Insatiable

Bewitching, emerald light swept across the heavens, cascading down over distant mountain peaks and painting ancient hills and hidden valleys. It was an arresting, enchanting sight; a captivating calm between storms. The luminous light continued inexorably down into the forest plateau, shimmering across ancient boughs and and dispersing through dense, tangled undergrowth. Beyond this natural barrier, flickered orange and red tinged flames of many campfires. Bizarre singing and chanting drifted on the chill breeze alongside the burning stench of felled timber. They’re dancing and celebrating like they’ve already won a great victory, thought Detrik. It’s only a matter of time he added grimly. The enemy were out there, massing amongst the foliage, biding their time and recovering their strength. This was the worst period. The waiting.

The man at arms tore his gaze from the treeline towards the makeshift barricade before him of overturned carts, stacked crates, and hastily dug earth erected between abandoned buildings. Every fibre of his being ached with weariness from lack of sleep, beating back the enemy, and building makeshift barricades. Detrik didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He suspected that the rest of the men viewed their dire situation in the same way. Whispering a swift prayer of salvation to the Father, Mother, and Son, Detrik placed three fingers on his chest in the vain hope of gaining their attention and divine aid. Across their makeshift camp, he sensed that almost all his fellow troops, whatever their status, were doing the same.

Around a hundred figures huddled around half a dozen crackling fires; once proud, now starving knights ate the flesh from the frost bitten corpses of their former mounts. Men and boys with grievous wounds cried out for their mothers as their companions treated their injuries as best they could. Some had already succumbed to their injuries, lying where they breathed their last. A short while later, the bodies were gathered up by weeping comrades and carefully laid to rest into a recently dug pit. Those who carried the deceased delivered the last rights, as there was no priest available to do this.

Most of the soldiers were once part of the vanguard of the King of Teraana’s army. Only a month before, they were rampaging through their old enemy’s ranks, routing the Borderlanders armies and conquering new territories. Then the Battle of the White Teeth Pass changed everything. The remaining Borderlanders and their northman allies, launched a devastating ambush from the mouth of the Pass, during which the King Erik was killed and his forces effectively split in two. Detrik, being with the vanguard, were forced to retreat into the nearby village of Klondheim, where they made a desperate last stand with the remaining soldiers.

That had been nearly a week ago, and little more than a hundred knights, soldiers and retainers were left of the once proud vanguard. Their camp had endured several vicious assaults from northern raiders on the previous day and night. Then, the attacks abruptly ceased for the next twelve hours.

There had been a lull in the fighting for nearly ten hours now. Initially, Detrik thought that the enemy had given up and gone home after their last assault. However, casting his mind back through the battles in the snow, Detrik couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being toyed with by the northmen. He muttered a swift prayer to the Mother to assuage the dread holding him in a vice like grip.

Detrik watched the last military caravan recede down the road. They contained those men who were too injured to fight and would simply be a burden to the remaining men. Despite the convoy being lightly guarded, it was still a huge risk heading into enemy held territory. They still had a better chance of survival than those left behind in the village.

A sudden rustle of movement from behind, followed by a hand on his shoulder, startled him.

“Easy, boy. Just a grizzled old knight.” The familiar voice instantly assuaged Detrik’s taut nerves. “Part of me wishes to be in one of those waggons.”

“Yes... I...” stammered Detrik.

“There’s no shame in admitting your fear, boy. You know I admire honesty above most things.” The words belonged to one of the few remaining knights left alive in their ragged band of survivors. Sir Harwin was the newly appointed leader as he surpassed all others in rank and title.

Detrik simply nodded. He struggled to show his feeling in front of superiors. Mercifully the knight, changed the subject.

“Any signs of attack out there?”

“Nothing as yet, sir,” trying to hide the surprise and fear in his voice. “The northmen are still gathered around their fires.

“That at least gives us a few more moments of respite and preparation.”

“I agree, sir.” Detrik nodded wearily.

An awkward lull descended between them as they both looked out towards the eerie glow of the enemy fires.

“If this is to be our last night together, It’s been an honour serving with you, boy. You have more courage than most knights I’ve known.”

“It’s been an honour serving with you, sir.” Underneath his helmet, Detrik’s cheeks swelled with pride and his eyes misted over. Sir Harwin nodded briefly before turning away towards other sentries stationed along the barricade.

The distant chanting and drums suddenly ceased as the luminescent auroras descended from the heavens. A deathly silence fell across the landscape, and the western men spread throughout the village held their breath. They knew it was the calm before the storm. One by one, figures around the campfires left for the shadows of the woods. As Detrik’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he spied hundreds of figures moving silently and swiftly through the green tinged undergrowth.

The foreboding silence was finally fractured by blood curdling screams and shouts emanating from the shadows beyond the treeline. Those men on the barricades struggled to steady their pounding hearts and jangling nerves. A howling mass of wild, tattooed figures materialised from the frost bitten vegetation, armed with huge axes, blades, and clubs. Huge, ferocious dogs and baying wolves bounded alongside their masters. Some were felled by arrows or pistol shots, yet the majority crashed into the barricades unscathed. However, it did little to slow the northmen’s onslaught, as most of most either avoided or trampled over their fallen comrades. Such was their desire to engage with the defenders.

Teraana’s soldiers and men at arms were skilled, disciplined warriors who fought the northmen with equal fervour. Yet they were vastly outnumbered. Blood speckled Detrik’s cheek as a throwing axe buried itself into a comrade’s skull. The twitching body toppled into the brown slush behind the barricade. The axe’s owner, a fearsome, fur cloaked warrior, vaulted the barricade in a swift running jump. Detrik managed to step aside just in time to avoid him. However, the northman landed unsteadily, slipping along the mud. Somehow staying on his feet, Detrik seized the opportunity. Before he had a chance to recover, the northman’s howls of triumph turned to pain as Detrik slid his blade under the man’s ribs. With a gurgling moan, he fell back, his blood slowly staining the brown earth crimson.

The few knights held their own for a while against the ferocious northern onslaught. Forming a heroic horseshoe shaped defence, their courage inspired the men at arms and soldiers around them. Sir Harwin fought in the thick of the melee, dealing death and carnage with lightning sweeps of his glittering great sword. Despite the northmen’s savage assault, the knights’ martial skills and plate armour proved too much for them, and they were slain and briefly driven back.

Bestial shrieks and roars announced the arrival of new assailants: nightmarish creatures bearing the guise of demons, wolf headed men, and other garish mutations. The northern tribesmen joined them in ever greater numbers and renewed their relentless assault. The custom made walls were overrun in several places. The defenders fought with ferocious skill and desperation, yet the assailants possessed strength of numbers and easily surrounded and outmanoeuvred their foes. Sir Harwin and his knights disappeared under a rolling tide of flesh, axes and teeth. Other brave souls who stood and fought so courageously only moments before now lost their nerve and fled. Most did not get far. They were hamstrung, cut down, and butchered where they fell.

Witnessing such horror around him, terror and panic almost smothered Detrik, snuffing out the candle of hope within. The world swam around and his senses dulled. Sharp pain lancing in his calf brought him back to reality, and he lashed out with his sword. A yelping wild dog rolled away, its leg almost sliced off by Detrik’s blade. With renewed vigour, he scrambled upright. becoming dimly aware of a fearsome horned shadow looming over him, poised to strike. Thrusting his sword forward with his might towards his assailant’s heart as a huge hammer descended. Detrik’s world briefly exploded in a conflagration of searing stars, followed by a gigantic black wave that swamped everything.