends angled so that they were pointed in the direction from which Kaelar and the other knights were now charging at full speed, down a hill.

He only noticed after his horse suddenly stopped all forward momentum, pitifully whinnying in pain from the sharpened wooden stake now stabbed into its gut. Kaelar widened his eyes in realisation, turned to shout, to warn any of his fellow knights that might not have yet crested the hill to stay back, that they'd just fallen for a trap. He wasn't able to utter a sound before he was pulled from his now dead horse by one of the larger of the reptilian mutants, thrown forcibly to the ground and then the narrow point of a blade was stabbed through the gap between his helmet and his cuirass.

#

Boney couldn't help the grin to his eyes and soft chuckle as the cavalry charged forward directly into the wooden stakes that he had tasked most of his command with planting the instant he had spotted cavalry among the forces of Chaos. They had fallen for his ploy, come at him thinking that they would easily crush what troops he had. More fool them.

A small quarter of his mind wondered if the Chaos warrior in command down below even realised that Boney was a reinforcing force, not some small group from the defenders to try and shift tides with a flanking gunline. That would have probably been Boney's first assumption, had he been the one in the position of attacker, now that he thought about it. But more than that, it was the small size of the force sent to cut down the artillery that gave him the idea that that was what was happening, that and the lack of any attempt to scout around the hill for a better idea of what else might be hidden behind the heavy guns.

Well, he wasn't about to start complaining about the mistakes of the enemy. If anything, he should celebrate such mistakes.

After the last of the mounted warriors was finished off, either through an inability to stop their mount in time, or the muskets that were quick to cut down those that showed themselves to be skilled enough, or perceptive enough, to avoid having their horses run headlong into sharpened stakes, Boney sounded out the order for everybody to advance back to the top of the hill. There was probably a joke to be had about the repetition of going up and down and up again in such rapid succession, but now wasn't the time to ponder on matters of humour.

Everybody slowly advanced. The saurus led, slid between the wooden stakes, pushed free the impaled carcasses if they blocked the path. Behind them were the skinks, then the bastiladons. Those wooden stakes that were still upright were now pushed flat to the ground as the thundersaurs chose not to worry about being careful about keeping them rooted. They'd served their purpose anyway, so Boney didn't object.

#

'My lord!'

Korild grunted in irritation, eyes affixed to the settlement as they advanced. It took another two attempts by the other knight for him to finally tear his eyes away from the prize.

'What?' he snapped.

The knight didn't answer with words, but instead pointed at the hill over which the group of knights that he had sent had disappeared. Korild let out another irritated breath of air and turned, expecting to see his knights re-emerging, triumphant. Instead, he was witness to the mutants... far more of the mutants than he had seen up there previously. And it wasn't just the smaller ones that were used as gunners, but also the larger warrior ones, which he was absolutely certain had not been atop the hill previously. And where before he had seen only a small handful of the gunner mutants, that number had multiplied.

'Did they manage to have their entire garrison sneak out to outmanoeuvre us?' he asked, his rage momentary quenched by shocked realisation and a nugget of fear which weighed down his thoughts with all the surety of a lead weight.

As he watched, the large force marched with what was a clearly pre-determined formation, the warriors at the fore in thick close ordered formations, while the gunners were in longer stretched out lines with enough distance between each of those lines that. Even to Korild, who knew little of the tactical mechanics of guns, it was clear to see that the lines had distanced themselves in such a way that each formation behind the previous was elevated enough to see and be able to shoot over the heads of the ranks in front of them. Any attempt to advance on them now would be invitation to a rain of lead such that it was surely suicide to even attempt to advance upon their position now.

During the time the mutants had been hidden, more of Korild's warriors had entered into the settlement, were unavailable and unaware of this flanking force. And with two of the three battalions of knights that he'd had to his command now dead from whatever their earlier ploy had entailed, it wasn't even like he had a real option for flanking around them.

'I don't think they were part of the garrison,' another knight uttered, voice faint. 'I think those are reinforcements.

'Reinforcements?' Korild absently repeated the word. 'How many of these wretched creatures are there within this land?'

The knight, a fellow Kurgan of the steppes, gave an uncertain gesture, then flinched as the top of that hill now held once again the large lumbering beasts that carried the artillery guns. And there was no hesitation on the parts of the mutants to start firing anew.

Korild felt his anger beginning to re-emerge, but held back those feelings of fury, needed the clear head. Needed to think about his next course of action. Couldn't advance on the creatures while they had the hill, it was a death-zone, and would only serve to kill what warriors he had outside of the settlement. Couldn't wait for them to come down from the hill, not while they had the artillery, because then he was just going to have his men blasted from a distance while all that he could do was watch impotently. His efforts to keep his fury and hatred in check t didn't fully work, but he did manage to retain enough of his mental coherency to motion to the rest of his knights.

'Move, get into the town quickly. They won't fire those artillery upon us if we are inside the town walls, they'd do too much collateral damage otherwise.' So said, his heels slammed into the sides of his daemonic mount, stirred it into galloping for the open gate, uncaring about any who weren't able to move aside in time to avoid being trampled over by his passage, or those of his fellow knights as they formed up and followed close behind him.

The foot warriors, seeing their lord's hasty retreat from the threat at their flank, broke from their formations in their own hurried rushes to reach the apparent safety of the settlement. The only ones that didn't were the few daemons that hadn't yet breached the village. Those large monstrous abominations, with no thought of self-preservation, turned toward the new threat and charged.

Once Korild reached the battered gate, he paused and cast an eye back at the formation of mutants on their hill, took stock of the number of not just the gunners, but also the larger warriors, and swore. One hand shot out, caught the bicep of one of his knights. The knight managed to still his horse before he was pulled from the saddle and craned his head around to glare at Korild for the act.

'Stay here and command these men, hold this gate. They can not be allowed to enter into this town and meet up with the defenders.'

The Chaos knight shook his head and yanked his arm free of Korild's grasp. 'Are you mad? We haven't the means to protect ourselves from those cannons!'

'I don't care. If those mutants manage to enter the streets, we'll be crushed between them and the defenders. We need to keep them apart!'

'And what of you?' the knight asked scornfully.

'I'll be leading the effort to crush the defenders.'

'Who are already tired and being chased further into the village!' the knight retorted angrily. 'My lord, you are better served commanding this fight.'

Korild's hand swung around and connected with the insolent knight's helmet, resulting in an uncomfortable clang of metal meeting metal. 'Do not question me. I am in charge, not you, and not the Everwrath!'

He paused, momentarily distracted by the sound of those cannons firing off another barrage. A quick glance back revealed that while there was no liquid fire spread upon his warriors this time, the solid iron balls had still carved a dark and bloody line through the warriors of Chaos.

