Thar Shaddin

Polished steel flashed a dangerous boundary in the air. Sunlight catching on the blades flared in the eyes as the sounds of battle filled the air. Screams of pain, roars of anger. Of fury.

Of hate.

Hate is a powerful thing. It makes wars, it makes grown men into animals. It makes widows.

What it was making at the moment could best be described as organised chaos. Steel smashed against wood, against leather. Against flesh it scored horrific gashed in bodies, causing blood to spurt forth and warriors keel over in the grim embrace of death.

Xenetian blood covered the landscape as the two species fought. The Xenetians fought for truth, for courage. For the safety of the world and the people they held dear.

For honour.

The fallen Xenetians fought to destroy. To eliminate honour and justice from the world.

For evil.

We can see then why battle was being fought.

For his part, Xyon couldn't remember ever seeing so many fallens in one place at one time. His grandfather had once told him of the fallens, perhaps to warn him, or maybe just to scare him.

He'd said one in every hundred would fall.

Something must have changed that.

So many fallen Xenetians now existed that they outnumbered the Xenetian army almost ten to one. Merely the tactics used by the Xenetian army so far had rendered this mostly moot, however.

They were fighting in a natural corridor, in the mountains between the cities of Danter, the fallen Xenetian city, and Calhoun, the Xenetian capitol. The pass they were in was the only route through for many miles. Up around what used to be the French coast, before the Changer's war, there was another pass.

Another battle was being fought there, as well.

This one was more pressing. A mere ten miles from Calhoun, the city had been under threat all month. Trebuchet fire had weakened the defences that had been erected over the many years of cold war between the cities, and made retreat for the Xenetians difficult.

Not that they would really consider it anyway. In the face of such reckless evil, they felt honour-bound to rid Pal Tahrenor of it.

As did the Danteri, as the fallens called themselves, after their city, feel with regard the Xenetians.

Alongside brothers, fathers and sons stood shoulder to shoulder in a phalanx formation, a shield wall which blocked the pass and halted the Danteri advance onto Calhoun. Spears flashed in unison as they battled to keep ground.

Undoubtedly, the Xenetians were better fighters. Undoubtedly, they fought for a more worthy cause.

They were also undoubtedly losing.

Pushed back so far as to almost be fighting from outside the mile-long pass, the front lines were tiring almost to breaking point under the constant assault from sheer waves of Danteri. The enemy's numerical advantage was proving difficult to overcome as the fatigued members on each side fell.

On the Xenetian front stood Xyon of Calhoun, leader of the armies of Calhoun. With Keldos, his brother and most trusted commander on his left, and his life-long friend in Derren on his right, the three formed an anchor to the front line as they held the shield wall up from the middle. A block of sheer power in a line of weary men, they rallied their troops in the best way possible.

Slaughtering the enemy. They had slain millions, and the Danteri had slain only a few hundred. But for every Danteri that fell, another took his plae, fresh and ready to fight.

And still they kept coming, swarming all over the Xenetian shield wall like a plague. Xenetian steel plunged again, and again, into Danteri flesh as the line struck in perfect unision. The Xenetian war machine was unmatched in all of the world.

Even a war machine can tire. And this was no exception. Their only hope was that Calhoun could be evacuated in time.

The city held 800,000 - 850,000 people, mostly women and children. What men lived there, and what women were willing, had been drawn up to fight on the lines. The remaining population, still many hundred - thousands, was on the move. Where they were going was uncertain. What they were running from had been more pressing when the plans were drawn up.

A huge corridor of people fled the city as the battle raged in the mountains to buy them time. The strategists who had planned the defence had known that they wouldn't be able to hold the Danteri off for long.

It was borrowed time. And it was about to be repaid.

To the left of the Xenetian front line, a warrior who had been fighting for three days straight collapsed of exhaustion. His shield and spear fell to the wayside beside his body, as it crumpled to the ground, unable to cope any longer.

A new recruit dived forward to close the gap in the phalanx.

Too late.

