Alchimia Rex

Throughout the two days that followed the “little demonstration,” the Darktons had been sending small, probing attacks with their flyers. They'd stick to very high altitudes, dropping rocks down onto the camp. Most times, the rocks would be the size of a fist, heavy enough that they'd only pose a threat if they hit a human, but the maidens appeared to focus only on maiden targets.

At first, Rick paid them little mind, as did everyone else. The whole camp had been set up so that anything and everything worthwhile was underground, even their sleeping areas. The trenches were also easily covered with Orc-wood planks for protection. So the rocks only posed a threat if you happened to be out in the open.

The insidious nature of the attack became more apparent when an inattentive Doggirl was hit on the head by a rock the size of her torso. She died instantly, and the smell of her blood drew the whole camp from the standard alerted state into a heightened one. Now everyone had to walk in pairs so that there would always be a set of eyes on the sky.

Then, as the first night came, the rocks started to come with enchantments, emitting loud, ear-splitting noises followed by a bang of light. Technically mostly harmless, since each rock was half the size of a fist, but their purpose was to disrupt sleep, and in that alone, they were terribly effective. The Mousegirls were particularly susceptible to this strategy, as they needed regular sleep in short intervals, and the attacks appeared carefully timed to disrupt them in particular. Rick himself couldn’t help but feel the exhaustion seeping in from the rodents through the bond.

His solution had been to order the sleeping areas to bury the doors to reduce sound from outside. It wasn’t exactly something he would have wanted in case people needed to be woken up in a hurry, but it was better than having his forces get no sleep at all.

Rick was pretty sure the Darktons were doing this with the intention of getting him to either shoot the thermite up at the flyers (and then get it to rain down on him), or for him to reveal if he had any other tricks up his sleeve. He could have also potentially thrown the handful of flyers he had at them, but that would have meant a dozen dead maidens and no changes to their circumstances. So he gritted his teeth, commanded the Orcs to throw a few lances if the flyers got too close, and endured.

Monica, of all people, was the only one that seemed completely unbothered by it all. She even managed to get a pause in the attacks by throwing a rock that had nearly hit her back at them. She missed, but it had passed close enough that the flyers had scattered in a panic. When they returned an hour later, they were keeping nearly twice the altitude, which made their aim that much worse.

When the third day came rolling in, tension had already begun to ratchet noticeably. The maidens were snippy, grumbly, and overall irritated. The militia might have had better discipline than the Orcs, but the tribe was far more accustomed to proper fighting, meaning they were far less prone to lash out at one another. A few fights broke out that required someone from the tribe to show up and make them stop. Meanwhile, the Orcs themselves were having a blast, having little brawls to “keep warm” while they boasted about how many knights they’d get to beat up.

As the day came to a close, Rick wondered whether Urtha would show up or if there was a reason for her delay. It appeared they wouldn’t be able to count on her during the first battle, because the Darktons set out on the fourth day. The whole camp had been rudely woken up near midnight, hearing the call of the enemy forces marching out. The maidens, mainly the militia, were itching with bloodlust from the incessant annoyances, and Rick couldn’t blame them. However, he couldn’t let them fester with the feeling either.

The wait was the worst part, watching a sprinkle of torches that were slowly moving closer minute by minute. As dawn approached and the first rays of sunlight turned the clouds above a pale orange, he took in Monica’s cool sharpness and spread it out through every bond within his vicinity. “Everyone to their posts,” he commanded. The effects were immediate; the militia tensed, then relaxed, going deathly silent as they began to march into the trenches and tunnels. The tribe noticed the shift. Orcs shared glances among one another, then at Rick. Four Orcs took positions next to him, wielding massive shields. The remainder of the tribe spread out through the trenches as well.

Marching up to the singular mound in the camp, Rick made himself a prominent target at the very end of the trenches where every maiden was practically underground. Monica and Eva were in his shadow, Dia merely a dozen paces further back, and a few Dark Elves right next to her.

“Everyone is in position,” Eva confirmed.

Deep breath.

Their strategy relied on many things, but one of the crucial linchpins was Rick himself. He was bonded to most of the militia and the Cog Horde, their feelings rippled through the bonds like a chorus of voices. And the only way for this to work was if he kept himself in control. To do this, he would draw upon those who did not waver and spread that certainty amongst the rest.