'Spread out, you fools! Stop grouping together!' he screamed, his voice hoarse. He turned and renewed his leer upon the knight. 'Hold this position, let not a single one of those mutants enter this village. Fail me, and death will only be a kindness compared to what I will inflect upon you. Am I making myself understood?'

The knight glowered back, but ultimately buckled before Korild's will and with a not-so subtle muttering, directed his horse to face out of the battered gate and he began to call out rallying cries in an effort to get the warriors to renew their formations and reorganise to properly defend against this new threat.

Korild left him to it, cried out to his remaining knights and then slammed his heels into his mount, led the charge deeper into the settlement.

#

Zak reached the inner gate, that final barrier that would move to the innermost part of this village, where those that weren't able to fight had been sequestered away to hopefully survive to see another day. This was it. This was the point where the line had been carved into the street and could not and would not be redrawn.

Regrettably, there was no barrier that the warriors had to clamber over this time, the only defensive advantage that the saurus had was that they couldn't be flanked easily.

He raised his voice and called out, a verbal reminder as much an order. 'They do not get past this point. No more falling back, no more relocating.'

On the nearby rooftops, those musketeers who had fallen back from their lack of ammo had started distributing the ammo cartridges that remained within the reserve stores, which had been left nearby for such an eventuality. Win or lose, this marked the point where Zak's forces—and indeed the entirety of Bealivun—would be out of ammo, no gunpowder, even if they still had actual bullets. Once the musketeers had refilled with what they could, they would once again take a position at the roofs lining the street, creating a lethal zone of constant crossfire. It would last either until they ran out of those ammo reserves that they'd just taken, or until enemy forces took to the rooftops as well.

Hopefully the inconvenience that came from the makeshift bridges across each roof being removed as the skinks had crossed in their retreat meant that the forces of Chaos had considered traversal across those same roofs to be more hassle than it was worth. Hopefully.

Regrettably, there was no barrier that the warriors had to clamber over at the street level this time, the only defensive advantage that the saurus had was that they couldn't be flanked easily. The only way that this position could get flanked was if the rooftops were lost, or from behind, and if that happened, then this battle was lost regardless.

But that didn't mean that Zak hadn't planned out at least two surprises for the Chaos slaves to contend with. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment.

Zak shook his head, grip on his blade tightening as he retook his position amidst the saurus warriors forming a tightly woven phalanx, the final obstacle before the warriors could get to that gate.

'Here they come!' one of the skinks on the roof called out, already shouldering his musket.

That was quicker than I expected. Zak shook his head, cast out the thought and refocused his attention.

With a grunt, Zak pulled in the Winds, frowned internally as he realised that the Winds of Magic didn't feel as saturated as they had last that he'd felt at them. It was a reminder that there was another sorcerer nearby, that they had tapped into the Winds, and if they were a foe then they could drain Zak of the fuel to cast the lights of Hysh. That could be a problem, but not one to focus on this very instant. He shaped the Winds with a practiced expertise and released them.

A white light filled the street, but this wasn't the harsh light that would burn at the Chaos corrupted. As useful as it would be to momentarily dazzle the warriors. In this instance, he looked for something to bolster and assist rather than debilitate.

As the soothing light rested upon those under his command, their efforts doubled, both rejuvenated by the light, and bolstered as their perception of time shifted, and their bodies matched that perception. Time for them was slowed and yet they were able to move as swiftly as they could have otherwise. Or maybe it was that time was instead hastened for those outside of the light of Hysh's comfort, left unable to move with the same speed they now witnessed the world passing by.

The spell woven, its light cast, Zak inhaled, shook aside the moment of pressure that wanted to weigh him down. The spell laid down was not a simple cast and forget, it wasn't like the dazzling beacons he had crafted before where the spells effects would remain for a period of time before fading. This was a spell that required his focus to remain, would linger until he ceased concentrating on keeping it maintained. A lesser adept in the mastery of the Winds of Hysh might not be capable of maintaining such a focus whilst still being in forefront of combat, but Zak had trained and prepared himself mind, body and soul. So long as he didn't overdo it, create too many constructs which requires such concentration, then he was capable of fighting, whilst still bolstering his command. With the enemy approaching—an enemy with daemons backing them—it was the least he could do, and he wasn't done yet.

From around the corner down the street, the white armoured figures of the Chaos warriors, marching with deadly intent. The moment they locked eyes with those saurus at the front of the phalanx and Zak, there was a stutter in their advance, and then they charged.

'Brace!' Zak screamed out.

At his command, the spears were lowered, and the saurus all braced for the coming impact. The warriors of Chaos, blinded by bloodlust or arrogance or even just anger at how difficult their assault was proving to be, they didn't falter in their charge, even though it meant that the initial clash resulted in more casualties than was needed. Practised movements from the saurus whose spears had punctured through the armour of the warriors had the bladed tips of their polearms yanked free and then jabbed at more warriors that formed this white tide of malicious fury.

Zak watched as one warrior managed to lean aside a spear jab that would have surely been a fatal blow otherwise and rapidly step toward the owner of that same spear. So focused was that warrior on the saurus, that he failed to notice Zak, up until Zak managed to drive his sword into the warrior's knee, crippled him and left him falling forward, axe dropped in favour of bracing himself for the inevitable collision with the ground. He didn't live long enough to experience that impact, for Zak quickly angled his blade so that it was the warrior's fall that drove the blade through his armour and into his heart. Then Zak pivoted his body around in such a way as to throw the corpse back the way it had come. Another warrior stumbled at the body of one of his comrades falling gracelessly upon him, which allowed a saurus spear an easy target.

It was not a long period before the street was crowded with the warriors of Malice, all vying to get to the saurus phalanx.

'Fire,' a voice called out.

At the command from the ranking musketeer, those skinks lining the street at their elevated positions reminded the warriors of Chaos about the threat that they had likely dismissed as a non-issue after their previous clash. The crossfire from both sides of the tightly packed warriors was immediately apparent, a lethal volley from two sides that carved out a chunk of the attackers. The warriors of Chaos hadn't been prepared for the threat. Shields hadn't been raised to ward off any attack, and attention had been so fixed upon their destination they hadn't even thought to raise eyes.

It was a mistake that cost the Chaos thralls, but for all that their choices in life which had led to their servitude to the Ruinous Forces were poor, they weren't stupid. The moment the warriors realised the new threat, shields were hefted and raised up to offer protection against more another hailstorm of lead.

'Carronades,' Zak bellowed, his voice cutting through the music of battle. He didn't add any more words to his call, this was pre-planned.

Beneath the skinks, three of the wooden shutters that blocked the windows at the ground level suddenly splintered and exploded outward. Behind where those shutters had been, the smoking barrels of three carronades were revealed. They'd been taken from the backs of the bastiladons on Zak's command, and instead placed for the perfect surprise for the attackers should they indeed manage to get so far in as they had. But what the carronades had just fired out of the windows upon the unsuspecting flanks of the warriors of Chaos had not been a solid iron shot, nor had it been a salamander shot—Zak wasn't fool enough to use those within a settlement that he wanted to keep standing and unburnt—but instead had been grapeshot, a bundle of smaller shots that on firing had expanded outward.

