Things are starting to feel a bit normal again and meetings are feeling a bit less hectic, thank goodness. I hate Nurgle even more now. Oh, and here's the second part of the battle of Ken. This chapter is partially inspired by Mount & Blade II Bannerlord, still in early access.

This chapter is brought to you by the Necropolis theme in Heroes of Might and Magic V. The last section of it, though, is brought to you by the beginning of that song in the Total War: Warhammer II soundtrack that's labelled 'I Do Not Serve' in YouTube.

This chapter made with apologies to JRR Tolkien.

Chapter VI
The Breach

'The most terrifying sound in the world is the crashing of a ram on a city gate.'

– unknown militiaman after the Battle of Ken

The bells were at their most frantic by the time Marcus and Gav managed to reach the Black Dogs' muster field.

The muster field was the courtyard of the Black Dogs' headquarters: a flat, level field paved with cobblestone more than three hundred feet in length and more than a hundred in width, demarcated on three sides by solid defensive ramparts and on the fourth by the headquarters' stern grey facade. In times of relative quiet, it served many purposes, including as a training ground or a target range, an area for jousts, or even an open seasonal market for merchants whose wares were in high demand amongst the inhabitants of the Mercenary Quarter.

In times of need, however, it reverted to its original purpose: a place to muster the assembled strength of the Black Dogs present in the headquarters.

As the two young mercenaries entered through the muster field's opened gateway, they were greeted by a scene of controlled chaos: of a mass of men running to and fro, of armband-wearing soldiers and sergeants with red-striped helmets attempting to direct the flow of men using differently-coloured flags, horns, bugles and percussion instruments of various types, and even the vague outline of horses in the far end of the field, apparently being fought over by two officers for some reason. The banners of the two companies present – the rampant black hound bearing a sword and shield on a bordered red field that symbolised General Vault's infantry and the black hound at speed on a solid red field that symbolised Captain Hicks's scouts – flew high and proud, two points of constancy above the chaos. The sounds of horns, bugles, whistles, drums and shouting all combined to form an all-pervasive, nigh-incomprehensible din that echoed throughout the field, with the ever-present ringing of the city's alarm bells in the background. Were Marcus not so agitated by the thought of imminent enemy attack, he would have entertained the image that popped into his mind, one of a busy day at a town market.

I thought everyone was placed on alert even while they were resting, Marcus thought as he and Gav crossed the stone entryway and looked at the confused mass of men before them. Yet here they are now, milling about. What happened here? After a minute's consideration, he shook his head and decided to focus on what he needed to do.

'So…' Marcus said, nudging at Gav to get his attention. 'Where to now?'

'No idea,' Gav replied, still looking around to see if he recognised anyone who may lead them to where they needed to be. 'I say we go forward and keep walking until-'

'Hey, you two!' a loud voice called from their left, booming yet still barely audible against the background noise.

'Or until that happens,' Gav continued. The two stopped walking and faced left to see a flag-bearing man walking towards them.

The man was broad and strongly-built, Marcus observed, and likely in his early to mid-thirties. He had a new – or at least well-maintained – haubergeon over his gambeson and chausses over his trousers, a sure sign of seniority and greater wealth in the Black Dogs. The single bright crimson stripe on his helm – the mark of a sergeant – further cemented his authority, alongside the gorget stamped with the Black Dogs' sigil that marked him as being more than a simple sergeant. A sergeant's iron mace hung from his baldric while two daggers hung in their sheaths from his belt, and he kept his shield at his back, hanging by its shoulder-strap. He had a strong jaw covered by a red beard, and the rough features of his scarred, ruddy face were set in a frown, one that Marcus thought may be his default expression.

'So, what are you gentlemen standing around here for, then?' the sergeant asked when he arrived in front of the two, his tone gruff and accusatory. 'Which company do you belong to?'

'Well, we,' Marcus threw a quick questioning glance at Gav, who also didn't seem to know. 'We don't belong to any, sir,' he continued. 'We've yet to be assigned to our companies, sir.'

'We're two of the new recruits inducted today, sir,' Gav said in support.

The sergeant grunted. Whether in understanding or in annoyance, Marcus couldn't tell.

'You're with the neophytes, then,' he said after a moment's consideration. He turned his head towards the headquarters, eyes squinted in consideration. 'You're supposed to report to…' He then turned back to them. 'Fuck it, my file can use two good men,' he said. 'Follow me.'

The sergeant promptly turned and marched, and the two young mercenaries quickly followed a step behind, doing their best to weave their way through the crowd. The sergeant led them to a point somewhere on the right side of the muster field. He stopped abruptly at a space relatively clear of jostling men, somewhere close to the banner of General Vault's infantry. He then turned back to Marcus and Gav. The two young mercenaries saw a group of spear-armed men arranged in the beginnings of an orderly formation, with a line of seven men in front.

The sergeant gestured at someone to his left. Moments later, two servant boys pushed, jostled, and apologised their way towards them, one bearing two shields and the other two spears. The sergeant turned to Marcus and Gav and jutted his chin towards the servants, and the two mercenaries stepped forward and took the proffered arms.

'Lars!' the sergeant called out as Marcus adjusted his new shield's shoulder-strap.

A tall, hauberk-clad man wearing the new T-visored barbute, a style of helmet that is is gaining popularity among the foot soldiers of Feoh, took a step forward from the right side of the formation. The man wore a red armband with the symbol of the Black Dogs on his left arm and had a trumpet hanging beside his sword, which told Marcus everything he needed to know about him: this was the file's second, a position often reserved for the best fighter of the file.

'Sergeant,' the man, whose name is apparently Lars, said in response.

'These are the new members of the file,' the sergeant said. 'They're your charge for now.'

'Yes, sir,' Lars replied with a nod. The sergeant then briskly turned and marched back to directing the flow of men to where they ought to be, barking orders on the way.

As the sergeant left, Lars gestured for Marcus and Gav to follow, and the file parted, four men moved left and three right, to accommodate two new warriors. The two young men then took their place in the centre of the file, where the youngest and least experienced soldiers were positioned.

