Domr
patreon
Bloodsworn Ch. 2.34
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 00:50:21 +0000 UTC34.
Two days had passed and Erak watched as the reduced group of militia huddled nearby. The rise of their levels had been astronomical, but so had their casualties. He grimaced as he looked at all the missing spaces where there had once been brave, if untrained, warriors. Not all of them were dead, most weren’t actually. They filled the infirmary with a wide range of wounds but most would live to fight again.
Twenty-seven of them stood still alive and healthy. Nevia hadn’t lost a single one of her soldiers and all three of the Practitioners had made it this far. They looked a little leaner, but the fire in their eyes burned just as bright as it had earlier.
Erak watched as the cart was wheeled toward them, the work of dwarven apprentices. One of Snowbeard’s apprentices had gathered up several other dwarven artisans and they had put their time, energy, and Essence into this project for him. Erak had noticed their levels ticking up slowly as they worked and had no doubt that better arms would be coming.
He strode out across the grassy field with Pomp flying above him as Nevia’s sergeants fell upon the remnants with a flurry of shouts to get them into order. They were still slow and uncoordinated, more likely to accidentally stab each other than the enemy. It was all he had though.
He stood before them as the dwarves made it to them and curious eyes glanced over toward the heavily laden carts but no one spoke. Erak nodded slowly and shallowly before sending a mental command to Pomp.
“Form a line and retrieve one of each item,” Pomp said as he floated about his head. The militia members trickled over and started to grab gear, jostling with each other as they looked down and grabbed pieces and retreated back to the lines with their arms filled.
“First piece of gear is an adjustable breastplate. Slide it over your head, arms through and use the ties on the side to tighten it.” Pomp delighted in ordering around the militia, flying about with his arms scratching at the air. The sergeants went about and helped people tighten the breastplates down. It wasn’t good armor but it was better than whatever the riot gear had turned into.
“Next is your sidearm. It is a xiphos and it goes on your left hip.” The sword was short and double sided leaf blade with a simple hilt and crossguard. It took them another few minutes to get the blades situated.
“I hope you all know what a shield is. This goes on the left hand. You will see a notch on the right side. That is where the spear goes,” Pomp said. The spear had been the hardest part to build, but after a day of experimenting they had done it.
They all hefted the spea and looked at it strangely. It wasn’t really a spear, but a caster with a long metal pole welded to the top that stuck out and ended in a long leaf blade.
“FORM LINES YOU ROTTEN BASTARDS!” Constance screamed at them and they all shuffled to form properly. Erak hid his wince and wished he had his own armor on. It took them a few minutes before they got into the rough approximation of a phalanx, shields together with the thin speartip pointed out and the edge of the caster barrel resting on the lip of the cut out.
Erak walked up and through the bristling line of spear tips and kicked the center of the line. He tried not to use all his strength, but the man flew back and dragged both his shield partners to the side. Erak looked down at them and shook his head. Pomp landed on his shoulder and shouted.
“Hold for you brothers and sisters. Your weakness will kill them. Now up and do it again!” The little dragon could produce sound at a volume that was rather impressive. The man scrambled back to his feet and the line reformed. Erak could peer over the large tower shields if he stretched and he could see they dug their heels deep and planted themselves.
“Tell them to march,” Erak commanded Pomp.
“March!” The line jolted forward in disunison, those in front of Erak slow and the line broke apart instantly. ERak shoved a hand into the same man’s shield and sent him back to the grassy lawn. He waved over Constance and she understood in an instant. Erak backed away and went to the side as Constance made them form lines and begin marching with their new weapons.
Nevia appeared by his side and stared at the past. Erak had to dig through textbooks to find this old model for armies and then order the dwarves to try to attempt to build the spears for him.
“I don’t like this. Civilians with untested equipment in the line of fire on a dangerous mission. They’re going to get people killed,” Nevia whispered. Erak nodded his agreement. On a distant field the rest of the militia was busy practicing marching with a few of Nevia’s veterans overseeing them. Erak wanted to be mad at the waste. Those veterans needed to be elsewhere, but until he had his own corp of trained instructors, there was little he could do.
“We need to test the casters aim,” Erak reminded Pomp and the dragon raced off to land on Constance’s shoulder and talk to her. The sergeant screamed and got the soldiers to wheel in formation and head toward a stand of trees that Erak had hammered rough, wooden targets to earlier in the morning.
The first barrage of the golden-scarlet beams was impressive, a massed volley usually was, but most of the targets remained. Trees had begun to burn there were scorch marks everywhere, but the targets had miraculously survived the onslaught.
“Well, that’s why we have Constance’s squad for. If we can get them to march and fire in concentrated volleys, they’ll be decent for open field combat. But, Erak, we don’t normally fight in open fields.”
Erak nodded and wished he had Julius or even Sammus here to translate for him. He was forced to hold his fist up and smack his palm and then point at the militia. He pointed at her and then touched the dagger he carried on his hip.
“They’re a fist and my team is a dagger?” Erak nodded as she understood the implication of what he wanted.
“The fight in the capital against the gnulls and their riders. They tried to fight in the old way, cavalry formations and ranks of spearmen. Is that where this is coming from?”
Erak nodded and watched the three practitioners were called on to unleash their magiks. He had heard the reports of them and how they had handled the tunnels, but it was good to see them in action. A fist of flame flew in a fiery comment and exploded in a blast that ripped apart several trees. Jagged chunks of earth ripped from the ground in black obsidian spears and several trees cracked and fell.
The essence manipulator whirled her hands and both of their spells doubled in size, blasting apart wide swathes of the forest. Erak looked over at the majority of the remaining targets. They were still sitting there mostly unharmed.
“They need more work,” Nevia said drolly as she started to walk toward them. Erak only grunted in agreement. Two days left.