Danteri steel flashed through the breach and cleaved the rookie in two before he'd had time to raise his shield. For a moment, he remained standing, a horrified, surprised look on his face. Then, inexorably, the two halves of his corpse slid apart and fell to the ground beside his predecessor with a sickening splat.

Danteri soldiers stepped on his warm, bleeding corpse as they launched a frenzied assault on the under-prepared Xenetian support lines.

The phalanx was broken. Xyon and Keldos stared in utter disbelief for a brief moment, then the shouts began to ring out.

"BREAK FORMATION! BREAK!!"

Thus they did, carving their way through the Danteri soldiers who had gotten behind them with their bladed weapons, whilst willing volunteers covered them with shields from the attackers still in front.

Retreat had not been an option. Now it was their only choice. As the Xenetians backed out of the pass, their final resort was flung into place.

Days of Danteri trebuchet fire had damaged the walls of the pass considerably. As the Xenetian's trebuchets let loose their 200 kg payloads, they were not aimed at the Danteri. Rather, they were aimed at the walls of the pass.

It went exactly as the geologist had predicted. As well as 200 kg of stone payload which had been flung at them, the Danteri were bombarded with over ten tons of rock in a spectacular avalanche. Further landslides followed, which, when the subsidence was complete, blocked the pass with a wall of about five meters in height, as wide as the six meter corridor and maybe three meters thick. It was made of the granite that the mountain had been made of, somewhere in excess of 250 tons of rock in all.

The pass was sealed, for now. As the dust-smoke cleared, the weary Xenetians cleared up the wounded Danteri with swords, and made their way away from the wall.

It probably wouldn't take the Danteri long to get past a wall like this. Thankfully, it bought everyone a little more time, at the very least.

The army regrouped. Xyon and Keldos shouted some orders around, general things like head counts and “Get some sleep!”

The Xenetians slept. Xyon did not. Nor did Keldos, as they planned out the next day's defence. About them, they could hear Danteri scrabbling at the rubble between them. Every so often, the Xenetian trebuchets flung further masonry and mortar onto the Danteri, sending them scrambling away from the walls.

Thus it went for hours. Xyon and Keldos rounded up some willing insomniacs and set about building a few makeshift barricades, with the remnants of the old, destroyed ones, and some fresh materials coming in on the supply convoys. They scavenged the Danteri corpses for useful kit, but found only notched swords and useless armour.

Wooden framework sprang up on the Xenetian side of the wall, bolstering the loose stones and providing something more than just their sheer weight to hold them in place.

A calm night fell. The men slept under starlight as a few kept working to ensure their position. Traps were created, spikes attached to tension-based devices were set around the exit to the pass in such a manner as to create a pincer-like action. The trebuchets flung even more rubble at the Danteri over the wall, adding to the mayhem beyond.

Swords were sharpened over a whetstone wheel and spears were re-hafted if necessary with wood from nearby trees, which also fuelled the fires of the camp to keep the troops toasty warm in the cold night air.

Unnatural calm filled the air as they worked. The Danteri had set up a camp beyond the pass, just outside the range of the enormous, three-quarter mile capable Xenetian trebuchets. They too, were sleeping out the night.

Medicinal herbs were mixed up and passed to the needy, and the few healers in the group travelled between the more seriously injured, golden light flowing from their hands as the precious life energy transferred between them.

Once they were done, the healers retreated to the support camp, two miles back up the road to Calhoun.

The city herself lay empty, now fully evacuated. The populace had made a large travelling camp six miles out, and stragglers continued to arrive throughout the night. The civilians spent a fearful night, homeless, with only a skeleton guard to protect 800,000 people.

It had been decided to take them to the south coast, to the old fort there.

The Fort of Asimor, built during the final years of the changers war, had endured countless years of battering. With a few minor repairs, she could be made into a valuable strategic asset in their defence of Xenetian population. Solid, two meter thick stone walls, with a foot-wide gap in the center, filled with magically resistant material, would protect the people well. So, too, would the archers that travelled with them, as 800,000 people had chipped in and made on average fifteen arrows each.