Zak had been told it was a likeness to how a blunderbuss worked. The smaller lead balls, on exiting the carronade, spread out and punched and tore through armour. It might not have been an uninterrupted line punched through the massive block of warriors, but in the crowded quarters, it had been just as, if not more effective. And also had the benefit of not destroying the buildings opposite.

But, aside from the benefit that would come of the three of four uses of the carronades, was the temptation that they presented. Artillery guns that appeared within easy reach? A tempting target for anybody, let alone a warrior of Chaos, one who had likely gotten progressively more infuriated by the death toll such weapons had inflicted upon their numbers ever the month. It would not be a surprise to anybody that a number of the warriors would break off from their push toward the phalanx, lured by the siren call of the carronades and the idea of silencing those guns forever.

Alas, it turned out that there were indeed fools readily willing to answer to this challenge, as a small trickle of warriors broke from their formation to try entering into the buildings which had previously been dismissed as empty. Only they failed to realise that they were marching through a bottleneck and without support from their fellows, and that the three carronades and their gunnery crews were not the only ones within those three buildings. The roars of kroxigors marked the moment they learnt their mistake, and they were doubtless crushed before they corrected that same mistake.

It was a small relief to the saurus phalanx, but it wasn't an indefinite answer to the assault, even kroxigors could and would tire. But it was still another area where the attackers now had to divert attention, gunlines above them, a phalanx to their front, and now artillery guns that were guarded by kroxigors that, for all the thralls of Chaos knew, if not distracted by the suicidal attempts to enter into the buildings within which they were positioned could, and easily would, take swipes at the passing formations. Even when attempting to keep the large crocodilians distracted, that didn't mean that they weren't safe from them, as was proven when a battered corpse was thrown back out the door and bowled down a number of warriors.

In truth, the kroxigors could have fully exited the buildings and become islands of death amongst the sea of Chaos, but for as good as kroxigors were in such a skirmish, they were still few to the Chaos warriors' many. Without a true way to fall back should they start flagging, Zak had been strict in his order for them to use the buildings as a chokepoint, to only strike at those who were provoked into trying to silence the guns. The best strength they would offer wasn't to be the hurdle that Chaos had to bypass or overcome, but to be the hazard that would unsettle nerves, make the warriors slow as they questioned whether they were about to be victim to the abrupt and violent lunge of a predator in action, or dare they risk entering into the lair of those same predators without any way to be backed up by their fellow warriors.

It worked, the thick column of armoured warriors slowed their advance, as the more intelligent among their numbers tried to push their way toward the middle of the mass of warriors, to put distance between them and the buildings lining the street, shields unable to decide whether to be angled upward to ward off the muskets above, or faced with the threat at ground level in a futile hope that they could be saved should the carronades fire again.

'Come on,' Zak spoke up, projecting his voice. 'We hold here, we keep them back.'

Whether he was taunting the warriors with promises that he and his warriors would not fall, or simply keeping the morale of his warriors bolstered with reminders that they were not moving from their spot, even Zak didn't quite know. But it did do the work of both. The warriors of Chaos shuffled forward in answer, eager to prove him wrong, momentarily distracted from the threat of the kroxigors to their sides. Meanwhile, his saurus roared in eager anticipation to prove him right.

More warriors were felled to Zak, his blade expertly slipping into the vulnerable spaces in the joints, or even brute forced through the armour plating itself if it was more convenient. At his sides, A handful of the saurus were starting to drop their spears in favour of their sabres, the forces arrayed against them now too close for the frontmost saurus to use them effectively, while behind them the next rank of saurus were still able to thrust their spears between those in front of them. The saurus quickly proved to the Chaos thralls that they weren't any weaker for the weapon switch, blades danced in masterful flurries, carved down those warriors that had gotten too close.

Any saurus that did fall was quickly replaced by the one behind. Unfortunately, saurus were dropping. It wasn't a rapid rate, but they were tired, and each new line of Chaos thralls was as refreshed as the previous while the saurus had to contend with increasing fatigue the longer the fight went on. It was only a small comfort that for every saurus that fell, a far more significant number of Chaos warriors were killed as a price.

Another volley of gunfire. More warriors cut down by the gunfire. How many shots were left, Zak had lost count, knew he'd missed a handful of volleys, but the ammo scarcity was sure to make itself felt soon. Louder explosions of sound marked the bigger guns firing their storm of lead.

A screech, unnatural and grating to the ear canals. Behind the warriors, a large form appeared. It didn't take Zak long to place it, even if he hadn't yet the displeasure of seeing these things in a fight. A greater daemon of Malice. It was a large, beastly figure coated in chitin, running on cloven hooves, with a bestial horned head that was ghoulish and akin to a skull despite still having flesh coating it. But it was the tail that truly stood out. This daemon had a tail. That detail alone wasn't enough to stand out, after all, each of the Children of the Gods could make the same claim. What did stand out was the humanoid head at the end of that tail, almost feminine in appearance, fair of colour, gifted with a hawkish nose and full lips and coated with a mop of black hair. Any potentially conventional beauty that this head might have had to it was undermined by the hateful glare this tail-head bore. And just beneath this strange head, jutting out as though where shoulders would have been on a normal body, a pair of long, barbed, scorpion-like stingers in a mocking parody of arms.

His blade was lifted in preparation as another Chaos warrior neared. His teeth were barred in a vicious snarl, muscles tensed and coiled ready to spring into movement.

#

'Daemons,' Boney called out in warning, as the large creatures that hurt his eyes to look upon lumbered toward Boney's command.

Even having seen the sketches on that scroll that had been gifted by Middenheim, seeing them in person was different. It didn't matter that they were still at a distance, Boney could see them clearly, could make out those details, and felt a revulsion he'd never before experienced. Not even his first face-to-face encounter with the skaven had managed to bring such disgust to his gut, such a detestation and desire to eradicate the source of such a well of disquiet.

Behind the daemons the majority of the human warriors had double-timed it in a rush to enter into the town or village or whatever this settlement was. He supposed there was some small measure of sense in the desperate act, Boney wouldn't be able to fire his artillery at them once they were within between the buildings, shielded by the knowledge that any artillery barrage he might order would be just as likely to damage the settlement as it was to harm the enemy. But—he mused in the privacy of his mind—they're also trapping themselves within. The best that they can hope for is that now they are the ones under siege, unable to leave without being blasted.