Marcus stood at attention like he is supposed to, but he could not help but let his eyes wander. The amorphous mass of men before him slowly started to form into the company of soldiers they were, files of ten men massed in troops of a hundred, arranged in formations ten men wide and ten deep. He heard the footsteps and voices of two other troops forming up to his left and right, their individual members trickling in little by little, herded into formation by the waving of flags or the shouts of their compatriots. He saw servants – usually aspiring Black Dogs too young to join up as mercenaries or orphans with nowhere else to go – scurrying around, giving spears, shields, or water skins to soldiers who may have need of them.

As he looked and listened, Marcus noticed some things he felt were a bit strange for mercenaries about to head to battle. Instead of the tense, uncomfortable silence he expected, the Black Dogs around him seemed confident, relaxed even, even amidst the confusion around them and the alarmed ringing of the bells in the background. He heard boasts, japes, and friendly ribbing around him, with some men some distance behind even making some kind of bet on the number of demons they could slay. Such shows of courage – or possibly foolhardiness – provided some comfort for the young mercenary, but it still had him thinking: were the Black Dogs truly that confident in Ken's defences? Or perhaps they were simply confident of their own abilities? These are General Vault's own soldiers, after all, he thought.

With such thoughts in mind, it did not come to Marcus's surprise when a few moment later, Lars walked up before him and Gav, a knowing smile on his face.

'So,' Lars said after Marcus and Gav settled in, 'I didn't know we were going to have new blood.'

'We didn't know we were going to be new blood,' Gav answered. 'We were entering the field wandering where we're supposed to go, and next thing we knew, we're part of the sergeant's file.'

Lars chuckled. 'That sounds like Sergeant Varric, alright,' he said, shaking his head. 'I bet he didn't even get your names.'

'That he didn't,' Gav said. 'Gav, from Koelber.'

'Marcus, from Koelber,' Marcus added.

Lars's eyes seem to have lit up in recognition.

'I've heard about the two of you,' he said. 'Fine work you boys did at Asper.'

'Well, you know,' Gav said with a sheepish grin. 'When all hope seems lost, you just do what comes naturally.'

'And apparently, for him, what comes naturally is keeping the company's remnants together despite being completely surrounded by demons,' Marcus quipped. Lars chuckled before turning to Marcus.

'To you, though, what comes naturally was up and killing the horde's orc chieftain,' he said with a grin. Another brief flash of annoyance and guilt flared up in Marcus's mind due to even more undue praise for him, but he managed to keep it under wraps and keep his expression neutral.

'Well- I-' Marcus muttered, 'It was a dark elf.'

'Was it?' Lars asked. 'Well, that's interesting. So, how was she, then? It was a she, right?'

'It was, far as I could tell,' Marcus replied with a nod.

'Figures,' he said, 'the dark elves always did have more women in command than men.' He then shrugged. 'But for all my years as a merc, I've never actually fought one in the Dark Queen's service before.'

'They're that rare?' Gav asked.

'Apparently,' Lars answered. He then flashed a wide, mischievous grin. 'Or maybe the Dark Queen would rather throw horde after horde of demons on our walls than let one of her precious elf women leave her velvety pleasure-chambers.'

Marcus did not need to turn to know that Gav suddenly turned very interested. 'What, you think the Dark Queen and her agents…' his friend began. For his part, he can only shake his head, both at Gav's predictability and how the conversation seemed more fit for drinkers at a tavern than soldiers preparing for battle.

'Maybe,' Lars said in response to Gav's query. 'Or maybe not. Who knows? Who knows anything about the Dark Queen and her elves?'

'The dark elves are pretty hot, though, we can't deny that,' Gav said with a conspiratorial grin. 'Too bad we have to kill each other.'

'Too bad,' Lars said, nodding in understanding. 'Too bad indeed.'

'You think dark elves will lead this coming enemy?' Marcus asked, trying to change the subject to something more relevant at the moment.

'That depends,' Lars replied. 'If this assault is big enough, there are probably going to be quite a few. Don't expect to find more than three, though, and don't expect to actually face them in battle.' He grimaced. 'When things start to go south for them, the elves will be the first to run.'

'You're just about to find out for yourself,' Sergeant Varric interrupted as he walked up beside to Lars's left. Marcus noted for the first time that the shouting and jostling around him had ceased. He gave a cursory glance at the field around him and saw that the two companies in the muster field were in marching formation, arranged by troop along the length of the muster field with a wide corridor leading to the entryway between them.

The sergeant turned to Marcus and Gav. 'I guess welcoming you to the file can wait for later,' he said. 'You hear that?'

'Hear what?' Gav asked.

'The bells,' Marcus answered. 'They've stopped ringing.'

'That they have,' Sergeant Varric said. 'That only means one thing.'

The sergeant marched off to his position to the left of the file as Lars went his way to the right. Marcus turned and saw a servant walk up to the mercenary standing at Sergeant Varric's right – the troop's standard bearer and primary trumpeter – to hand him the troop's banner.

The muster field's previous lively, jovial atmosphere gave way to grim silence, broken only by the nervous neighing of some of the scouts' horses. Marcus heard Gav gulp nervously to his left and the other Black Dog whose name he did not manage to catch give a long, loud sigh to his right. He heard some mercenaries behind him mutter nonsensical phrases to themselves and others tap at their weapons, all to try to calm themselves before the coming battle. That small part of his mind that tried to keep him from panicking by pointing out everything and anything he may find interesting noted that he did not hear prayers to the Goddess, to her saints, or to other gods of choice.

All eyes briefly turned to the entryway as a single black-clad rider on a large black horse – General Vault himself – hurried in from his errand in the White Palace. Marcus's eyes followed the general as he rode to the end of the formation closest to the gateway, taking his place alongside his personal troop.

The deep, mournful wait of war horns then filled the air, emanating from atop the headquarters.

'Move out!' came a faintly-heard order from somewhere to Marcus's left, followed by the sound of trumpets echoing the command. The rhythmic sound of the march filled the field as the Black Dogs marched out to the streets of Ken, one troop at a time.

