Part 9: Legions
Michael turned and ran through the mass of civilians, who were quickly becoming more and more alarmed. He ignored him, his objective to cross through as quickly as possible. Someone was coming, and they were loud enough for him to hear them. There was really no reason to believe that he had to be worried, but he was. So was Dabiri, judging from the look that Michael had glanced just before the old Priest had ran in the same Direction Michael was taking- toward the sounds of horses.
Sure enough, as Michael emerged from the mass of civilians, he spotted Dabiri and, further ahead, the rest of the clerics. The clerics had formed a circle around their goddess, who they had laid on the ground. Their eyes were all facing the same way, to the North, where Michael spotted three armed horsemen, waving their swords like madmen, and riding toward the small group. Michael forced himself to run even faster- the clerics would be no match for mounted horsemen. Quickly, he counted them and came up one short- one of the clerics was missing.
Dean... Michael thought. The thought was brushed away as Michael neared the circle of clerics. Dabiri was already there, standing in the center and shouting something unintelligable to the others. Michael ran past them, toward the horsemen, who immediately zeroed in on him as their only true threat. He drew his sword and prepared to face them. One man against three well-armed soldiers riding horseback. Michael thought, just maybe, that he could do it.
Two more horsemen appeared on the horizon when Michael next looked up, and the sound was growing louder- there were more where that came from. This wasn't going to be pretty.... The first of the riders was nearly upon him when Michael dodged to the side and dealt the steed a mortal blow. The horse went down, as dragging its rider with it. Before the stunned soldier could act, Michael had severed his windpipe. One down-
The next riders arrived at the same time, seemingly not even fazed by the loss of their comrade. Michael dodged to the side again, this time not to kill one of the horses, but to avoid being trampled. There was a sudden ringing sound in his ears and a dull pain in his side- he had been struck, but it seemed that his armor had suffered the brunt of the assault. His momentum sent him crashing to the ground, but he quickly got up as the horsemen turned for a second strike. He held his sword in front of him, waiting for the next attack.
Why isn't this working? he thought to himself. The sword's magic should have kicked in long ago. Without it, he was just an ordinary soldier- he certainly couldn't stand against two mounted-
Michael jumped to the side again as two more horses swept by him- the riders he had seen immediately before confronging this group. The attacker's reinforcments were arriving, and his situation was going from bad to worse. Instinct and good timing had saved him,not to mention a little luck. Michael scrambled upright, attempting to dodge the attacks by the riders while getting a look at the rest of the situation. Other riders had already bypassed him and were circling Dabiri and the other clerics. It seemed that they hadn't been attacked yet, though Michael could not fathom why. He dodged forward, surprising his current attacker, and managed to wound the horse. This rider was more coordinated than the last, and managed to dismount before getting thrown or crushed by his own horse. Michael drove his attack forward, willing the sword's stubborn magic forth. Still, no magic came, and Michael struggled to make do with his mediocre skills and strength.
Michael winced as a bright white light engulfed the soldier standing before him, and then vanished into nothingness. The soldier stared for a moment, and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the ground. Michael was not about to ask questions. He moved desparately to the side once more, catching more than a glancing blow to his already-beaten armor by his attackers as he did so. He knew he was injured, and he was already exhausted from his journey. He wasn't in shape for this battle- without magic, he would soon be dead.
More of the bright white lights emerged on the battlefield. He now saw hundreds of riders, circling Dabiri's clerics and the civilians, but not attacking them. The four or five soldiers attacking him were just a small portion of the force. More and more of the attackers slumped over as the lights engulfed them, and they still did not attack Dabiri's clerics. It suddenly occurred to him why- Dabiri must be shielding his people somehow. Michael had little time to wonder why he wasn't being shielded. He was too busy trying to stay alive. The white lights danced, seemingly random. There were times when they'd appeared where they couldn't possilby hit anyone- like several yards directly overhead, or far on the horizon. Other times they showed deadly accuracy. None, however, had managed to find its way to Michael. He hoped that was on purpose- he didn't want to find out firsthand what the white lights did to a person.
Michael was flung bodily as a flail crashed into his breastplate, forcing the air from his lungs. The ground hammered at him with almost equal force, and Michael found himself struggling to hold on to consciousness. A grey haze seemed to dominate his mind for a moment, and it was only through sheer willpower that he managed to prevent being stampeded by a charging horse. Or was it a spooked horse? Michael seemed to be seeing more and more of the lights now, but maybe that was just the result of his injury. He gained his feet as more of the horses swept past him, some without riders. They didn't seem very interested in Michael any longer. Michael began walking toward the circle of clerics, determined to protect them in case something happened to their shielding. He wasn't sure what help he would be in his current state, but he had to do something. Part of his armor dug painfully into his side, forcing him to slow his pace. Riders still followed confused paths, trying to break through the shielding. Michael found himself confronted with the question: What if Dabiri's shielding failed?