The fort, however, was a two-week slog away, and the thinkers who had thought it best to go there had computated that if the armies in the north could hold out for seven days, then the civilians would be able to get to the fort and set up defences.

This message was sent to both armies, at the west and east pass. Xyon grimaced when he read it. Keldos practically exploded at it.

They both knew it wasn't possible.

Still they had to try.

Morning broke, a harsh rain cascading around them, dinking off the armour and dripping off assorted helmets as it pummelled the Xenetian front lines. The rain had started suddenly, and with no warning, which was a spectacularly bad omen for the Xenetians. Along the assembled line of men, in shield wall formations, blocking once again the road to Calhoun, the faces of Xenetian soldiers were hard-set in determination, facing off against two enemies; The Danteri and the gods.

Gods... the thought made Xyon's hearts quiver. What manner of god would allow such a thing as a Danteri to walk the face of the planet? What kind of deity would punish so harshly those who defended the free world from them? These questions and billions more floated around his mind unanswered, as he stood, in the center of the line, a half-step ahead of the phalanx.

His sword was drawn, his armour ready. He wore no shield, not being part of the phalanx, due to the fact that his preferred weapon was a greatsword. He wore no helm, thanks to a passionate dislike of the damn things, and his untamed black hair soaked up the rain, draping over his forehead and face to the extent that he'd had to tie it back so he could see. He wore the same armour as his men, silvery metal beat into shape over Xenetian fires in the same way countless others had been. It bore no special marks, no engravings, nothing save the insignia and name of his official company, the 45th Infantry.

His men had tried to foist a suit of tailor-made, highly expensive gold-trimmed armour on him a few years back. It had been gorgeous, beautifully-made, and fantastically polished to the point Xyon could see the pupils of his eyes in it, which was a rare occasion. He had declined it, suggesting instead that one of his other men wear it. His men had protested.

"Look," he had said, "I have this." And he had tapped his cuirass, causing a resounding dink to fill the room. "It does for me." He had gesticulated a little, motioning forward his favourite sergeant, Sergeant Ferentar of Calhoun, to come forth.

The man was the company's favourite sergeant as well, a fair and reasonable man who followed the army's regulations well. His command was sought-after, and Xyon made it a point that every division of his army got a chance to fight for Ferentar's company. He stood maybe an inch shorter than Xyon, and was built a little less substantially, but they would have been well-matched on the field of combat.

"Sergeant." Xyon had said, as Ferentar had approached, totally none-the-wiser. "Take this armour as a token of my gratitude for your service to me, to my men, and to the army of Calhoun." A ragged cheer had broken out then, as even though the men didn't really know what was going on, it was obviously something good. Ferentar had nodded, wide-eyed, and then shook his head violently from side to side.
"Can't wear it sir. Not an officer see?" He had said, shaking visibly.

A colonel at the time, Xyon had smiled, even broader so as one of his two captains had advanced on him, demanding to know what the hell he was thinking. Such was the energy and outrage in the older man's voice, Xyon had taken a half-step back, placed the armour very gently on the table, and turned back to his captain.

"Captain Ovilat. I might remind you of your rank." He had said, then leaned forward and added a whole lot more nastily, in a lower voice, "And of mine."

Captain Ovilat had stopped mid-rant, colour rising in his face, flustered, bothered, angry and annoyed all at once, and had carried on protesting, albeit in a more reasonable tone. "Sir. My apologies. But my point still stands, non-commissioned officers are not allowed to wear customised armour!"

Xyon had smiled even more broadly, and taken a whole step forward, so that he and Ovilat were almost nose-to-nose. Then he had spoken, very softly, and yet somehow, very finally.
"This, sir, is my army. I shall do as I see fit."

Taking a few steps away, he had turned to the entire gang of men in his quarters, and frowned, before addressing the whole group.
"In light of Captain Ovilat's spectacular reminder of the rules of the military which I have been serving for five years more than he," He had begun, to another chorus of jeers and cheers. Ovilat was disliked, not because he was cruel, but because he was unreasonable. Xyon disliked him too, not only for this, also for personal reasons, and for his outburst a few moments ago. He carried on.

