the animal. Behind the round shield, Rangthor listened to the rain of arrows bouncing off or puncturing the leather-covered buckler. He pulled with his left arm, trying to steer the loxodont into whatever structures he could.
Fora’tine cried out in shocked pain in her right shoulder, the shout turning into a snarling war cry as the amazon bore down her steed into the catapult structures still unprepared for combat. Fas Gravoram followed her amazon sister, turning her steed into wagon carts filled with shields and spears. Splinters exploded around her, followed by loxodonts kicking up sand, blood, and debris into the air. Toris charged through, with Sulour and Jedivo flanking his steed. The trio of loxodonts tore into the encampment, trampling over anything that couldn’t get out of their way.
Styten B’delest followed in their wake, his loxodont relatively unscathed, fearlessly plowing into the open space behind the three. He watched as Toris and Sulour broke to the left and Jedivo turned his steed rightward. Grabbing his reins tightly, Styten forced his loxodont into the encampment of archery equipment and siege engines beyond.
Several sambucas sat in his way, massive arm-like siege engines designed to lift men up to the tops of walls by counterbalancing the arm with stones. Their sewn leather covering hid the wooden skeleton of each sambuca only temporarily before Styten’s mount smashed through.
The high pitch of arrows puncturing his flesh barely caught Styten’s attention as his mount finally lost its footing over the shattering wooden siege engines. Calling out in wild fervor, Styten stood up in the saddle. His loxodont turned its head to the sea, as if trying to avoid seeing the ground rise up to meet it. Boards snapped and timbers blasted apart in a cloud of sand. Styten struck the beach with a roll, feeling his left shoulder shatter on impact. Unsheathing his sword, the bloodied and battered Warrior of the Purple Sun charged into the archers ahead, hacking away at their shocked faces.
Elaisegen spied the area ahead, watching the loxodonts turning about to charge back through the beach to the riverbed. Pulling her loxodont to a more controlled trot, she shouted to her right, “Vim! Ulathor! We need to cover their charge back!”
Vim Fargem’dadine eyed her sister amazon, looking up to watch Fas and Fora’tine coming down the beach. Ulathor Bellis similarly looked forward, turning to his Purple Sun brethren, calling out, “Cytor! Ategem! Flank Rangthor while we cover them!” Snapping his reins, Ulathor joined his amazon comrades in full gallop, racing by the loxodonts charging at them and turning to provide more targets for the arrows.
Rangthor’s mount smashed through a covered battering ram, its wooden planks and animal hide skin crumpling and scattering apart like dried leaves in a wind gust. Soldiers within who had tried to use the battering ram as cover cried out, followed by the mournful cry of Rangthor’s loxodont. The shrapnel of splinters in its broad feet finally overcame the beast—crying out, it stumbled to the left, only to be met with volleys of arrows. It lurched right, in pain.
Rangthor fought the reins as best he could to steer the mount with a final groan into one of the sambucas lining the beach. The siege ladder ruptured, spilling its frame upon the sand to be buried by the beach and the loxodont that had plowed into it. Spitting out sand, Rangthor looked up at the sound of another loxodont cry. Jumping to his right, Rangthor painfully avoided the massive head of a loxodont ripping through several more parked sambucas. Trenches of debris and sand lay around him from the destroyed siege ladders.
Rushing to the fallen loxodont, Rangthor heard the painful cry of another loxodont bashing through the remaining siege ladders. Arrows pierced its flank; maddened by pain, the loxodontus lurched toward the Crag wall, trampling over soldiers and archers until it finally collapsed in the sand.
Rangthor pried Fora’tine out from the first broken loxodont, propping her up to run with her to the other fallen steed and Fas lying beside it. Despite arrows in her shoulders, Fora’tine grabbed what wicker shields she could reach, determined to be a barrier if nothing else. Tossing Fora’tine beside Fas, Rangthor limped back to seize two more shields, backing up to the high sheets of rock that made up the Thermotylus Crag. A fountain of hot water rained down on them, adding to the rivulets of blood born from the loxodont body behind.
Ategem rode up along the Crag, punching his steed into the army running at Rangthor. He pulled the reins and turned the loxodont back towards the heart of the Rygem’dor army, then let the loxodont charge and leapt from its saddle to the beach below.