More bolts of white fire streaked and roared from the ground through the late afternoon sky, launched by dark elf sorceresses onto the enchanted walls of Ken. In response, a hail of crossbow bolts flew from the city's ivory-hued fortifications, reaping a large toll on the demons that hid behind their crude shields or makeshift wooden barricades. Larger projectiles – bolts from the ballistae and stones or quicklime pots from the trebuchets mounted on the walls – fell upon the demons, who had next to no defence against such heavy weaponry. The men and siege-engines on the walls then started aiming further, at the sorceresses hidden behind their more well-formed barricades. Quite a number of the Dark Queen's acolytes fell to the artifice of men and halflings.

Olga's heart bled for her people, but she remained resolute. Well-protected at the very rear of the demonic horde, well beyond the reach of even Ken's trebuchets, she and her eight sorceresses continued their Ritual of Unmaking. Even more red sorcerous lightning issued forth from her staff, and the glowing sigils on the ground also began to crackle with power as the Dark Queen and her sorceresses poured even more power into the spell.

The wind howled in protest at the dark elves' ancient words of power, and a violent gale blew as lightning crackled and flashed around the sorceresses. Olga's usually redoubtable Ebon Guard turned towards their queen and fell back, and only the ever-faithful Chloe remained at her post, standing watch so that none may disrupt the rite.

As the Dark Queen's spell reached its crescendo, a great wave of power washed over the battlefield. All fell still in the demonic horde, and even the men at the walls of Ken were silenced. At the last, as the runic inscriptions beneath her glowed their brightest, Olga spoke the final words of the incantation. More waves of power, greater in magnitude than the previous one, emanated from Olga's magical circles. The crimson orbs outside the city, as well as the one the Black Dogs ignorantly brought into their fortress, glowed bright with infused power.

The numerous wards that protected the white walls of Ken also glowed, a bright white amidst the darkening surroundings, before turning into an angry red and crackling with foreign magic. After a few moments of struggle, they fizzled away, rendered inert by the sheer power of Olga's spell.

It was done: so long as the Ritual of Unmaking held, the walls of Ken were mere stone.

Once the spell was completed, Chloe gave her signal to all the dark elf lieutenants that commanded the many sections of the horde. She also signalled the sorcerers to fall back. There was no use risking any precious dark elven lives any further.

And so, the order given, the demons were unleashed upon the city. They charged at the walls en masse, like a rushing tide upon the rocky shore, baying for the blood and flesh of all that hid within the White City.

As the sun started to set and the day began to give way to night, fires began to light up from the many communication beacons that that dotted the White City.

The beacons were mostly placed atop towers almost sixty feet in height, each one placed at place of importance in the city. The towers were made of the same white stone as most of the other structures of Ken. Their cylindrical forms were marred by numerous small, rectangular murder-holes, especially near the top, which allowed archers to defend them from within. The platforms that topped each beacon were dominated by large fire pits filled with logs of the pure white telper wood sacred to the high elves, which burned with a fire as pure and as white as the trees themselves.

The beacons were built for two purposes: to give commanders a wider view of the city in the event of an attack and to allow quicker communication between the field officers and the commander of the army, especially at night. Simple reports or orders could be sent through the beacons by throwing different types of materials into the pyres, which would immediately change the colour of the flames. Each colour corresponded to a different message, and the length of time before the fire returned to its white form showed how urgently the commanders in the field needed to learn of them.

It is a fine system, Claudia thought to herself as she stood in the uppermost room of the tallest tower of the White Palace, which itself was topped by its own beacon-fire. It is a shame telper wood is so rare. She gazed out an eastward-facing window, towards the Elven Gate. Her commanding view of the city was limited by the fast-fading daylight, but she could still clearly see both the lights of the beacons and the dark forms of the enemy beyond. The Dark Queen's horde looked like a beast from man's darkest nightmares: a writhing, amorphous monstrosity out to consume the city, the pinpricks of light from the demons' torches resembling thousands of flaming eyes.

The battle should have begun in earnest now, she thought as she looked away from the window and to the large table on her left, which held another detailed model of the city and carved figures that showed the position of its assailants and defenders. And the enemy are more numerous than we first imagined. She looked out the window again to see the beacon-fires on three of the towers closest to the Elven Gate turn from white to green, a sign of enemy contact. Two of the lights soon regained their old white hue, but one remained green.

The enemy will attack there.

Claudia saw bolts of fire streak like comets close to that part of the wall, which gave credence to her thoughts. The Dark Queen was hurling her sorcerous powers at that section. The green fire atop the beacon closest to that portion of the wall shifted to a blue hue before returning to its original white, a sign that the militia forces holding the walls were holding.

Claudia hissed in frustration as she watched even more fiery bolts erupted from the enemy horde. As per her estimation, the bolts were from no less than thirty sources. Triple the usual amount, she thought, and all of that in a single wall section.

'The witch must be throwing everything she has out there,' she said.

'She may very well be,' the Goddess said as she also stepped forward to look out the eastward window. 'I sense the presence of almost sixty of her sorceresses amongst the enemies.'

More fire bolts exploded before the walls, their power negated by the Goddess's wards. The beacons once again signalled that the militia forces are holding. Further back, one of the beacons, the one in the middle of Verdant Square, flashed yellow, indicating that reinforcements have arrived there. Those must be Vault's Black Dogs, Claudia thought. Good. I can use such warriors that close to the gate.

'They appear to be attempting to overwhelm the wards with repeated attacks,' Claudia said, turning to Celestine, who seemed to be wrapped in a halo of faint light. For a moment, she thought she saw her eyes shine brighter than usual, but she paid it no heed. Surely, that was the Goddess's magic at work. 'Surely they know from experience that such schemes are ultimately useless?'

'Indeed,' Celestine answered with a nod. 'Surely, they must be planning something to sabotage the wards. Otherwise, Queen Olga's presence makes no sense.'

Claudia grimaced. Celestine earlier told the war council that the Dark Queen's presence was what hid this horde from her oracular sight, but the reports have not confirmed that she was leading this assault. 'You are now certain the Dark Queen is here?' she asked.