"In light of this, a few things will need to change in this army. Number one." Here he turned to Ovilat, who by this point was the colour of a beetroot and trembling silently seven paces in front of the assembled men.

"Captain Ovilat. You are a credit to the army, and to the word 'soldier'." He paused again, as this was an unpopular comment. Holding up a hand for silence, which was obeyed instantly, he continued. "Further to that, however, you are a disgrace to the name 'officer', and a thoroughly unpleasant Xenetian being." Raucous laughter met this comment, but Xyon stifled it immediately. By this point he was long past crowd pleasing.

"Because of this, I hereby remove your rank as Captain, your officer status, and your commission. Your sword and badge, please sir." Silence. Nobody dared speak at this. Strictly speaking, a Colonel could do that, although none had ever bothered to try. And yet Xyon, who had been a colonel all of six days, was doing something unprecedented. He was tampering with the army. And this was probably a good thing, the men reflected, as Ovilat turned in his non-blooded officer's sword and the badge of commission.

Private Ovilat left the room in tears, wondering what the hell had just happened. This was also a good thing, as Xyon hadn't finished yet. As he turned to Ferentar, the silence in the room broke, as the assembled men knew what must now happen. Letting Ferentar enjoy his ovation for a moment, Xyon had paused before silencing the men once more.

"Sergeant Ferentar of Calhoun. It looks like I need another captain." He had said, which had stunned everybody. He had been expected to promote Ferentar to Ensign and then chain-promote above him to fill the gap in the ranks, not just promote Ferentar to Captain and have done with it. This wasn't how it was done, surely.

Xyon smiled as Ferentar swayed slightly, as if the commission was a truly heavy burden, then drew Inohen. Holding her aloft above the pair, he then drove her down to the floor, kneeling in prayer as Ferentar followed suit, noticing the way Inohen glowed before his eyes.

"Merciful Xant, we fight in your honour. We fight in your name, and in your stead. We fight with your blessing, and live by your code. We fight for the day we may yet get the chance to fight beside you, as brothers, and men.

"A new officer is born today, Xant. One who has excelled himself upon the field of battle, and won the hearts of his men. Even more so, he has won their respect and in so doing, has proven himself worthy of command.

"Today we repay him for his service to the army, to the cause, to his family, to his friends and to himself. Today we honour him."

Rising to stand, he held out a hand for Ferentar, who was by this point in floods of tears, and helped him stand up. As Xyon held Inohen lengthways, Ferentar touched her blade, feeling the oddly cool metal shiver under his touch. The sword is alive, he had thought, and he had been so fascinated by this that he had not noticed the glow on his hand. As he had taken his hand from the sword, the inherent glow of the weapon had transferred to his sword-arm, and as he watched, to his other. It spread rapidly, until his entire body was aglow, and then diminshed softly, until it reached a background level, like Xyon's aura.

"Xant has blessed you, and so have I. Go and make ready, Captain Ferentar."

"Thank you sir." Captain Ferentar had clicked his heels and turned to leave, the armour forgotten until Xyon had called him back and given it to him.

Mind back in the present, Kaxis Xyon of Calhoun called to Ferentar. "Colonel Fernetar! Where are you?" He bellowed, without looking around from the eerily quiet wall before them. Ferentar answered. "Here sir." from just off to his left. He still wore the armour, although at one time or another during the previous week his men had jumped on him and engraved all the names under his command onto it. By now his armour looked more like a signed school shirt than regulation kit. Under the previous kaxis, this would have been grounds for demerit, but Xyon, who had superposed the old codger, saw it as a mark of true respect, and welled up whenever he saw it.

Ferentar had been pleased too, once he'd figured out his men weren't trying to kill him, and he had feinted struggling a little as it had progressed, a merry affair after all. He stood now, just a pace from Xyon, waiting for his orders.

Xyon stared at the wall, waiting as his men were for the first Danteri attack to arrive, and did not look behind him. There was little need. "Colonel Ferentar. make the rifles ready sir."
"Rifles, sir? What rifles?"

