Seeing him charge, the siege crew scrambled to load the ballistae.
Varkas hooked an arm around Toruk’s neck and wrenched the reins with all his strength. In that exact instant, massive bolts—more like iron-tipped spears—erupted from three or four of the engines.
Dodging the whistling volleys with fluid grace, Toruk crossed the distance in a single burst and vaulted cleanly over the palisade.
The warhorse’s heavy forelegs came crashing down directly onto the men clustered around the siege engines.
Seeing their comrades crushed beneath the iron-shod hooves, the soldiers shrieked and scattered in panic.
Varkas swung without hesitation. The heads of three men frantically clawing at their scabbards tumbled together.
Fresh blood erupted from the severed necks, misting the air red. Cutting through the metallic stench, Varkas drove forward, his blade carving through the chests and iron plate of those scrambling to reform.
“Garkash!”
A soot-faced veteran shrieked in the ancient tongue of the East—a name for the monstrous beast of Khan legend.
Varkas deflected a massive double-bitted axe with the flat of his sword, spurred Toruk forward, and trampled the man beneath him.
Bones gave way with a sickening crunch as blood sprayed the dirt. Without missing a beat, Toruk lunged toward the next line.
Varkas tore through their ranks at full gallop, his sword rising and falling without pause. As the cavalry close on his heels drove deep into the siege unit’s flank, the enemy formation, which had looked so unyielding, collapsed into chaos.
Yet the advantage did not last. Spread wide across the field, the raiders began closing a tight ring around the Wolfram Cavalry.
Snatching a fallen halberd from the dirt, Varkas sheathed his sword with his other hand.
A polearm was far better suited for keeping a multitude at bay. Gripping the lower end of the haft with both hands, he swept the weapon in a broad, vicious arc against the men closing in.
The crescent blade carved a violent circle through the air, shearing through the men lunging forward with spears and swords.
Seeing five or six of their own cleaved in two along with their armor, the barbarians recoiled. Varkas seized the split second and plunged straight into their center.
A heavy shock slammed into his shoulder.
He glanced down to find an arrow driven into a seam in his armor, his brow furrowing. It had missed the bone, but the iron point was buried deep in the muscle.
Taking the shaft in one hand, he wrenched it out without hesitation and swung Toruk toward the archers. Seeing him turn, they hastily drew their bowstrings.
Toruk was faster. Closing the distance in a heartbeat, Varkas brought the halberd down in a vertical cleave that split an archer from collar to waist.
Seeing his companion cut down, the next archer dropped his bow in terror and reached for the sword at his hip.
He was too slow. The butt of the long ash shaft whipped around and struck his temple dead center.
As the man collapsed with a dying scream, Varkas drove his mount over the body and leveled the spearhead toward the next line. Yet the surrounding warriors held their perimeter, refusing to step within reach of his blade.
Taking advantage of the brief lull to steady his breath, Varkas swept his gaze across the field.
The Wolfram Cavalry was similarly encircled, locked in bitter combat. He gritted his teeth as he saw several riders pulled from their saddles. They could not endure this indefinitely.
‘Must I carve a retreat now?’
He reached down to pat Toruk’s heaving neck and surveyed the tightening ring around them. Suddenly, the enemy line buckled violently, and distant screams tore through the air.
Varkas turned toward the clamor. Through the unraveling enemy ranks, a pitch-black mass was surging inward like a tide.
He felt a momentary surge of relief, assuming reinforcements had arrived, but his eyes widened when he saw what had breached the enemy’s rear: dozens of direwolves.
The beasts, each as large as a calf, tore through the raiders unchecked, turning the rear into an abattoir within seconds.
Though stunned by the sudden turn, Varkas drove forward through the fractured ranks and straight into the fray.
Gasping for breath, Toruk pounded across the churned earth, grinding enemy soldiers beneath his hooves.
How long had he been cutting them down?
Before long, he noticed that the wolves were singling out and savaging only the raiders.
Varkas lowered the halberd slightly and swept his eyes over the beasts roaming the field.
The giant wolves moved with uncanny discipline, methodically tearing the barbarians’ lines to ribbons.
There was no mistaking it. Something was guiding the pack.
Before he could fathom what it meant, the tide turned once more. A thunderous horn rolled across the distance, and armored heavy cavalry appeared along the crest of the hills.
Faced with the arrival of a massive host numbering well over ten thousand, the raiders completely lost their will to fight and broke into a rout.
Thrusting his spear toward the sky, Varkas roared over the din.
“Let not a single one escape alive!”
At his command, the Wolfram vanguard pursued the fleeing enemy with merciless speed.
While the horsemen cut off the escape routes and butchered those in their path, the armored columns crashing into the rear swept away thousands more.
What followed was no longer a battle; it was a slaughter.
The Zram fell helplessly under the onslaught. By the time two hours had passed, the field was choked with the bodies of the invaders, broken under the hooves of warhorses.
“Your Grace! The enemies at the South Gate have been entirely wiped out!”
As the fighting drew to a close, Daren, who had remained behind to clear the southern approach, came riding up.
Only then did Varkas finally lower his weapon.
The wolf pack had vanished as silently as it had come. Only a handful that had fallen to spears lay limp among the mounds of dead.
He stared down at them for a quiet moment, planted his spear into the soil, and swung down from the saddle, sparing Toruk’s spent legs.
“Casualties?”
“We have yet to take a full count, but it appears we have lost around four hundred.”
Taking the reins from Varkas’s hand, Daren spoke in a low, heavy voice.
“If we include the city watch, it will likely double that.”
A grievous loss, yet considering the city had teetered on the brink of falling, it was an outcome that could only be called fortunate.
Varkas let out a slow, weary breath and looked up at the sky, where the dusk was beginning to settle.
A dry wind, heavy with the stench of iron, blew across his blood-spattered face. He ran a rough hand through his tangled hair and turned toward the North Gate.
“Gather the fallen and move them to the cathedral. We hold the rites tomorrow.”
“Understood.”
He walked across the churned field and passed through the breached wall.
Around the collapsed rampart, bodies of soldiers and raiders lay tangled in the rubble. He watched the guards dragging them into heaps for a moment before stepping closer to the crumbled curtain wall to assess the damage.
The raiders who had plagued the region for years were gone, which would buy them peace for a time, but Kalmor’s defenses had to be restored without delay.
‘It will take at least four months to rebuild properly.’
Scanning the fractured stones and the shattered watchtower in turn, Varkas started down the road toward Raedgo Castle.
He froze when he saw a crowd gathered at the base of a tower adjoining the outer wall.
Before a heap of masonry and broken timber, a woman was huddled on the ground, weeping uncontrollably. A dozen or more guards were holding her back while frantically clawing away the fallen stone.
Staring at the scene, Varkas took the nearest guard firmly by the shoulder.
“What happened here?”
“Your… Your Grace…”
The guard, who had been heaving a heavy block away from the rubble, looked up at him with a face drained of color.
In that instant, a strange chill ran down the back of his neck.
END