'Yes,' Celestine answered, her lips pursed into a thin line. 'I can sense her. A vast amount of magical energy is bleeding out of her, and she seems to be gathering even more to herself from the land and the winds. I am certain she is preparing to unleash a spell of unparalleled power.'

'Can such a spell overwhelm the wards?' Claudia asked.

'That… that I do not know,' Celestine admitted. The halo of light around her seemed to glow brighter for a brief moment. 'So far, there are no known means of overcoming protective wards other than sheer magical force. I have been strengthening the wards to their greatest capacity, so they should not be overwhelmed even if the Dark Queen throws all of the power she gathered onto the walls in a straightforward attack. However, I believe she already knows that.'

'And she must be preparing some kind of trick,' Claudia agreed. 'But what kind…?'

'By all means, allow me to worry about matters of sorcery, Claudia,' Celestine said with a smile as she returned to her seat on the other side of the table. 'And I shall leave the battle's more martial aspects to your capable hands.'

'O-of course, Your Holiness,' Claudia replied with a bow. She took another look outside before standing beside her seat at the table. She shifted about a few figures representing the militia before gesturing for one of the three Dawn Templar novitiates assigned as her attendants to approach her.

'Send this message to Baron Salazar,' she ordered. 'More four reserve companies to the Square of the Three Heroes. Order them to reinforce General Vault's troops if necessary. Bring up another company to the Outer Ring's sections close to the Elven Gate.'

'Yes, my lady,' the novitiate replied before promptly sprinting up the spiral staircase that led to the platform above, where the servants that tended to the beacon waited.

Mere moments later, the fires atop the beacon in the plaza where Baron Salazar was flashed yellow several times, indicating that the baron had received her order. Claudia nodded in silence at this before again looking at the representation of the battle on the table.

'Report from the Goddess's Gate, Commander,' the novitiate Claudia sent to the beacon said as went a few steps down the stairs. 'A small group of enemies have been spotted headed south-west.'

Claudia nodded at the report, her jaw tightened in annoyance. She again looked at the table, especially at the quickly-depleting pool of reserves the militia had in their many muster fields.

The Dark Queen is forcing us to spread our forces thin, she thought. This force is meant to either flank the city and strike from the south or to break of from the main horde to raid and loot the southern fields, as well as to possibly disrupt any messengers headed south. The former is more likely if the witch truly has found a way to overcome the wards, the latter if she wants a long siege. If the latter is right, there would be more well-hidden demons hidden close to the Ivory Gate as well. But still, can the Dark Queen control her unruly hordes enough to conduct a proper siege…?

The commander sighed and again turned to the novitiate.

'Tell Baron Salazar and General Vault to send one company each to the Goddess's Gate,' she ordered. 'Tell Count Pantielle to bring half the nobility's troops out of the Middle Ring to prepare to reinforce both gates, should the need arise.'

'Yes, commander,' the novitiate replied, immediately going up the staircase once more.

Claudia turned to another novitiate, who was at the far end of the room.

'Go to Knight-Captain Liara. Tell her to prepare the Dawn Templars to ride out. I require my horse to be fully prepared as well,' she ordered.

'Yes, commander,' the second novitiate anwered before moving to leave through the staircase going down.

Claudia glared at the table once more as she paced in thought. As per General Vault's report, our only certain hope of reinforcement are six companies of Black Dogs way to the south, she thought, placing a hand on her chin out of habit. More forces are welcome, but I doubt a few thousand men can help us turn the tide here. Especially since the general admitted he did not know exactly where Kalmarr is. Perhaps we ought to risk sending out more riders to the halflings to call for reinforcements?

As she continued pacing in thought, she turned her attention to Celestine to ask for her advice. However, what she saw of the Goddess made her freeze up in shock.

Celestine's face was contorted in a pained snarl. She clutched at her chest with one hand while her other held onto her seat's armrest, knuckles white with exertion. She seemed as if she was trying to speak, but whatever she was feeling was preventing her from doing anything besides hiss out air.

'Your Holiness!' Claudia exclaimed. Gathering her wits, she pointed at the last novitiate present.

'You! Call a healer here, now!'

The novitiate nodded and sprinted down the staircase, even as Claudia ran to attend to the Goddess. When she reached out a gauntleted hand to touch Celestine's shoulder, a spark of magical lightning leapt at her, causing her to retract her hand in pain and shock. With great effort, Celestine lifted her left hand and gestured for Claudia to step back. The Dawn Templar commander slowly and reluctantly did so, and she could only watch in wide-eyed horror as her Goddess struggled with her unknown pain.

A few painfully tense heartbeats later, Celestine seemed to glow red as she lurched forward, giving a horrific high-pitched scream. The light then seemed to leave her as she fell forwards, stopped only as Claudia darted forward to catch her by the shoulders.

'C… Claudia…' Celestine panted, her head bowed.

'I'm here, My Lady,' Claudia said, pulling the Goddess close for a tender embrace. 'I am here for you.'

'The wards, Claudia. She… she cut me off from them. They are broken.'

As Claudia attempted to steady Celestine in her seat, the beacon-fires at the towers closest to the Elven Gate turned red and did not change back. Meanwhile, outside the walls, a mighty roar issued forth from the Dark Queen's hordes as the demons charged the walls.

'Loose!'

Another rain of bolts was let loose from the walls of Ken, raining down upon the demons, who seemed to have recovered their nerve and surged forth from their barricades once more. The brutes that spearheaded the charging mass were hit. A few were hit in particularly important parts of their bodies and fell almost immediately while most of the others were simply distracted by the bolts. However, such distractions proved fatal to the demons, for they were trampled to death by other baying brutes surging forth from behind.

'Recover! Second rank, forward!'

For more times than he bothered to count, militiaman Anton again stepped back to reload their crossbows.

It had been hours since the demons arrived before Ken. By that time, the shadows had grown long, and the braziers have been lit. Throughout this battle, the Dark Queen's forces had tried to brave the hail of crossbow, ballista, and trebuchet-launched projectiles in futile assaults four times. Two of their assaults did not make it to the walls, only succeeding to leave behind the corpses of thousands of demons lying on the killing field between the barricades and the walls. The other two assaults – the larger ones – managed to reach the walls, only for the demons who unfortunate enough to come in contact with the walls to burst into flames thanks to the Goddess's blessing. Anton heard from idle chatter that the demons did manage to successfully dock a ladder into another section, only to light up when they touched it.