Xyon pointed to their left, still staring at the wall. Off to the left, a huge cart was unloading the very latest in military technology, the flintlock spiral-bore rifle. There were only thirty rifles on the cart, but then there were huge barrels of stuff stamped with various xenetian health warnings, and bags upon bags of solid lead balls.
"What in Xant's name...?" Ferentar breathed, as he watched them unload the guns, and went to help.

The rifles formed only a tiny portion of Xyon's army. Gnomish tech, he rationed, was not to be trusted, and so he had met with a few of the more understandable gnomes, and tried to communicate. It had gone surprisingly well, apart from the fact that the gnomes had not had a bloody clue what Xyon had been on about, and so had delivered three-hundred gnomish pistols. Xyon had sent these back, and sent for the gnomes again.

This time, they had been more sucessful, and Xyon had pleaded with them to use minimal magic in the construction of the new weapons. The gnomes had grumbled at this, but Xyon had reasoned with them, saying "I have an army, for fuck's sake. I need to know they're going to shoot the enemy, not each other, or blow their brains out. Make me some rifles, mate, make me guns that shoot the same way each time."

The gnomes had said this would take ages, and then Xyon had agreed that they should first make up a batch of thirty, then start work on the three-hundred Xyon wanted. Even so, they hadn't come cheap, as each rifle had cost somewhere in the region of fifty bishani.

And all of that being the case, Ferentar still had no clue as to what it was he was supposed to be doing. The men seemed to know what they were meant to do, though, so he supervised, and shouted at them a bit when the flames got too close to the barrel that said, roughly translated, "Keep the fuckin fire away".

The men did know what to do, and within a few minutes, the rifles were ready, thirty men loaded and prepared to fire, stood under canvas sheeting to keep the powder dry. Xyon ordered them to split, fifteen on either side of the pass, and to fire at will once the wall was breached.

They had spent ages drilling the troops for this. "Fire at will" meant that each half-company would fire under the behest of it's highest ranking officer, or NCO if that was the case. The thirty men who formed Xyon's rifles were well-trained, having had two months to hone their shooting skills, and most of them had been archers anyway, which had offered up a little transferrance of skills.

Behind the phalanx line, which dominated the scene, four lines thick and stretching wall-to-wall, were the archers. Also under sheeting to keep their fire lit, these were Xyon's only warm troops at present, standing ready with a gulley cut into the earth before them. It was full of oil, which, at a given signal, would be lit from the main fire, so each man had a fire in front of him with which to light his arrows.

Behind them, a way back, were the trebuchets, still flinging bits of Calhoun over the wall every now and again. Next to these, the gnomes had provided one very special piece of equipment. It runs, they had said, like the first design for the rifles, the matchlock. Set fire to this bit here and the powder will light and the huge iron ball we just rammed in there will be fired at your enemy.

Xyon, ever suspicious, had asked how much magic they had used to make it, and was astounded when they said "None". Apparently it was made of off-cuts from the muskets, and they had got a few humans to work on it too. Free of charge, they insisted, when Xyon tried to pay for the cannon.

And now, it lay a quarter-mile behind them, waiting, being kept dry. Xyon as sure all this technology was a bad idea, really, but he'd paid for it now, so he'd be damned if it wasn't used. Shouting an order, the phalanx curved slightly, and stepped back one pace, a little confused. Normally they stayed until-

The center of the wall buckled as the Danteri pummelled it with six battering rams at once. The hastily erected Xenetian scaffolding collapsed instantly, flinging itself around with every impact to such an extend that Xyon ordered it be cut down, lest it do someone some damage.

And still they waited. For even though the Danteri had buckled the wall, they still had 250 tons or so of rock to shift, which could take all day. Xyon sighed, and lit up a smoke, not only because he wanted one, not only as a gesture to his men that they could smoke should they wish to, but as a signal to them as well. Xyon only smoked when he was calm, and relaxed. Well, as far as his men knew, anyway. In truth he was stressed as hell and irritated by every little thing, frustrated by how long the Danteri were taking and itching to get at them.

Still, to his men, he was calm. And therefore, so were they.

Still they waited.