Cytor’s loxodont cried out in absolute pain. He kept turning it and routing it through the Rygem’dor mass, until finally the only control he could muster was a straight run. The loxodont gave a final howl of pain before crashing through bodies and flattening cargo underneath.
Springing out of the crash, he held his right shoulder while running towards Rangthor. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed a shield from the beach, Cytor turned to face the enemy at Rangthor’s side, poised behind the leather-bound wicker buckler. Ategem took Rangthor’s right flank similarly, drawing his sword at the ready in a very small attempt at a phalanx.
Crouching low, the three tried to use the small shields as they would have used their own larger ones. Painfully, Fora’tine followed suit, holding to Cytor’s left with both hands, trying to hold her shield steady. Fas shook the cobwebs from her head well enough to flank Ategem, forming a curled wall of shields around the five of them.
Toris gargled as another arrow found its way through his armor to his chest—a short precursor to his steed finally losing its legs beneath him. With a pitiful slump forward, the over-balanced loxodont crashed onto the beach, sand flying high. Sliding off his saddle, Toris pried off the shield on the tower, crouching behind it painfully. He squinted, watching Jedivo and Sulour turn their steeds’ heads sharply. The painful maneuver turned the loxodonts’ flanks toward the Rygem’dor army before they fell, off-balanced, and squashed anything beneath.
Both Jedivo and Sulour raced to Toris’ side, taking up what shields they could find and flanking the wounded warrior. “Quickly!” Jedivo shouted, yanking on Toris’ left arm to pull him along. The trio skirted the two fallen loxodonts, their shields facing the scattered Rygem’dor forces reorganizing fast. They watched as three more loxodonts were turned sharply to fall similarly, creating a line of fallen mounts to shield their backs. Taking the afforded opportunity, the trio stumbled to Vim’s fallen loxodont first, grabbing a shield for her as they moved steadily to Elaisegen at her fallen mount and further on to Ulathor’s mount, nearest to Rangthor.
The six warriors fell into line as quickly as possible around Rangthor, their acquired bucklers poised in two rows above and below to give the best protection. “I really didn’t want to lose that mount,” Vim confessed behind her shield.
“Rangthor, we’ll have to use the Crag to get back to our army,” Elaisegen stated sharply. Few soldiers would dare to point out strategies to Rangthor, but as his third consort, Elaisegen had earned the right to advise and prompt as much as Kyrrest or Omeip. Rangthor eyed the army around them, quickly getting their bearings, however disorganized.
“You heard her! Let’s move!” Rising as one, the well-disciplined soldiers wound themselves tightly together, their wicker shields stacked two-fold around their three exposed sides as they moved along the Crag. Peering through the small cracks in their makeshift shield wall, Rangthor watched the charging infantry press towards their huddled mass. “Swords!” he barked aloud, using his right hand to unsheathe the short sword at his hip.
Bracing themselves behind their left arms and the shields they bore, the Warriors of the Purple Sun and their surviving amazonian counterparts braced themselves with points to the ready. A hail of arrows screeched through the air before them, the gorge erupting with projectiles to further preoccupy the disoriented army. Rangthor paid it no heed: with a push of his shield, he batted aside one soldier’s sword thrust, jabbing his short sword thrice into the man’s gut and groin almost in the blink of an eye.
Above him swiveled Jedivo’
s shield, stabbing at chests and exposed sword arms when he could, but content to bat away long spears and swords trying to overtake the top of the shields. Fora’tine, Ategem, and Ulathor followed the tactic, Ulathor poised above Vim and Cytor as they slowly pressed forward along the Crag. Sulour crouched in the middle, hacking and coughing blood as he shouted out the pace to move their feet in unison.
Toris barked out in pain, wincing to fight through the sudden sharp sting of a spear running through his shield and forearm. Shaking the shield with intent, he braced beneath Fora’tine while playing havoc with the feet of anyone trying to come against the rear.
Slowly, they marched down the Crag under the shouts of soldiers relentlessly attacking, and volley after volley of arrows cutting into the bloodied beach ahead. Sulour’s commands came in gasps, slowly losing rhythm, though he pressed on with one hand in the sand and the other clutching his arrow-laden chest.
“Ulathor!” Elaisegen shouted between shield parries and rapid jabs. “Take over for the march!” Jedivo leaned back slightly, pulling on Sulour’s left arm to bring him up and shoulder the warrior’s weight.
Tekar