Or perhaps those charges are not so useless after all, Anton thought. He noticed that the demons had managed to move their barricades a bit forward after every assault. The corpse-strewn field between the city and the barricades shrank from almost four hundred yards to about three hundred and fifty after the first assault, to almost three hundred after the third, to at least two hundred and fifty after the third, and finally to around two hundred.

Not that it did them any good, Anton thought.

'Recover! First rank, forward!' Sergeant Shem ordered. Anton and the rest of the rank stepped up to allow the second rank to reload.

Another rain of fireballs had been launched at the walls, only to be stopped by the Goddess's protection. Anton noticed that the dark elf witches' futile attacks seemed to grow more and more sporadic, possibly due to them growing more exhausted. The bolts of fire they launched also grew somewhat smaller and less intense. The militiaman could not help but smile at the memory of managing to hit one of the witches earlier, a feat not many could boast about.

Anton closed his eyes but kept his aim as the fireballs detonated before the walls, not wanting to let the sudden bright flash ruin his aim. He heard the sound of a ballista going off nearby, possibly in response to the witches. When he re-opened his eyes, he saw that the demons had managed to cross a full 50 yards. It was only then that he realised what the witches' otherwise useless fireballs were for: cover for the demons.

Anton had a smug smirk as he shot a bolt along with the rest of the rank. Nothing these bastards will do will help them, he thought. He was certain he got yet another demon, which disappeared beneath the horde like a stone onto an onrushing stream. As in their more dedicated assaults, the rain of hundreds of bolts onto their heads did not stop the demons' charge.

'Reload! Second rank, forward!' Sergeant Shem ordered. The rest of the file moved forward as Anton and his fellows reloaded. By that time, the demons had advanced yet another 50 yards.

'At your discretion! Loose!'

All the men of Anton's file then loosed their bolts at the demons. They then reloaded and shot at the onrushing horde as their skills allowed them. Anton's heart swelled with pride as he managed something approaching eleven shots a minute, a feat he had only rarely achieved in drills. Even though the evening was quickly approaching and the darkness made it difficult for the militiamen to see the fruits of their efforts, Anton knew every single bolt he shot hit a demon, closely-packed as they were.

The other sergeants of the other files beside Anton's seemed to have had the same idea as Sergeant Shem. They too brought all of their crossbowmen forward and ordered them to shoot at will. Instead of raining down on the demons in disciplined volleys, the militamen's bolts were flung at the horde continuously, halted only for a scant few moments in some sections by the occasional fireball.

Still, the horde powered on, the demons seemingly oblivious of their losses. Such was their numbers that the onrushing horde did not seem to thin out at all. The seemingly blood-maddened demons charged, heedless of their losses, their howling and roaring filling the air.

Fifty more yards. The sun had fully set by that time. With the help of light from a nearby brazier, Anton noticed the silhouette of a group of demons carrying ladders and making a run for the walls. He decided to aim for them specifically, even before the sergeants ordered them to do so. Still, the demons kept charging.

Forty more yards. The crossbowmen and ballista crews were mostly reduced to shooting torch lights or vague silhouettes, not knowing if their bolts managed to land killing blows. Many of the trebuchets had stopped flinging their deadly projectiles by then, either due to a lack of ammunition or the inability to properly aim. Tens of thousands of demons still reached the final stretch. The charge petered out to a stop, with lines of ogres bearing large tower shields moving forward to act as a makeshift barricade for their smaller fellows. Other smaller demons, mostly orcs, also raised their shields or whatever covering they could get their hands on, presenting a somewhat-protected target for the crossbowmen.

The smaller, weaker goblins went up from the very rear of the horde began to answer the men's rain of bolts with their own arrow volleys. Their weapons were apparently mundane enough to bypass the Goddess's blessing. However, the goblins' cruder bows and weaker arms meant that their shooting was largely ineffective, even if they were firing from a hundred yards or less. Many of their arrows fell well short of the walls while others just barely managed to reach it. The militiaman beside Anton was hit, only for the arrow to ping off his helmet. The man snorted in amusement before shooting at the direction where the arrow was from in response.

The front of the demons' shield wall then opened up at various points, and mobs of demons carrying siege ladders ran out. The sergeants ordered all crossbowmen to focus on them, and they were turned into bolt-filled pincushions in short order. Still, even more ladder-bearers kept coming, desperately trying to reach the walls, desperately trying to set themselves ablaze.

Do these bastards never learn? Anton thought.

Eventually, one mob of orcs did manage to place a ladder on the wall to Anton's left, merely a few feet from where he stood. The militiaman paid the ladder almost next to him no heed, continuing to shoot at the demons rushing to climb the ladder.

Then the strangest thing happened.

'They're not burning up!' Someone from the right said. 'The Goddess's protection is gone! The Goddess has abandoned us!'

Anton's eyes widened upon hearing those words, and he tried peering out to look at the ladder. The goblins' arrows dissuaded him from actually doing so, but the darkness outside the walls and the demons' triumphant-sounding cries told him everything he needed to know: the demons were indeed not burning up. Amidst the demons' roars, he heard the

The militiaman looked outside again. Demons were rushing to climb the walls by their thousand, as evidenced by the torch lights moving forward amidst a sea of silhouettes or lit-up demon snarls. Suddenly gaining a sense of his own mortality, Anton felt a pit of dread rise up from deep within him. His legs started shaking, his breathing became shallow, and he found himself unable to properly aim. Every instinct he had screamed at him to run, to abandon the walls just as the Goddess seemed to have abandoned him. Still, he had sinking feeling in his gut, knowing that there was nowhere to run.

'What the hell are you bastards doing?' Sergeant Shem bellowed. Anton noticed how hoarse and desperate-sounding the sergeant's voice had become. 'Shoot! Keep shooting! The Goddess is still with us!'