But it turned out that not all of those warriors were fleeing—couldn't call it falling back, and calling falling forward felt wrong even if it was an accurate description. In fact, as they reached the smashed wooden gate that allowed entry into the settlement, the majority of them turned and reformed into their formations. Meanwhile, at least two of the boxed formations of Chaos warriors had never started fleeing, had instead turned and were advancing behind the apparent safety of the daemons. They must surely be aware that their efforts were tantamount to suicide, but there they were. Boney wondered if they had been given orders to the effect of slowing Boney's command down. Or were these the rare breed of Chaos warriors that were willingly sacrificing themselves for their brothers-in-arms?

He tilted his head for a moment, eyes taking to the other side of the Empire settlement. Even from the top of this hill, he hadn't gotten a truly good look at the events on that side, but the scouts he had sent, who had reported the battle before Boney and the rest of his command had arrived, they had reported that the attackers were engaged in a multi-front attack. Boney hoped, sincerely, that the defenders on those other two fronts were holding up better than this front had.

'All guns, focus fire on the daemons,' he ordered loudly. 'Saurus, wait for my word.'

There was a moment of silence, broken by the ambience of the musketeers adjusting their handguns, lining sights.

'Fire!' One of the sergeants called out.

It wasn't the muskets that obeyed the command, it was the carronades. One of those daemons very swiftly discovered that eight artillery guns firing nine-pound iron balls into it was more than it could endure. Whatever foul energies that were used to keep the daemon manifested within the mortal realm were destabilised. Its physical form disappeared in a burst of eldritch energies, though whether it had survived that barrage and simply lacked the strength to maintain its presence, or if it had been outright killed, Boney couldn't say. He would like to think that the daemon was killed, that nothing could have survived that barrage slamming upon them. The pessimistic side of his mind mused that a greater daemon might well have survived and even still had the strength to maintains its presence in the mortal realm.

The defeat of one of the daemons didn't deter the other five. They continued storming towards the Children of the Gods, snarled out sounds of rage vibrating the air and rattling teeth. Pity that they move so fast, Boney mourned, there's no way that the artillery can destroy them all before they reach the saurus lines.

However, he was quick to realise that because the daemons were moving at such speeds, the human warriors were flagging behind, unable to keep up and in their efforts to do so were tiring themselves.

'Fire!' This time the order was shouted by Coadmit, and the ones to answer were the skink musketeers.

Two of the daemons stumbled, peppered by the gunfire. They were slowed, though not through a sudden concern for their survival. They had mere been the ones to bear the brunt of the volleyed gunfire, chunks of their chitinous forms shorn from their bodies, in one case a leg completely missing, but still they tried to charge forward.

'Fire!'

The second ranks of the musket formations fired, and those two daemons failed to endure the repeat performance. Their bodies fell and swiftly dissolved, while one of the other three stumbled.

Boney craned his head to look at the carronades. 'Each of you load a salamander shot and aim for the humans coming up behind the daemons.'

He vaguely heard the acknowledgement before it was drowned out by a third volley from the muskets. Returning his attention to the charging daemons, Boney took note that the third volley had unfortunately failed to completely remove any of them, though all bore signs of injury from the gunfire.

'Hold fire,' he called out. There was a moment of silence, he watched the daemons, took careful note of their distance from the saurus at the base of the hill. 'Saurus, charge! Artillery, fire!'

The carronades blasted off their loaded shots. The twin charging columns of Chaos warriors were very abruptly engulfed in liquid flame, and no amount of dedication to their patron god was shield against the viscous burning substance coating them. The warriors screamed out a wretched sound that Boney had to force himself to ignore, to remind himself that these weren't just humans he had put to the flame, that these were Chaos corrupted wretches, that they were just as deserving of this death as any skaven would be.

A pocket of his mind made a point of promising that only against those two would he ever willingly order these salamander shots against. And ideally not when they were close enough for him to hear, because deserving or not, that sound they made was a wretched and piercing melody that churned his guts uncomfortably. But his purpose for the use of the incendiary carronade shot proved its value, those warriors that weren't caught beneath the liquid fire stumbled back, their nerves shot worse than Boney could claim, for they weren't hearing anonymous wretches of their enemy, they were hearing the damned screams of their comrades, of warriors that they knew and had fought alongside. It was the final straw for them, their morale shattered, and those that had survived turned and fled.

Boney watched them flee, noted that they weren't fleeing toward their fellows who had formed up at the settlement's entry, but were running away, where they would likely disappear into the lands of the Empire. That was, in this instance, the ideal outcome. They weren't likely to rally, their numbers devastated, their resolve burnt away. The worst that those warriors could do going forward was to become a minor nuisance that the Empire would cut down in the following days. Or they'd meet another band of marauders, but then they'd be with a group that was already going to be an issue, and these terrified wretches weren't going to tip any scales regarding the balance of power.

While the carronades had fired their lethal barrage, the saurus had jumped forward at Boney's command, and the charging daemons were abruptly swallowed up by a counter-charge that was made up of snarling Children of the Gods. The large reptilians having not been battered by gunfire, not spent the past minutes charging at speed, and being fuelled by a hatred of all things Chaos, meant that it was a swift and brutal victory for the saurus, destroying the daemons so utterly that there was no question as to whether the daemons had survived before their bodies were dematerialised and pulled back to the realms of Chaos.

Boney let out a huff of satisfaction. His eyes trailed to the open gates to the Empire settlement, and then those same eyes narrowed. 'Form up. Coadmit, organise a cohort or two to remain with the bastiladons, and everybody else will be following the Chaos forces into the village.'

'Understood, major,' Coadmit answered, then turned and gestured to another skink sergeant. 'Sergeant Winst,'—his finger then trailed to one of the saurus sergeants—'Sergeant Loril, both of you and your cohorts are to remain here with the artillery, make sure this hill remains our hill.'

Both addressed sergeants didn't seem to have any issue with Coadmit barking orders on Boney's behalf, despite Coadmit being the same rank as them. On hearing what was expected of them, both started to organise their cohorts and detached themselves from the rest of Boney's command. Boney himself gave the bastalidons a mournful look, already missing the idea of having their impressive weapons at his beck and call, but he wasn't so blinded by his rapidly growing fondness for the artillery guns that he would bring them into the settlement.

He regretted leaving the stegadons and the kroxigors with the refugees, it occurred to him at that moment that the stegadon would have been particularly useful as a living battering ram in the tight confines of a village's streets. Especially if bolstered by muskets riding on the platform they carried.

He let in a breath—felt the Winds of Magic and took note that somebody else was making use of them to fuel their fight—and turned to the warmblood settlement, calling out the orders to advance.

#

Zak ducked under an axe that to his eye was trailing the air sluggishly, jammed his blade into the gut of the owner of that same axe. Movement at the edge of his perception. Didn't pull his blade free, used his spare hand to grab the shoulder of the temporary sheath to his sword, pulled and pushed in equal measure. The axe of another warrior connected with the back of the warrior still gaping in shock at the sword to his stomach. The force of the blow threw the warrior turned shield aside and all it took was a slight adjustment to the grip of his sword for the skink to let that movement do the work of pulling the blade free. Lunged forward, cut into the leg of that latest warrior, then slammed his shoulder into the same.

