The command to fire the blazing arrows never came. Instead what was heard was the morale of the troops sinking faster than a rock could. Cheers became cries of fear, the clattering of swords on shields to intimidate the enemy now was no more, instead replaced by a similar clattering; that of plated boots on cobbled stone. Somehow, the tables had turned, and the front lines were on the run.
Of course, the archers had heard of it too, talk of a dual headed beast spawned from hell itself. Massive in size and vicious in actions. It had broken down the gates, apparently, and destroyed platoons with the ease of a man squashing ants below his boot. Perhaps an inadequate metaphor, as ants were notoriously resilient, often surviving being stomped on. Humans on the other hand were not. Dying was no difficult task; even a bad fall could do the trick. And this beast they spoke of, the terror that roared near the gates, did not care whether one was clad in plate or leather; it devoured them all the same, tooth and claw slicing through both as if it wasn't even there in the first place.
Yet, the regiments of archers did not flee. They stood tall, far away from the onslaught brought about by the beast. Many knights ran past them, heading for the barracks, urging them on to flee as well. But the archers did not run. Their spirits had not yet taken a knock-out blow. They had not seen the beast themselves yet. The talk about it and the roars coming from the plaza near the gate made them nervous though, and slowly but steadily a soft murmur had erupted from them as they spoke with their comrades, eyes darting from face to face, and to the shelter where the officers had once more gathered to figure out the plan of action.
One of them was staring through a spyglass, his face white, corners of his mouth and tips of his mustache twitching.
“By the Seven!” he exclaimed,
“That thing is massive! We don't stand a chance!”
Disapproving mutterings came from his fellow commanders, most of whom had not yet looked at it yet.
“If it is huge,” one suggested,
“then we have more chance to hit it with a volley. Huge beast, huge target.”
The others agreed.
“No,” the mustached man spoke with grave tone,
“our arrows will not have any effect.” All color had already been drained from his face, but he seemed to become even whiter, as if he could just fade away into oblivion at any moment.
“Surely you jest.”
“Even a mighty Jocadon, as powerful and fierce as it is, is not immune to injury. Even they can be defeated. It's difficult, yes, but not impossible.”
“This isn't even a Jocadon, is it? It's a beast.”
Once more the mustached commander shook his head, sweating profusely –and not because of the heat.
“It is not a Jocadon, no,” he confirmed,
“it sounds insane and impossible, but this is far worse.”
Frowns and gasps of breath, skepticism and disbelief.
“How so?” the female officer asked.
“It heals,” Mustache revealed, wiping sweat from his brow.
“It heals incredibly fast. I just saw someone cut it with their sword before they were eaten alive. Within trills it was injured no more.” His hands trembled as he passed the spyglass to someone else.
“For a beast of that size, a cut like that is only shallow, but for it to heal that quickly... We stand no chance. Even if we shoot it with a billion arrows, it will be no use. We might only slow it down, if our attacks have any effect at all.”
The officer who'd been given the spyglass moved the tool away from his face, his skin approaching the same color of his mustached colleague.
“He's right. We're doomed. The Seven have abandoned us! Saint Warrick favors the Qe'Dreki!”
“Don't be so dramatic,” the female snorted, brow crinkled, eyes spitting fire.
“The Seven would never favor that scum. This is merely a trial for us to overcome. We support the One True King, we fight for Andaris. The emperor and empress are on our side, and so are the Seven. We are no rebel scum. We will not lose this war.”
“THAT BEAST WILL DESTROY US IF IT GETS HERE!!!” he screamed, his voice audible even to the regiment of archers, causing more unrest and doubt.
“Hold your tongue,” the female reprimanded,
“this beast will be dealt with. The Seven would not let us lose this war to Veljorns dogs. Perhaps if he had still been alive some of Them might have been backing him, but not anymore.” She snatched the spyglass from the man's hand, bringing it to her eye. For a moment she was silent, but not even half a bit later she smirked in victory.
“What did I tell you. The Baron's got this.”
“Lord Andaris?” the despairing one breathed, a spark of hope in his voice.
“That crude, bearded excuse for an Andaris?” Mustache's tone spoke volumes of his disbelief.
“Yes, him,” the woman said,
“he's drawing the beast away as we speak.”
“May the Seven give him strength,” one spoke.
“May the Seven protect him,” the female agreed,
“and may They keep the beast away from our troops.”
For better or for worse, Peake's sacrifice gave the officers enough courage to continue their campaign, any notion of routing along with the other fleeing knights and volunteers thrown out of the window.
“Now, what do we do? Most of our forces have fled.”
“Stop the ones still coming this way, get them back in formation.”
“Stop the enemy in their tracks with arrows.”
All nodded, they were in agreement.
“We need someone influential to stop our troops from running.”
“I'll go,” the Mustache said, his armor gleaming.
“You two command the archers without me for a while.”
More nodding, and then Mustache took off, heading towards the steady stream of routing knights, his voice loudly ringing, audible over the cacophony of noise produced by the war.
“You and you there! Captains! With me, NOW!” Authority flooded his voice, it becoming powerful enough to stop the those he called for in their tracks. Discipline drilled into the knights from day one in the Iron Hand took the overhand. It all helped along by his confident posture and claims that the beast had left the plaza. And if the routing soldiers took a moment to pay attention to the sounds all around them, they would notice that the roars of the beast had become a lot more silent, and that its figure could no longer be seen.
“Lord Peake Andaris is distracting the beast as we speak, a fight to the death! Would you let his sacrifice be in vain? Do you have no confidence in your commander? Would you allow Veljorn's rebels lay their hands on Mid-town? Have you no honor?! GET BACK IN FORMATION!!! We will end the Qe'dreki and this war!”
In the meantime, the other two officers in charge of the archer's regiments commanded their troops to continuously fire volley after volley, the three groups firing in succession according to the directions of the offices to let a relentless rain of arrows come down on the despised enemy.
“I thought for sure you would flee,” Yana remarked while readying a new arrow, waiting for the command to release it.
“And who would protect you then?” Hannes smiled shakily, the tower shield he wielded trembling.
“Not to mention we'd be giving Mid-town to the enemy. Along with the city. Once we start to flee, we will keep fleeing, and they will take the whole of Andaris.” He paused.
“I would die of shame if I survived like that. I'd rather go down fighting.” He shifted his stare to Yana's indifferent face for a moment, then let his eyes wander down to her dancing knees.
“I did not think you would stay either,” he said then.
“I stay because we cannot lose. That supposed monster aside, the Qe'dreki are on their last legs. This whole siege is an act of desperation. Something to give their journey through the land meaning. Veljorn is dead, and so are his plans, and the Qe'dreki's morale. They have nothing left to fight for. No leader to guide them. Plus, they have been marching for trials. They have had their encampment set ablaze, along with their supplies. They cannot go anywhere else. Their strength has been sapped by their journey. They are weary. They cannot beat us.”
“They don't seem to be that way though...”
“Because they are desperate. They have nothing left to lose. Nothing is more dangerous than a cornered foe.”
“But they cannot beat us?”
She nodded.
“Since we have everything they do not. Well, save for morale, but that too will come. And when it does, we will crush them.” For a brief moment she gave him a glance.
“We stand as one. They do not. That alone is enough to ensure our victory.”
Yana said nothing more than that, instead focusing on her own task, while letting Hannes do the same with his own assignment. It was preferable if he was not distracted, be it by her or by his worries.
Off Topic
Since Peake and Zvesbeast have their own separate thread now, I assumed Peake managed to lead Zvesbeast away from the Plaza. I hope this is okay?