As though his thoughts had triggered it, one of the clerics- Michael thought it was Eve, but he couldn't tell at this distance- screamed in pain and fell motionless to the ground. Nothing had struck her, of that Michael was certain, but something had happened. He didn't need to think about the outcome of this- more than likely, Dabiri's magic had failed. He ran, despite the pain it was causing him. The white spheres that had littered the battlefield before vanished, and none reappeared to take their place. The remaining horsemen seemed to realize that the tables had turned, and started to move toward Dabiri's circle once again. Michael, in a haze of pain and anger, struck at the nearest man, knocking him from his horse. Swiftly, Michael climbed on it, barely managing to stay balanced. He was beginning to get dizzy from loss of blood, and he wasn't very good at riding a horse anyway. The horse reared angrily, not in the least willing to aquiesce to this new rider. Michael didn't have time for this- he jumped from the horse, barely managing to keep his balance, and ran toward Dabiri. He looked up, and a feeling of dread surfaced within him- he was going to be too late.
A figure dressed in white appeared in the midst of the battlefield, throwing smaller versions of the brilliant lights in all directions, sending the horses reeling. Michael knew instantly who this was. The elusive Dean had returned. The horsemen reeled, circling about this new threat- Dabiri's group and the civilians forgotten for the moment. Michael turned and began to run toward Dean. No matter how powerful the kid's magic was, those horsemen outnumbered him by far too many for him to last long. Michael reached the first group of riders, taking them by suprise- they hadn't expected an attack from behind. He had managed to kill two and knock another from his mount before five of the attackers wheeled to confront him. He was still separated from Dean. He couldn't see the cleric from his current position, but he could hear people crying out as they were struck by the spheres. Michael was struck again and again, his battered armor barely able to deflect the few of the hits that they did. Michael was knocked to the ground once more as a horse careened into him. Another blow shredded whatever was left of his armor and everything went black.
Stinnett watches the battle between his riders and Dabiri's clerics. Of course, he is not so foolish as to actually be present at this battle- Morhaime's sword would prevent any such thing. But this idea of sending a small part of himself out to observe- it is a very good concept that had served him well in the past. It serves him equally well now. Dabiri is not entirely suprised- Stinnett's cavalry makes such a cacaphony that it is nearly impossible for it to suprise anyone. Still, it isn't as though they could run- a priest such as Dabiri would never desert the hundreds of innocent civilians that were present. Stinnett watches the battle unfold. First, Morhaime trying to fend off the early arrivals and failing miserably. The rest of the cavalry bypasses the skirmish, circling the perimeter of Dabiri and testing the defenses. As Stinnett has expected, Dabiri is shielding the clerics from the troops. Stinnett is prepared though- Dabiri's magic cannot last forever, after all.
Stinnett winces and nearly withdraws his consciousness from the battlefield when the first of the bright white lights appears. He realizes them for what they are, of course, but that doesn't help. Dabiri has some destructive magic at his command, and this seems to be it. Stinnett is not impressed. If his consciousness were to come into contact with one of the spheres, the worst result would be that he would lose his ability to oversee the fight momentarily. It would be no enormous loss, Stinnett knows the outcome of this fight.
Stinnett continues to watch as the lights increase in both number and size. His only moment of worry is when his forces begin to flee in the face of Dabiri's magic. That worry is quickly turned to rage. Damn Dabiri! Stinnett concentrates some of his power momentarily, and gathers his presence on the battlefield. The mortals there would see nothing more than a flicker, if they even noticed that much. He gathers his hate and directs it to one of the clerics sustaining Dabiri's magic.
Stinnett grins in satisfaction as the young woman cries out and falls to the ground, and Dabiri's magic fails. Stinnett's fighters begin to swarm back toward the priest. Out of the corner of his mind's eye, Stinnett sees Morhaime trying to rescue his friends. The man will be too late, of this he is certain. There are more white lights, smaller this time, as another of the clerics joins the fray. Stinnett is not overly worried, however. His forces converge on the lone cleric. He sees Michael trying to free the young priest and knows that this, too, will fail. Michael falls to the ground and is pummeled by his men. Stinnett turns his attention away from the battle for a split second to revel in the glory of his enemy's destruction. Morhaime had defeated him before, but Stinnett is the victor now! Stinnett focuses his attention on the battle and watches the horses circle closer and closer to the lone cleric-
There is a rumbling to the south, Stinnett notices. More horses enter the fray, and Stinnett instantly recognizes their origin.
Eltai has joined the battle.
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