The warrior fell to the ground, movement still slowed, as though everybody but Zak and those under his command were fighting while submerged in water. Took note of another warrior, this one hefting a halberd, but far enough away that Zak could not reach without moving closer, which would expose him to strikes from the sides. Held out his off-hand, pulled in the winds of magic, shaped it into a snare and released. The warrior might have let out a gasp of shock as he was grabbed by a snare made from light, but such a gasp was lost to the slowed perception of time, and then the warrior was plucked from the ground and yanked forward through the air toward Zak, who held out his blade and let the momentum of the spell's pull do the work for him. Released his mental grip on the snare and allowed the corpse to fall to the ground, ground which was rapidly becoming unsteady as there was little of the actual ground visible beneath the bodies of the dead.

Had to recover his balance as one poorly placed footfall almost had him trip on the leg of a Chaos warrior's carcass. Steadied himself, looked up, noted that the greater daemon was nearly upon them. Inhaled, shaped another spell, held back on releasing this one, waited for the right moment. Parried a blow from a great axe, slammed his knee up into the owner of that same axe, then slammed his helmeted head upon that of the warrior as they keeled over, ignored the ringing sound of helmet meeting helmet, knew that because of the difference of speed between them, he was the one to come out the victor of that clash, smaller stature be damned.

A gauntleted hand managed to grab Zak's off-hand, pulled in an effort to upset his balance. They likely didn't anticipate Zak throwing himself in the direction he had been pulled. His shoulder took out the leg of the one who had gotten so brazen, upset their balance in his stead, and while Zak was rolling back to his feet, a saurus jabbed a spear into the Chaos warrior.

A choir of explosive sound and smoke from above. The greater daemon flinched at the volley, stumbled slightly but rightened itself without much effort, baleful eyes glaring at the skinks that had dared to fire at it so. Zak heard a sound following that volley, a whistle that bode an ill omen, a wordless signal that the skinks were now truly out of ammo, that even the stores were drained.

The daemon took another step forward, and Zak chose that moment to release the Winds that he had held back. Regrettably, Zak's control over the field of time's warping meant that he wasn't able to put the full effect of the latest spell he had shaped into its release, not without sacrificing the timewarp. But even weakened, the effects were still felt instantly.

Within the middle of the street, a burning white light erupted from the ground. The warriors of Chaos that chanced a look at this radiant light flinched, momentarily blinded until they managed to avert their gaze. But for the greater daemon, the effect was more profane, it flinched and stumbled as though physically struck by the touch of Hysh's light, and every step forward it made from that point was a struggle as it was pushing against a barrier that repelled the daemons of Chaos. Flecks of its form were shaved away, slowly carved away by the light's caress.

There was a surge of renewed energy from the saurus fighting in the street, one that was less about the exhaustion of constant combat being faded and more about renewed determination as the biggest concern they'd felt was visibly struggling against the Aethyr being rent and weaponised against it.

Behind the daemon, there emerged a charging mass of mounted warriors, their howling war cries heard even in their slowed tempo. Zak backpedalled, though still made a point of maintaining his focus upon both spells now in effect and requiring his mental supervision. A quick test of the Winds, there was enough saturation for one last single spell, one that would not require concentration. A cast and forget. He could manage that.

Maybe the other mage on the field could use what would remain, but this was Zak's limit, after this, he knew he was not going to be able to concentrate on fighting and maintaining both the timewarp and the light of daemonsbane.

As he stepped back, made certain that he was well and truly a part of the line of saurus once again, he focused his eyes upon the cavalry, took note of the knight at the head of the charging formation. His armour was more or less identical to all others, but he rode atop not a horse but a daemonic mount of some variety—to Zak, it looked more like a deformed pillbug than anything, but it certainly appeared to be keeping pace with the mundane horses it was charging alongside. More than that, the cloak worn was elaborate and familiar, and but Zak couldn't quite place why. Must have been a survivor from one of the previous attempts to assault the settlement.

Couldn't be anyone important, Zak made a point of remembering those who had actually posed a threat, such as that warrior who had led the night assault that first night of this siege.

#

Korild slammed his heels upon the sides of his mount, screaming angrily. He was being made a fool of, he had an insubordinate subordinate that had somehow been gifted favour from the Everwrath, and now because of the incompetence of the other bands roaming the Empire's lands, he had somehow been flanked by a reinforcing army.

No, no no no! He would not let this stand. Now that he was within this pitiful settlement of weaklings, now they had no barriers to grant them some facsimile of strength, now they were forced to fight on their own terms, no hiding behind their guns, no hiding behind walls. They would fight the real way battles were meant to be fought. Their weakness would now become apparent and Korild would spit on their corpses, and he would show them that he was truly strong, and they existed only to be trodden upon by the likes of he.

'Charge!' he cried out, leading the charge, as all true warrior-leaders should. He was a knight of Chaos, he was a born leader, and he would lead them to this battle, he would lead them to their rightful victory.

It wasn't difficult to find where to go, the sounds of violence were at their strongest toward the middle of his village, and he could just make out the greater daemon of Malice—the Doomlord—over the tops of the buildings, marching with angry sounds toward those who were continuing their futile struggles. There would have been a point where Korild would have offered begrudging respect that the weaklings of the south would continue to fight to the last in such a way even against such inevitable death, but then they'd dragged out this siege for weeks and Korild was no longer willing to be so gracious as to offer them any modicum of respect. Not now.

The sudden flare of light around the next corner confused Korild for a moment, but he shrugged it off, assumed it some new flavour of cowardice at play. The light of the sun was rising, it was no longer the dark of night, so why would they need to create light unless there was some cowardly stratagem at play?

He led the charge around the corner, and found his prey, the large mass of these reptilian mutants, backs to a sealed gate. There was a bright flare of light that hurt Korild's eyes, but he simply averted his gaze, and huffed at the ineffectual nature of the apparent trap. Maybe it could have worked if it had been projected after his arrival, but he'd known of a light bright enough to be seen from streets away, he was forewarned.

He didn't notice the Doomlord struggling against the light, never even considered that the light was not a weapon for use against him or the mortal warriors, but instead was harnessed explicitly against the daemonic servants of Malice. He also failed to notice his mount's waning strength as it hit that light, the way it was forced to push through a physical barrier.

Korild locked eyes with the shorter figure in the front ranks of the mutants, the one with the armour that looked straight from the ancient Remas Empire, and he grinned. That one, that one was his. Korild would crush this mutant that believed itself worthy to wear the armour of the ancient empire. Its cowardice had already proven that it wasn't deserving to wear the armour of a true empire of antiquity.

