Deathless

Deathless Chapter Forty-Four: Ashes

Chapter Forty-Four: Ashes

The wind bit cold and fast on Ryfast's skin as his fleet rushed to the shore. He could see the Arlenian camp, a wood fortress standing proud on the shores of the Red Bay. And in the distance, he saw the sight that had haunted his nightmares for the past few days. A sea of silver and white, advancing on the Arlenians.

Ryfast swore under his breath. "We won't make it in time. We need to change our course; land closer to the camp."

"We will do no such thing," Commander Agron replied, his face sunken and sleep-deprived. "The plan is unchanged. If we land closer, our cavalry advance will be compromised."

Ryfast turned sharply to face him. "That's our emperor you're talking about!You would trade his life for the sake of a cavalry advance?"

"And you would trade the fate of our empire for theirs?" Agron did not raise his voice, but his tone commanded attention. "What is one man's life compared to the millions of Arlenians that depend on us now? The plan does not change."

Ryfast opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. He barked orders at his seamen, and the ship quickened its pace. For the first time in his thirty years serving in the military, Ryfast found himself muttering a silent prayer to the gods.

The waves of the Red Bay turned white as the Arlenia-Luartia fleet sliced through the waters like a sword breaking through skin. For a brief moment before the chaos, the fleet was silent but for the creak of the wood and the breaking of waves. The calm before the storm.

They arrived at the drop-off point just as the rebels began to encircle the Arlenian camp. Ryfast glimpsed flashes of orange and red as Arlenian siege engines tried to repel the invaders. But the rebels had their own toys. Catapults flung stones, scorpions launched flaming bolts, and men tossed torches.

The walls of the Arlenian encampment were coming down. Carefully erected wooden walls were splintering, drawbridges and trenches compromised. Rebels flooded into the camp from all sides, like water burst through a dam. They had to hurry.

Ryfast sounded his horn, and slowly, the ships began to unload their cargo onto the shores of the Red Bay. Compartments fell open, and eighty thousand bloodthirsty Arlenians flooded onto the surf, their metal boots leaving deep marks in the sand as they assembled.

Commander Agron left him then, to mount his horse and lead the charge. Ryfast stood all alone on the bow of his flagship, and just then, he had a feeling that this would be his final battle. One way or another.

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Fercen surveyed the battle from atop the walls of the camp, longbow in one hand, dagger in the other. Their trenches and spikes had all but failed, falling victim to the rebels' siege engines. The rebels' catapults and ballistae had torn their measly repellants to shreds, leaving behind only a thick wall separating their party from the rest of the host.

The enemy had penetrated that too, with axes and battering rams. Three main breaches were made by the rebels, and as much as Fercen's lines of pikemen tried to repel the invaders, they were steadily losing ground, passing over the broken splinters into the camp proper.

The rebels were relentless, and did not falter even against a sea of bristling spears. They bore down on the pikemen with inhuman determination, using their numbers as their advantage, until the spearmen were forced backwards.

The rebels poured into their camp, and hand-to-hand combat ensued, Arlenian lions fighting toe to toe with the rebel wretches. Sword against spear, axe against flail. Fercen had wanted to keep their ranks organised, ready to take down any rebels that entered. But when the rebels breached the gates, any hopes of discipline failed, and the fighting soon devolved into mindless skirmishes strewn across the camp.