A few bolts flew out from the walls onto the onrushing demon tide in response. Anton also scrambled to load a bolt and pointed it at the demons, but his hands felt as if they were made of lead. He was unable to shoot.

'Spears forward!' He heard Captain Zane order. Those were the last clear words Anton heard. Everything else became a blur, with even the sounding of trumpets turning faint in his ears. He stood, frozen in place, for what seemed to be an eternity. He was only snapped back to reality by a terrified scream, which was only made louder after the disgusting squelch of a blade sinking into flesh.

The orc to his left tossed the dying man aside like a rag doll before raising its cleaver to chop into Anton. Acting more on instinct than thought, the militiaman quickly turned his loaded crossbow and shot at close to point-blank range, hitting the brute in the eye. The demon staggered a step backward and dropped its weapon in shock, noisome black ichor and other fluids flowing freely from its ruined eye, as Anton threw his crossbow to the ground and drew his sword. He stabbed at the orc with a desperate cry, only for his sword to be stopped mid strike by the brute's big, meaty fist. It bellowed in pure rage at Anton and punched him straight in the face. The militiaman felt the intense pain of his nose breaking and his teeth coming loose, and bright, nonsensical lights flashed in his vision. The force of the punch forced him to the ground. Moments later, he screamed as he felt an intense, searing pain from his collarbone to his stomach. His vision started to fade, but in his last moments, he felt a small rush of satisfaction as the first orc that attacked him also fell to the floor, dead.

The demons stormed the walls of Ken in their thousands, but they faced stiff resistance from the defending Ken Militia. Acting upon the orders of Princess Claudia, Baron Salazar sent a significant portion of his reserve companies to reinforce the defenders of the walls. The demons had an overwhelming advantage in numbers, but they paid dearly for every foot of the wall they gained.

As the Dark Queen's hordes struggled to take the walls, she ordered her minions to bring forth a siege-engine of dark elven make: a great battering ram hewn from a single log of ancient ironwood from the distant north, capped with an enormous fist of blackened steel. The ram lay within a wheeled framework, and it was suspended by black steel chains. A roof made of leathery lizard-hide moistened with water protected the device against flaming ammunition. Four chained hissing lizard-beasts from the deep desert pulled on the ram, and a work-gang of large, well-armoured ogres pushed it the sides and from behind.

The ram painstakingly rolled its way up to the Elven Gate. Crossbow bolts fell like rain upon the great lizards that pulled the ram, but their armoured scales proved too strong. Only direct hits from the ballistae could hurt them, but even then, it took quite a number of shots to bring them down. The ram was stopped then, blocked by the corpses of the beasts which were supposed to pull it. The ogre work-gangs had to roll them out of the way, taking bolt after bolt all the while, and they too fell. Still, the ram managed to plod on, pushed by a replacement work-gang.

When the ram came close enough, the men at the gatehouse threw pots of quicklime at it or the demons pushing it. The moistened roof fizzled and melted away at some points, exposing the demonic work-gangs to attack. But the ram kept its way forward, stopping for nothing.

It took the ram a long, torturous hour to reach its destination. Its roof was melted away by quicklime, and its crew had to be replaced four times after the previous ones perished. But in the end, it made it before the Elven Gate.

And so did the Dark Queen's minions manage to reach the ramparts of the White City. So began the longest night in the history of Ken.

The crashing sound of something big and heavy – likely a ram – striking the Elven Gate could be heard even inside the walls of Ken, along with the sounds of battle on the walls. Though the shroud of night hid most of the sights fighting, it was clear that the demons were breaking through, though resistance from the men remained fierce.

Marcus and Gav stood at attention with the rest of General Vault's company at the Verdant Square, little more than a stone's throw away from the Elven Gate. The company was arranged by troop in a horizontal line facing the gatehouse, with General Vault's elite two-handed swordsmen at the centre and Marcus's troop furthest to the right. Kin, chief of the Black Dogs' mages, stood on his own beside the general's troop. Another company of militiamen were deployed in a similar fashion behind the Black Dogs.

The other Black Dog formations were positioned closer to the gate: the neophyte company was placed at the right alongside a company of veteran militiamen, while Captain Hicks's scouts were hidden at the left, carrying heavier lances and wearing mail armour instead of being clad in their usual, lighter panoply. A company of militiamen armed with crossbows was also positioned near the gate, deployed in the upper rooms of the buildings closest to it. If the demons were able to break through, they would be met by yet another hail of crossbows, as well as the swords and lances of the soldiers least likely to rout.

And as the night dragged on and the crashing grew louder, it seemed to Marcus that the demons breaking through was just a matter of time. He also looked at the walls around the Elven Gate and noticed that the strange white fires atop some of the larger towers had turned red. He was not told what that meant, but he could easily guess that it was not good. That some of the fires actually went out probably meant something worse.

But as he looked around at the other men to see how they were doing, Marcus could not seem to find any signs of stress or fear. Only Gav seemed to look nervous in the dim firelight. This really is General Vault's company, he thought.

'I bet our new blood are feeling pretty antsy right now,' Sergeant Varric called out from the left. His words elicited a few chuckles from the men.

'Yes sir,' Marcus replied, trying to sound as light-hearted as he can.

'Can't wait to earn our pay and all that,' Gav added, also sounding more relaxed than he looked. Their words garnered more chuckles from the rest of the troop.

'Ha! I like your spirit, boys,' the sergeant said with a laugh. 'No wonder you did so well in Asper.'

'We fight like dogs, we die like dogs,' Gav said, echoing the late Captain Julius's words before the battle.

'I like that,' Sergeant Varric said. 'I like that a lot. Maybe I'll use it some other time.'

As the Black Dogs exchanged light-hearted banter, however, the crashing sounds from outside grew louder, gaining the attention of all the defenders in the immediate vicinity. After a few tense moments, the Elven Gate seemed to have slammed open, and the demons outside roared in triumph.

'Here they come, boys,' Sergeant Varric said. A horn sounded from the centre of the company, signalling an order.

'Form shield wall!' the sergeant ordered.