He spurred his daemonic mount onward, urged it faster and led his knights forward for the glorious moment he would crush his foes. The mount tried, but its speed lagged to the point that the mundane horses behind it had caught up and were just starting to overtake it.

'Foward, to their ruination! Forward, to their defeat. We are the real warriors of the lands, we are-'

His war cry was interrupted with a startled gargling sound as the small reptile gestured toward him and a construct made of light shot forward, ensnared itself about Korild's neck, and then yanked him forward, through the air and toward the mutant. As he flew, Korild tried to move his arms, to shift his halberd to run through that little bastard. Unfortunately for him, whatever this snare of light was, it had his limbs frozen in place as he soared the air. His movement ended abruptly, the broadsword of the mutant thrust up through the underside of Korild's jaw and eyes locked onto that of Korild with a dismissive disinterest. The snare of light faded, and Korild's lifeless body fell to the ground.

#

'Spears up, brace yourselves!' Zak called out once the corpse fell to his feet. 'Here they come.'

The absence of the cavalry unit's sergeant had momentarily thrown them, and the daemonic mount that was now riderless let out a guttural sound as it faded and was forced back to the realms of Chaos. Whoever was next in the hierarchy took a moment to realise that his superior was now gone, time that the charge faltered, before he gazed the mass of spears pointed at the cavalry and proved that some Chaos warriors were smarter than they ought to be.

'Halt!' the Chaos knight called out, pulling back on the reins of his horse.

Regrettably for the Chaos cavalry, fortunately for Zak, not all were able to react to the order in time and at least a dozen of the horses were run through by the spears of the saurus. Of that number, some had tried to stop but found themselves pushed forward regardless by the foot warriors still pushing forward. The riders fell to the ground alongside dead mounts, easy targets for saurus spears to finish them off.

Zak panted, tired, but unwilling to stop. The greater daemon was still a threat, still pushing against the daemonsbane. No ammo for the handgunners, had since started to come down from the rooftops and into the buildings proper and were now resorting to jabbing bayonets out of windows.

Distantly, he hoped that the other fronts were doing better than he was. Hadn't heard from them for too long.

Behind them, the gate creaked and started to open. Zak turned a wide-eyed glance back, hoped, deeply sincerely hoped that this wasn't the end, that the other fronts hadn't fallen and now he was about to be cut down from behind. The gate continued to creak, opened wide, and revealed a pair of bastiladons, two of the few he hadn't had the carronades taken from. The gunner crews were already finishing up the loading of the carronades as the gate rumbled open. Zak let out a sigh of relief, silently thankful.

On seeing the greater daemon, which was still struggling against the light but slowly managing to advance regardless, the head gunner visibly steeled himself. 'Fire at the daemon.'

The three heavy guns barked, spat out the iron balls which had been placed within. The daemon stumbled, one arm shorn off from the elbow and leaking a viscous black-purple liquid. Aside from the missing arm, one of its horns had also vanished, and it sported a large chunk of missing flesh on his abdomen. The daemon screamed, swung its remaining hand, uncaring that it was sweeping aside warriors on the same side as it, grabbed one unfortunate warrior and hurled him at the bastiladons. One of the thundersaurs hissed as the warrior slammed into its shell with enough force that there was a noticeable crack, and it took a wary step back in response.

Zak snarled, angry on behalf of the gunner crew who had just had their bastiladon harmed. A test of the Winds told him that he had spent up most of the saturation, he could maintain his two active spells, but he wasn't able to fuel the casting of another. Although, that did not mean he didn't have one last surprise prepared. His grip tightened on his blade, he had to resist the urge to charge forward, to fight the daemon. If the daemon wasn't going to let itself die from the light of Hysh, clearly it needed to be nudged in the right direction.

The best offense was to maintain the defensive advantage, let the enemy crush themselves against his unbreakable wall. But, at this point, the wall didn't need to be stationary.

'Advance.'

Grips on spears were adjusted, and the saurus all took a step forward, braced, thrust at the nearest warriors. Zak breathed in a breath, then moved forward. His blade hamstrung a warrior, but he didn't finish off that warrior, that was left to the spears-saurus behind him. Ducked aside an axe swing, swung his blade up, didn't manage to pierce armour but upset the owner of the axe's balance and left him vulnerable to a finishing stab from the spears. Step forward, bat aside an attempt to grab him by the throat, grabbed the offending hand and pulled, had the owner stumble into a spear-thrust.

The daemon roared as the carronades were fired anew. They didn't have many shots left, unfortunately. Had ordered that most of the black powder be donated to the Dawi cannons and mortars, more potent and useful for the siege. Had left enough for three shots, two spent.

Still the daemon did not disperse, continued to claw at existence within the mortal realm. Its tail lashed out, the head at its end screeching a harpy shrill. The twin pincers caught one of the sabre wielding saurus—one of those who, like Zak, were disruptive to the enemy formation, created openings where needed for spears to punch through—and the barbs punctured through scale and muscle. The saurus gagged, frothed at the mouth, and flesh shrivelled and aged and atrophied away in the span of seconds, before the decrepit corpse fell to the ground, released from the grip of the barbs. For a brief moment, the daemon rightened its posture as though strengthened, before the light of Hysh flared out as if in response and the daemon faltered again.

'Damn,' Zak hissed angrily, noting that detail for later dissection and analysis.

The carronades roared, gave their final bites. The daemon faltered and fell, one knee now splintered. Zak took the opportunity offered, and he charged forward. As he moved, weaved between warriors and their futile efforts to cut him down and prevent him from reaching his target, he grasped at the thread that connected him to the light of daemonsbane, tugged at it and reshaped it. The white light faded and disappeared. There was a moment where the warriors visibly cheered, believed that their victory was now in grasping distance. It pleased Zak to prove them wrong as he reshaped that light and channelled it through his blade and poured it outward, which turned his broadsword into a beacon of light, a radiant weapon that held within it now the power of Hysh. The daemon recoiled in its efforts to pick itself up, its eyes met Zak's. Major Zakarius, onetime priest of Madrigal and a proud student of Major Moretexl, then leapt and drove the radiant weapon through the monstrous face of the daemon of Malice.

The moment the blade pierced what passed for flesh with the daemon, he grabbed that radiant light and he poured everything he had into it, did what was very strongly advised against, and he overcast. The radiant energies flared out and even to Zak's eyes, the light was blinding. When it faded, the daemon was no more, just wisps of eldritch energies that were pulled away by the morning breeze.

Weapon no longer blazing with the light of Hysh, Zak heaved in a deep breath, adjusted his blade and calmly accepted that he had exposed himself to the vengeful wrath of the warriors, morale damaged from the loss of their daemon or no. He didn't care. Without any more ammo from the carronades, and the daemon resisting the light of daemonsbane, he had needed to act before it had a chance to recover, to kill more of his troops.

