2 - Command

The second part in the trilogy detailing Eramas before his entrance into the RP.

It rained arrows. It hailed lances. A fence of wooden shaft and metal point brushed up against the tidal wave of invaders; leaving pierced dead in its wake.

It only excited the bloodlust.

The four Demolishers were the first to fall. The hulks flew straight off their horses as if slapped by the wind. Their remains landed no longer as humans, but as pin-cushions.

Four razor sharp bolts rammed into the side of Eramas’s mount. The beast had not even begun to fall when another four darted towards him.

Despite the carnage, despite the utter annihilation, the host pressed on. True to their appearance, they charged like some hell-bent machine ever more towards the fortress. One warrior shouted, and soon everyone bellowed a warcry so thunderous that it challenged the very shrieks of the arrows. The furor grew into a frenzy. Horses, their masters already slumped lifeless across their backs, raced towards the gate. The training drilled into their equestrian mind dictated so.

The crimson-clad general's dead steed lay atop the bloodied earth like a beached whale atop rocks. Shafts continued to rain about it, but inert it remained. The rain moved on to more lively targets.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

A crimson-coated arm reached out and grasped one of the rocks. Its twin stretched out and took hold of another. First the forearm, then a shoulder. The tip of a hat’s brow, and finally the tip of a feather pulled itself into the clear. Eramas craned his neck to get a more efficient view of the battle. What met his gaze made his eyes narrow and his brow furrow.

With a sigh he reached back under his fallen horse and unwrenched his legs. His saber still thirsted for victory; he couldn’t deny it that right. Eyes honed in on it; fortunately it had not been flung too far. Eramas drew himself down into a low crouch, keeping the carcass behind him as cover. Arrows continued to slam into his self-made barricade, sending its loose skin rippling. The onslaught paused for just a moment. He lunged for the weapon--

And was rewarded with a brusque yank around the throat. A growl escaped from behind the raised collar. He glared back at whoever dare hold him back.

No one stood there ready to strike the general down, nor to help him up. The only sight beyond the corpse’s sides were raging men and punishing death from above.

Eramas tugged lightly at the cape and followed the roll, and could only gape at the source of all his trouble. Three infernal bolts pinned the cape to the bloody horse’s belly. Another growl ensued. The commander slipped out his dagger and slashed off the bottom portion of the garment. Free once again, he hurried to his sword.

“Well, this is just perfect,” said the red general as he slipped the saber into its sheath. The scabbard lay inside his boot, and after following up his calf was strapped ‘round just below the knee. He took another survey of the situation.

“You, and you,” he shouted at two aimless armored soldiers, “come with me.”

The trio scampered to what Eramas had spied earlier: one of the fallen handheld battering-rams. One soldier raised up the rear end, while his companion beared the middle. The commander himself led the ram, the bludgeon thrown over his own shoulder.

With a barked order, the battering ram was off. They formed a flying wedge, soaring over fallen comrades and row upon row of planted arrows. The momentum garnered the attention of others, and soon the wedge formed another onrushing wall. Far from the tidal wave that had come before, this newly rallied mass was still undoubtedly a threat.

***************************************

Far below the carnage reeked with the scent of death. The mordant, choking fumes of coppery blood wafted up to the aghast archers. Across the hellish fields were piles of bodies, some clumped together in a final, failed battalion, others all alone as picked off stragglers. Lifeless horses, riddled with shafts lie strewn over the landscape, abandoned. Those riders who survived rushed and ducked, strafing the few arrows that still fired upon them. Cries of anguish pierced the air whenever one of them was shot. Armored figures ran desperately towards one another, trying to piece together another company before they were all wiped out.

Yet the legionnaires persisted. Even as comrades next to them were struck down mid-stride they advanced. Soon their companies swelled. Individuals now joined together in impromptu mobs. Meanwhile the stream of arrows from o’er high grew less with every volley. As fewer shots rang out, more and more did the multitude expand.

Young Heshvan of Etone could do nothing but watch. His quiver was long emptied, and his comrades were soon approaching their limits. Others just gaped at each other, eyes wide, faces fear-stricken.

“This is insane. Why do they keep coming?”
“We’re dead! We’re dead! Look at that armor! Our swords can’t do anything against that!”
“The arrows were supposed to stop them!”

Behind the panicked murmurs the Captain of the Guard howled for order. The calls fell on deaf ears. Heshvan just turned back and stared outwards. The mobs were merging into another charge en masse.

“Draw swords! Prepare for close quarters combat!”

Everyone along the scaffold stiffened and responded automatically. Bows were dropped to the floor and quivers tossed off. Every man instinctively reached down, grabbed tightly, and swung out their swords.

“Everyone to the lower decks!”

The troop turned at the snap of a heel and marched down the ramps. Formation was perfect, each warrior synchronized with the other. The hike down was smooth and efficient.

The fierce stamp after stamp of the charge outside could not be ignored down at ground level. As the fortress guard stepped down they couldn't help but pause. The roars outside seemed to push against the gates.

The defenders of Etone braced their weapons, and themselves.

***************************************

The battering ram pushed through the air. One of the two soldiers hefting the bludgeon hollered for a final push. Every single tissue in every single man surged in reply. Footsteps became insignificant. Legs ceased to carry their bodies. Rather, they simply moved. Through sheer will the wedge flew; feet desperately struggled to keep up.

With a horrific and terrific explosion all the force gathered in the charge rammed against the gate. Nearby soldiers crashed their shoulders next to it, adding to the destructive blow. Enough power to tear the sky asunder struck the gate dead center. Dust billowed from cracks within the wood, particles that had never once been disturbed ever before now swelled forth like a squeezed sponge.

Everyone, everywhere, stopped. Breathing halted, hearts paused, even the brain itself took a moment to stop and comprehend the instant. The ancient dust cleared. The door still stood. The bludgeon had merely dented it. The shoulder impacts had left no mark. The door continued to stand high; it creaked once...

And…
It…
Opened…

Author's Note

This was written a long time ago, as was stated. I've gone over it numerous times, however as always I'm sure there are typos and syntax errors. I appreciate any and all notices of that, and will work to correct those. If I haven't do know that I did acknowledge your notice and try implementing it, but found that it detracted from the effect I wanted and so omitted it.