The troop followed the order with a measure of efficiency Marcus had not seen among his former company. He and Gav followed as best they could, raising their shields with the rest of the Black Dogs. Since their file was placed at the front of the troop, they lowered their spears, presenting their points forward. Two of the files behind them did the same, and the shafts of two levelled spears descended to the left and right of Marcus's shoulder. This was the truer form of the shield wall, Marcus knew, unlike the one they formed in Asper.

The sound of metal clanging on metal echoed through the night as the demons attempted to break the iron portcullis that barred their entry from the city. The sound was punctuated by screams of abject pain as the defenders poured quicklime onto the demons at the gateway through the murder-holes on its ceiling. The sounds of battle from the gateway intensified, only to fade away after a few moments. The great fire atop the Elven Gate was put out, and Marcus could hear the metallic noise of the portcullis being raised even amidst the other, louder noises of the growing war.

The company's horn then gave a long, loud blast, which was echoed by the primary hornblowers of all five troops.

'Onward, you Dogs!' Sergeant Varric bellowed. 'Advance!'

'The Dark Queen's assault of the north was as thorough as it was bloody, cutting a burning swathe through the sparsely-populated northern regions of the realm of Ken. They overthrew the works of men and elves where they could find them, looting and burning as they went. They took women prisoner to violate as they pleased, and they captured men to increase food stores in case of a long siege.

Goblins riding on the backs of fleet-footed demons that resembled large, wicked-looking desert lizards ranged ahead of the main horde, slaying any messengers the fortresses might send to warn the rest of the Seven Shield Alliance of the dire threat facing Ken. Dark elven captain led these roving goblin bands, riding upon black chariots pulled by the Dark Queen's golem-horses. The savagery of the goblins and the cunning of their elven lords proved a most horrifically effective snare, with hundreds of riders cut down and slaughtered.

However, two messengers did manage to escape. The first messenger was a man called John of Cassar, a rider of the Ken Militia. He rode from the mighty Fort Garlaf many weeks before the Dark Queen reached the city of Ken, heading north and west through the night with all speed, crossing the perilous mountain-passes of the Eastern Shield Mountains to avoid the goblin bands. It was said that he was indeed spotted by a roving goblin patrol and was wounded in the encounter, but he still managed to lose the demons in the maze-like terrain before dawn. Onwards he rode, under the shadow of the Shield Mountains, constantly hounded by enemy patrols at every step. The days of his ride turned into weeks, yet he persevered, desperate courage spurring him on. He could have turned south, to Geofu or to Ur, but he found other demon scouts waiting for him there. Thus, he rode, weary and starving as he was, straight to the city of Feoh. There, he managed to warn Princess Alicia of the danger to Ken before finally expiring. He was said to have died of his deprivations along with faithful steed only days after his heroic ride.

The assembled armies of Feoh led by the Holy Iris Order and Princess Alicia Arcturus immediately began a forced march east. They were soon joined by the assembled forces they left behind at Ur, led by Lady Maia of Ansur. This army numbered at least thirty thousand in all: less than half of what the demons had, but battle-hardened and well-motivated. However, Princess Alicia and Lady Maia had no illusions about reaching Ken with their force wholly intact. They took the shortest possible route straight to Ken, but they knew that this route was blocked by the mighty fortress of the Garlaf, which the Dark Queen undoubtedly stormed and garrisoned with his demons to attack any reinforcements from the west.

The other messenger, a man of the Black Dogs, had his name forgotten by the histories. General Vault sent him south the very day after he rescued the Black Dog initiates in Asper. The messenger had a less eventful ride of a mere few hours before he reached a camp that housed six Black Dog companies, around three thousand men in all. The senior commander of this cohort, Captain Stefan Kalmarr, acted immediately, redirecting his forces north and sending even more messengers to call upon any armies who might be nearby.

As good fortune would have it, other forces did turn out to be nearby: a thousand-strong company of the halflings of Rad and even several banners of the Ashigaru of Thorn led by Lord Rokurou from the east, as well as the entirety of the Company of the Snake. The leaders of these forces all deferred to the leadership of the celebrated Black Dog captain, and it was an army of almost ten thousand that he led to the famous Battle of the Goddess's Gate.'

– Excerpted from The Chronicle of the Hundred-Year War by Marcus Koelber

The orc warrior Zornak was having a good day. He had to take orders from one of those elf-bitches, but it was a good day nonetheless. He and the entire Bone-gnasher tribe had charged one of those big stone forts the men always seemed to like building – a particularly big and important one called the Garlaf or what-have-you. There was plenty of good killing to be had, of men with their funny hats and long, pointed sticks. They were weak as always. They also seemed to be led by some very fine bitches, and the Bone-gnasher orcs certainly put them to good use.

Zornak chuckled at the memory of his turn with the women, when he spurted his load inside them over and over again until they loved it. These were strong women, he knew, and they would bear strong warriors for the tribe. And he was very sure they would bear those warriors sooner rather than later, since he can hear their cries from where he stood, atop the outer ramparts of the fort.

Chief Azgog had told the tribe the elf-bitch wanted them to camp inside the fort for a while. She said this fort watched over some important pathway that a horde of men, elves and stunties will certainly pass through, including those famous caped Iris bitches. It was a good enough reason to stay, Zornak guessed: the men can make for good eating, he supposed, but those Irises, now those will certainly bear strong warriors for the tribe.

'No,' Zornak said to no one in particular. 'Not all the men.' He nodded to himself. Some of the men, those Black Dogs, were pretty good for a fight. He even heard that Overchief Zarnarg of the Bloody Maws had some kind of deal with them, something about putting that stuck-up bitch-queen and her elves in their place. If that was true, then that kind of deal was one the Bone-gnashers can surely play a part in. After all, Zarnarg's Bloody Jaws were among the strongest orc clans, with thousands of bitches in their cages. They would, at least, be good friends.

And so passed Zornak's afternoon as a look-out, filled with thoughts of a good day and a good future. As the sun finally sank down the west and the evening fully claimed this green land, he knew his time outside was about to end. He grinned, knowing he would have enough time to spend with the bitches after this. He barked some orders at some nearby goblins to light the torches and started imagining how he would deal with the bitches once he was inside. It was going to be a good night to end a good day.