His eyes narrowed in grim resolve while he angled his blade in preparation to intercept the first warrior that would swing at him. He wouldn't just let them kill him, despite the fatigue that came from deliberately overcasting a spell.

'People of the Empire, this is your home.' A familiar voice spoke loudly, clearly. 'Show these bastards that you won't be removed. Show these Chaos thralls that you are fuelled by faith and steel.'

Zak turned his head and witnessed Captain Yuata, standing alongside a formation of human and dwarf pikemen. The saurus met his eye and gave a tired grin while absently straightening his tricorn, then focused his gaze upon the suddenly faltering Chaos thralls.

Zak couldn't help the chuckle, felt his stamina renew itself just from the pleasant nature of this surprise.

The surprise wasn't yet over. From the other end of the street, behind the Chaos warriors, a new group appeared from around the corner, a group made up entirely of saurus that Zak didn't recognise as being from his command. And leading these saurus was the newest major of the Legion. Zak met the eyes of Major Boney, couldn't help but feel some shock and surprise and above all else relief at the sight of the younger skink, and the saurus alongside him.

Boney narrowed his own eyes in a grin that the experienced major was able to identify as one of relief and determination. 'Saurus,' Boney then called out. 'Advance.'

As Boney called out the order, Zak hurriedly backed away and repositioned himself amongst his troops. 'Saurus, men and Dawi of Bealivun,' Zak spoke up, projected his tone. 'Advance.'

At the orders, both blocks advanced with the Chaos force—what remained of it—trapped between the two. Some tried to use the buildings to escape getting crushed between them, but they were quickly reminded that the kroxigors under Zak's command had taken residence within, and were now backed up by Zak's skinks, there was no reprieve to be had. All they could do was pick one direction and fight.

Unlike Zak's troops, Boney's, while clearly bloodied with combat, weren't suffering from exhaustion, and they were carrying their sabres rather than spears and pikes. Even with the renewed enthusiasm borne of seeing the end within sight, Zak's troops advanced slowly, pushing tired bodies forward, meanwhile, Boney's were able to advance at a double-pace, and quickly smashed into the Chaos warriors with a fury that pushed them back, towards the slower but no less lethal spear wall. Panicked yells started to emerge from the Chaos thralls as it truly dawned upon them that their position was not one that they could emerge victorious from.

#

Boney slumped into one of the chairs within the room he had been directed by the tired dwarf who had identified himself as the mayor. His muscles ached, even though compared to the saurus he'd been commanding, he hadn't been nearly so active. A glance outside the nearby window reminded him that he really had nothing to complain about, nearly every single Child of the Gods that was formally under Major Zak's command had collapsed at the nearest available space and was in as deep a sleep as Boney had ever seen any. When he had offered his own troops to take over the sentry duties, he hadn't anticipated just how badly that they had needed the respite.

Even the warmbloods that lived within this settlement, what few he had seen, they were all saggy eyed and looked ready to keel over. Meanwhile, the refugees from the other settlements were integrating themselves, helping to clean up the bodies and tend to any injuries.

The door opened, allowed a saurus entry into the room. The saurus removed the tricorn he was wearing and cast tired eyes at Boney, took a moment to examine him, then narrowed those same eyes in a happy smile.

'Major, good to meet you. Captain Yuata.' The saurus held out his arm in greeting.

Boney managed to abort the unconscious desire to flinch back as the saurus raised his arm, and even managed to return the smile with one of his own and clasped the larger reptile's forearm.

'Yuata. How's Zak?'

The saurus sighed, eyes rolled upward in a put upon but still good-natured huff. 'He exhausted himself with his magic use alone, never mind his going overboard in the midst of combat. He'll be out for the rest of the day, so for the time being I have command.' He paused, then let out a huff. 'Well, command of Zak's regiments. I'm not going to usurp your command.'

Boney let out a chuckle. 'Well, that's reassuring.'

Yuata heaved a deep breath and slumped against the nearby wall. After a moment, he shook his head and looked at Boney again. 'Where's the colonel? I was under the impression that he was the one in charge.'

Boney shrugged and leaned back in the chair, head tilted so that he was gazing at the ceiling. 'He took a couple of regiments and split off, went to continue trying to defend other settlements while I escorted the survivors of the places Chaos sacked here while also reinforcing you.'

'You knew we needed help?'

Boney gave a single shallow nod. 'The last town I was at, just before Solin split off from us, the survivors told us that warriors were being sent this way. Solin mentioned that the description of the one directing them matched one of the exalted champions that attacked the Feyerabend Keep.'

The words invigorated the saurus, he straightened his posture and stared at Boney, eyes widened. 'Wait, what description? What did he look like?'

'Skull for a helmet, Solin said it was a dragon-ogre skull.'

The scar veteran tilted his head in thought, then shook his head. 'I didn't see anyone like that. I can ask around and check the bodies, but what I heard about those that attacked the keep? We'd have far more dead on our side if he was personally fighting here.'

'I wouldn't actually know,' Boney admitted. 'When they were fighting Mort and Solin, I was inside the keep proper, stumbling across a secret passage into desecrated catacombs with Kro-Loq.'

The name of the deceased scar-veteran had Yuata's shoulders slump, a look of grief passing his eyes before then getting shuttered behind steel barrier. 'Right.' The word came out in a hollow tone that betrayed that he was holding back his feelings.

'Did you know Kro-Loq well?' Boney asked.

There was a beat of silence. 'He was my spawn-brother. I'm now the last of my spawning.' Another pause then a sigh.

'I'm sorry.'

Yuata shook his head, hand moving in a wordless gesture of dismissal, then spoke again, very deliberately changed the subject. 'Once we're rested, we'll try sending out scouts to see if we can track him down. Taking out an exalted champion would be a big blow to the warhost.'

Boney grunted in affirmation, allowed the change in subject. 'If he's anywhere near.'

Yuata shrugged, and then his shoulders slumped again. 'Mind you, on our end we're no longer quite so... ready, for continued fighting. We've used up everything we had, and while we're perfectly willing to get into a melee fight...'

'It feels wrong to deliberately get into a fight without every tool available,' Boney finished with an understanding hiss. 'I'd offer some of my own supplies, but that would leave us both working with less than ideal reserves.'

The door opened, and the Dawi that had introduced himself as Mayor Strongwall entered, looking exhausted enough that it was a wonder that he was able to stand upright.

'Ey, lad,' the dwarf rumbled, visibly fighting back a yawn, then looked at Yuata. 'Captain.'

'Mayor.' Yuata nodded back.

The mayor absently straightened one of the chairs and slumped into it, propped his head against one of his palms and stared at Boney.

'I owe you thanks,' he said. 'If you hadn't arrived when you did, my home would be a mass grave, and there would be none to add these Chaos wazzocks to the book.'