“In a battle, the worst thing that can happen is a rout,” Eva had drilled into him time and time again. “The second worst thing that can happen is if the formation breaks,” she insisted. “This isn’t a battle against a feral rush; they are not mindless. Observe them.”

Deep breath.

Ahead of them, a sea of bodies approached, divided into three large rectangles and two smaller ones. Each rectangle was further divided into squares. A third of each square glinted with the pale blue armor of murisium, keeping to the back of their respective formations. The only exception was the smaller squares, as they were all knights, and riding Centaurs. Overhead, this massive group was a cloud of flying maidens, perhaps a hundred in size, half of them decked in the same armor as the other knights.

"It's a standard reverse Harpy formation," Eva spoke from his shadow. "The cavalry is typically deployed to attack the flanks or rear of the enemy. But in this case, they're holding them back to protect themselves instead. The flyers are maintaining a similarly defensive formation."

Rick just nodded and tried very hard not to think about the fact that any one of the three rectangles had as many soldiers as he did.

There was, however, one thing he was concerned about. "I can't spot any of their champions."

"They might not reveal themselves until the assault begins, or until we send ours out onto the field," Eva quickly answered. "They're likely hesitant to show their hand too soon, not when we have an assassination specialist champion like Monica."

"Not ass-ass," Monica rumbled.

"You do have a pretty butt, though," Rick chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly.

"Yes," the Sabertooth proclaimed proudly.

They went silent, waiting and watching as they kept getting closer. Rick mostly gritted his teeth and tempered himself, suppressing the trickle of hesitation as he saw the enemy forces begin to spread out once they were roughly a kilometer away. The tight formations among the spear-wielders loosened slightly, but the knights broadened in a far more controlled manner. They were trying to make it hard to land an effective hit with the Orc-zookas.

Half a kilometer from the kill-field, the knights raised metal shields and barked commands. The peasants lowered their spears, slowing their march. Rick squinted at them, trying to identify if there were Mousegirls among their ranks. The reports had indicated their presence in the camp, but nothing about them being anything other than support for the army. This distinction was crucial to keep in mind because the little rodents had an almost preternatural sense of danger. Moreover, the Cog Horde had refused to participate in this if he didn’t guarantee they would attempt to capture enemy Mousegirls rather than kill them.

Two hundred meters from the kill-field, planks were raised to cover the trenches, sealing them and making them impenetrable from above. If not for the earthworks and wooden spikes, the enemy could have just marched straight up to Rick. But there were three hundred meters of open trenches between the front lines and him, followed by the two-hundred-meter kill-field.

Fifty meters from the kill-field, the Darktons commanded a halt.

A lone maiden stepped forward, dressed all in black.

"By the mercy of the Viscount and the Aubrian court, any who lay down their weapons shall be spared. Surrender now, false Lord, and return the city to its rightful owner," she declared.

Eva whispered from his shadow, "Surrender is typically offered by a noble; using a maiden to deliver the message is intended as an insult."

"Fuck their insult," he said, unmoving.

She stirred nervously but didn’t speak up further.

Rick gazed into the mass as the silence stretched out, looking for the enemy nobles, finding them by the grandeur of their armor and how each of the five nobles was flanked by a flag-bearer. They wore visors, hiding their faces, and thick steel, too cumbersome to move in if they ever fell off their steeds. But then again, they weren’t meant to fight.

After a minute of silence, a trumpet blared out.

The Darkton army let out a roar and began their charge. The earth rumbled from the thundering steps as they entered the kill-field.

The bonds shuddered with anxiety and tension, and Rick suddenly felt as though he were reigning in a wild horse. The militia, the horde, every maiden bonded to him surged with a mix of fright and anticipation.

"I don’t want to die," he whispered, echoing their thoughts, drawing on Monica’s cold certainty and transmitting it to everyone once more. He held on, waiting, his eyes rising to the sky. The flyers remained overhead, above the nobles.

The Darktons were gaining momentum, their formation loosening as the maidens at the front had more room to maneuver. Rick gritted his teeth, trying to spot any sign. Were there any maidens with that same mouse-like sense to detect danger? Did any of them know?