But as Zornak started losing himself in his thoughts, a hot wind blew from outside the walls. The orc looked outside, wondering if that was normal around these parts. The wind blew out some of the fires the goblins had started, and he threw the nearest one out the walls for not lighting the fires well enough. The other goblins started cowering and running like the cowards they were, especially when the wind got strong enough to begin howling.

Zornak tried to look outside to see what was going on, but something hit him in the face. It got into his eyes and mouth, and he frantically started spitting it out while rubbing at his eyes to get the stinging out. He immediately recognised what hit him: sand.

The wind and the sands had turned into a full-blown sandstorm, not unlike those they had back home. Zornak dropped his axe and knelt down with his forehead on the ground, covering his eyes, ears and mouth to avoid getting sand into them. Meanwhile, his mind immediately knew this was all wrong: there was no sand in these lands.

He almost immediately understood who was behind this sandstorm. Of course that stuck-up elf-bitch betrayed them. She no doubt used some kind of strange elf magic to call this sandstorm so she and her two guards can try to kill the orcs and escape with the bitches, probably take them to her queen. Why else would she tell the Bone-gnashers to stay put inside this cramped fort? So she can easily kill them all, of course.

The sound of crashing and screaming from the courtyard below, which Zornak heard amidst the howling of the sandstorm, just proved his thoughts right. The orc warrior grit his teeth, groped about for his weapon, and stood up. No elf-bitch was going to back-stab the Bone-gnashers like that.

Keeping his eyes shut, Zornak felt around to make his way down the courtyard, struggling against the wind and the sand buffeting him. For some reason, the sandstorm seemed more intense down below, as if the centre of the storm was somewhere below them. He heard even more screams, of dying orcs and goblins alike, and he tightened his grip on his axe. He heard the sound of something running right at him. He knew this was one of the elves. He had no need to open his eyes; the night was dark enough, and the sandstorm would only make sure he would get to see anything. He held his breath, held onto his axe with both hands, and raised it in preparation for a strong chop.

Zornak swung his axe downward with both hands when the footsteps grew close enough. Instead of an elven scream, however, he heard a distinctly orcish cry of pain, followed by the thud of a heavy body to the ground. He grunted in annoyance, fooled as he was by those damn elves, as he pulled his axe out of his fellow orc. As he tried making his way around, the felt wind gradually growing weaker and weaker. Eventually, the wind was reduced to the usual cool evening breeze, and the sandstorm quietened completely. His mouth turned into a toothy, savage grin. It was finally time to make those elves pay.

When Zornak opened his eyes, however, the first thing he saw were a pair of glowing blue flames in the eye-sockets of some kind of skull-creature. He did not know what it was, but he was certain it was no elf.

Before he could do anything, Zornak felt a sharp, sudden pain, and he also felt himself roll down from a great height, for some reason. The orc had no idea what this creature is, but he still wanted to kill it. He tried to raise his axe to strike, but he realised that he could not feel his hands. Or his arm. Or his entire body.

And then everything went black.

If you're wondering, those lizards that pulled the big Grond reference look like giant goannas (or monitor lizards, if you live in a country with a more reasonable climate), only eviler-looking, somehow. Those apparently fast lizards the goblins were riding in that historical text look like those spiky desert lizards, only much bigger and much more evil (and can spit venom). The goblins don't actually sit on them and ride them while squatting like Western spies, using their clawed feet to find purchase in the lizards' scaly hide. They also hang on to a rope tied around the lizards' neck with one hand and carry small, goblin-sized javelins with the other. They have four javelins all in all, carried behind their backs.

Perseus12: That remains to be seen.

Pockmark: Thanks. That I will, schedule permitting.

Guest: True, but why would Settra agree? Is asking nicely even in-character for Olga, prideful as she seems to be?

Aznereth: Yes, Settra's will is strong enough, that's true. But thanks to how Warhammer gods work, there might be another explanation for how he does magic.

Mr. What If: Settra's army might still be a long time coming, if at all. The King of Kings will have to make do with a living army with all of their mortal frailties, at least for the moment. The spies are a good idea, but Settra is still currently very much alone and looking for his crown for now. And as for who lives and who dies in this story, well, that's very much dependent on the will of Settra. Not even my own will. I just write these things.

LittleWhiteMouse: Thank you; I'm glad you understand. I'm of the opinion that it's sometimes best not to fully show your big horror movie monster to the audience until things really go off the rails. The sandstorm is partially here, but a bigger one should brew up later. And yes, Celestine will see more of the life and times of Settra in the Old World, including the ancient glory that is Nehekhara. She will also see old Naggy-boy ruining everything, maybe even more than once. I'm just trying to squeeze in those visions so they fit the plot.

TheOnlyKing: I agree. Characterising Settra is like walking a tight-rope: make him too tyrannical yet awe-inspiring and stuff, and the audience may not find him believable. Make him too human, however, and that's not Settra anymore. I'm starting to figure out why none of those Black Library authors seem to want to write a story with him as the protagonist.

Akashic Silhouette: Thanks. My characterisation of Settra depends mostly on information about his character in Warhammer lore and in the Total War game, though I still have to make use of too much of my own speculation than I would like. I'm also taking some cues from characters like Gilgamesh and Iskandar from Fate Zero. As for the rest of the characters, yes, serving as background dressing for the MIGHTY LION OF THE INFINITE DESERT, GREAT HAWK OF THE HEAVENS is one purpose of theirs. One other is world-building.

Andod: Thank you. I hope life is treating you well too, especially in these times.

Stoneman303: Settra is king, even of his own self. That's what makes him king. Hopefully, the story remains good enough for you to enjoy when things start going off the rails.

Kla Zark: He does not serve!

JadeRovks: Here you go.

Well then, that's it for now. Take care of yourselves, keep your immune systems strong and all of those cliches. You do not want to be the subject of another damn meeting. If you have access to those immaculate golden bodies the liche-priests promised, get them as soon as possible.

Up next, either the third part of the siege (maybe the last one?) or the next chapter of the Byzantine story, whichever comes first. As always, any comments and criticisms are welcome.