Boney shook his head. 'If you hadn't been firing those cannons during the night, I wouldn't have arrived in time.' He admitted it easily, let out a huff. 'We'd set camp, hadn't realised how close we were, then were woken up by cannon-fire. I made the decision to send most of us to see if we could help.'

'According to one of my mortar crews, you rained fire and death on the wazzocks.'

Yuata tilted his head, and Boney murmured 'Salamander shells' in explanation to an understanding hum. He then turned to look again at the mayor. 'How are the refugees?'

The dwarf let out a slight smile, barely visible behind his beard. 'We have enough space for them, and they're working to earn their keep even without my having said anything. They'll be fine, food might be tight for a while, even with the siege over. We went through our stores and need to resupply. Need to get more black powder, or baring that, the means to make more. Which actually means, much as I hate to ask more of you both after what you've done, I need to hire your services for an escort to Middenheim so we can buy what we need.'

Yuata spoke up before Boney could. 'On Zak's behalf, I'll accept. I assume you know what the fee would be?'

'Aye.' The Imperial dwarf nodded. 'You need black powder just as much as we do, maybe even more so. Which was why even if you couldn't spare the time, I'll still be paying you for your efforts in keeping my home standing with as much black powder as I can afford.'

Yuata let out a breath of relief, and Boney didn't envy the concern that the scar-veteran had been harbouring about how to re-supply. Meanwhile, the dwarf hummed after he had finished speaking, and for a moment it looked as if he'd finally succumbed to sleep, before he snorted and shot Boney another look.

'That's Zak and his troops paid for. Now how do I repay you for your role in our victory here?'

'A place to rest for a few days before we leave again to catch up with the rest of my regiments.' Boney didn't hesitate to answer, then added as an addendum, recalling his earlier lessons on how the Legion worked 'And maybe any news or rumours you'd been hearing before all... this... happened.'

The dwarf laughed with enough force to jolt himself further awake. 'Heh, that's a good one.' He narrowed his eyes and gave a considering look upon the skink. 'I'll work something out.'

Yuata shrugged at Boney's wide-eyed look and then mouthed out the word 'Dwarf' as if it explained everything. Considering what Boney had been taught about the Dawi, that probably did. There was a twenty second span of silence as the dwarf stared at Boney, before then snapping his fingers.

'I know. Right now, they're dead-weight, so you'll get better use out of them.'

Boney blinked, confused. 'What?'

'And it's not like they're a terrible price on our end, easy enough to replace. And after what happened, I was thinking...' the mayor trailed off, mumbling a one-sided conversation.

'What is he talking about?' Boney asked Yuata, hoping the saurus had an answer. He got a shrug in answer, which was rather unhelpful.

'Cannons,' the mayor then blurted loudly. 'Y'see, my brother was rather offended by your carronades. So, after you have shed blood helping my people, I think it is the least I can do to pay you with some of the cannons we made.'

Boney's jaw shut with a click, and he leaned closer, interested. 'How do they compare with the carronades I already have?'

The dwarf barked a single 'Hah!' at the question. 'Your carronades fire, what, eight-pound piddly little things, right?'

'Nine,' Yuata corrected.

'Nine-pound piddly little things.' The mayor corrected himself without a second of hesitation. 'What my brother made during the siege... what I'm offering you are fifteen -pounders.' He then paused and looked apologetic. 'I know, they aren't the thirty-six pounder great cannons the umgi at Nuln are famous for. But these were made during an emergency... actually, maybe I should have my brother build you some proper cannons, not those rush-jobs that barely deserve to be called cannons. I'm not even a metal smith and I can tell a rush-job when I see one.'

Boney held up a finger, which had the mayor pause in his pitch. He then looked to Yuata, but the saurus leaned back, hands raised in silent communication that this was entirely on Boney to negotiate. Boney breathed in, considered his next words. He recalled what he had been told days prior.

'I would need to discuss it with the crews who handle the bastiladons. We chose the carronades specifically out of weight concerns with larger cannons.'

The mayor let out a breath, wind knocked from his sails, but his eyes held a hint of understanding. 'That's a fair point. It would be a waste for me to pay you in something you cannot use.'

Boney managed a smile, nothing false about it, pure delight and wishful thinking. 'Trust me, master dwarf, if I can, I would be delighted to be fielding bigger cannons.'

Any further continuation to the conversation was interrupted when the door to the room opened, and a skink stepped through the opening, one not wearing a uniform of the Legion. The russet scaled skink cast a tired smile to the room at large, then tipped his brimmed hat at Boney and Yuata.

'I was told I would find the major in command here. Hola, fellow legionaries.'

#

Valnar the Everwrath stared down at the Empire village, head tilted in bemused amazement. What exactly he was amazed it, he wasn't wholly certain he even knew himself. Was it amazement at the displayed levels of ineptitude that had been showcased by the warriors of Malice this day? Or amazement at the dogged determination of the lizardmen to protect this realm of weaklings against those same warriors of Malice.

Even with Korild's stupidity, the numbers alone should have drowned out any defence that could have been mustered, was going to. Even with the reinforcements, they'd still been outnumbered.

What was infuriating was the idea that if he had committed himself into that fight, he wasn't certain he would have survived. But in the same vein, his presence might have secured victory.

A victory that wouldn't have been worth it. The entire reason for the roving warbands had been to distract, to keep the Empire from prying into Skaros's affairs, whatever they were. This one settlement had just cost the warhost hundreds of warriors. Not a terrible loss, but the reason for the loss was what... irked... A lowly settlement that wasn't even labelled on any map that the Everwrath had laid eyes upon. Had this been the likes of Middenheim, or Nuln, such a casualty toll would have been acceptable.

Sucking in a breath, the Everwrath turned. His mind turned over the details he had memorised, the whereabouts of every remaining marauding warband. After an internal debate, he pivoted around and began to march.

Let these lizardmen and Imperials have their victory. It meant little for them in the grand scheme of things. Even if Skaros's ambitions didn't measure out—the favoured of Malice still had yet to explain just why he had the warhost digging through the ruins of that keep—the Empire would still fall, it would collapse under its own weight, its petty bickering between the weak men that were supposed to lead them a tumour that would crush these provinces.

Skaros told him to buy time. As such, he would buy Lord Skaros all the time he needed. Not even the news of the Grand Duke of Middenland returning to his capital would change that. If the Everwrath needed to carve a bloody line through the armies of Middenland should they finally begin to muster out, then he would do just that.

Admittedly, even Valnar was questioning the absence of the Middenland army up to this point. Mercenaries, free company militias, and knightly chapters. The Outland Legion. But no sign of the actual army? Valnar the Everwrath was never going to claim himself some strategic savant, but he wasn't ignorant of strategy. The absence of the Middneland armies, there was no strategic value in their absence.

Still, best to leave that sort of thing to Skaros to contemplate. He probably had some idea of what was going on. Contemplations of the Empire of Man and their quirks was not what the Everwrath was used for.