The middle group was ahead, deeper in the kill-field, while the other two groups moved in at a more sedate pace. By the time the front of the middle group was about to reach the edge of the trenches, Rick focused his attention on the Tigermice.

A simple feeling of question and doubt.

They answered in unison. Everything was cheesy.

"Fire."

The command did not need to be verbalized; it was merely a thought sent through the network of psychic mice. All at once, and in perfect synchronicity, they triggered the mechanisms that had been spread throughout the kill-field.

And all at once, three hundred thousand kilograms of ANFO were ignited.

A quarter of a kiloton explosion.

There was a series of flashes of light, followed by a sudden wall of white that rose from all around the kill-field, rushing outward in every direction. The orcs near Rick had already raised their shields to protect him just as the pressure wave hit them. The human barely managed to keep his footing as the ground shook.

Despite the hearing protection, his ears were still ringing by the time he caught the roar of the tribe, surging out of the holes that had protected them from the blast. A tide of green leapt over the spikes and earthworks as if they weren’t even there to fall upon the disoriented enemies.

Some managed to futilely raise their spears, but against the orcs, it was futile. The tribe barely even bothered with the normal fighters, instead running straight towards the knights at the rear. The militia followed behind them, engaging the soldiers with proper formations, their spears skewering anything too slow to run away.

Bringing up the rear, the Orc-zookas popped up alongside the Cog Horde. Their focus was on the knight formations at the flanks, as the central ones were directly engaging with the tribe. Each orc would launch a missile and be reloaded by three Mousegirls before the barrel even stopped smoking.

"Birds," Monica muttered.

A horn blared out over the sound of screams and fighting.

Rick couldn’t see, not with how thick the air had become with smoke and dust suspended over the battlefield. Even the Orc-zookas had stopped their barrage due to their inability to spot viable targets through the earthy fog.

He did, however, feel a mild tingling against his skin.

“The flyers are stirring the dust to create a cover for their retreat,” Eva hissed in warning.

“Not good,” Rick frowned. “That whole show was almost all of the explosives we had.” Ninety-eight percent, to be exact. “Options?”

“The dark-unit could try to neutralize it, but it would be more to our detriment,” Eva informed briskly. “A direct confrontation out in the open is to our disadvantage. They have both cavalry and flying knights.”

He grit his teeth, focusing on the bonds again, particularly the Tigermice. It took a few seconds to convey that things were not cheesy anymore. Rick very much hated this method of command and communication, but it was the most efficient way… because of how the training had unfolded.

So there he stood, thinking uncheesy thoughts at the psychic mice, trying to spot anything that might indicate the status of the current situation.

Minutes turned into hours with nothing but the barest sign that they were pulling back very slowly into the protective fortifications. The tribe and militia worked together and used the cover the Darktons had provided to hunt and finish off any survivors. By the time the dust finally settled, noon had rolled around and the Darktons were halfway back to their camp.

The cavalry had been left lingering behind, flyers overhead, covering the rear and ready to strike at any pursuers.

“How many?” Rick finally asked once the last Orc crossed over to the protection of the trenches.

“Three Orcs dead, dozen or two militia. Lots of wounded, the knights' blades were enchanted to burn, there’s going to be many scars from this,” Sheel reported, the Hobgoblin looked quite happy about the whole exchange. “I’d say, between the initial blast and the rout? Six hundred of them aren’t going to see tomorrow. Not sure how many injured made it out.”

“They still outnumber us two to one,” he made a mental note that whoever had died had not been amongst those bonded to him. Which was… off. “Eva, bring the Horde and do a head-count, I want to make sure everyone is accounted for, dead or alive. Also, start phase two, call in the Terrielles and get them into digging.”

The Vampire immediately nodded and left.

“What do we do with the bodies?” Sheel piped up.

“Our own get the respect they deserve. Those of the tribe will be given tribal rites and burnt, those of the city will be buried and their belongings provided to their families.”

“And the rest?”

Rick pondered the question for a moment.

“Strip the knights of all valuables, but don’t loot the others. Gather their bodies and carry them to the halfway point. Let them decide what to do about them.” Taking a moment, he raised his voice for everyone to hear. “Celebrate our victory, but temper yourselves. We are not yet done with our enemy!”

The words were met with a roar.

Rick hid his concerns.

The Darktons were not done with them either.