The Butcher of Gadobhra

Rolly was standing on a wagon, trying to catch a glimpse of his wyverns. One of his duckish spies had given a quick report that they had made contact with the enemy and suffered a casualty. Other ducks were landing and giving reports. Winter was moving fast. "Ben! Tell Themis we've got more stuff incoming. Lots more of the dead shambling guys, some beast packs, and a horde of giant arctic weasels, the kind with huge teeth. I've got a soldier down and may need to get my recon troops out of a jam."

"Dammit, Rolly, I don't speak Duck. She's going to want you here."

Wings shapes came running over a hill, racing for the wagons. Rolly counted them, coming up one short, and as he watched, another tumbled to the ground and got up slowly. Rolly leaped to the ground and began running toward his flock which had reversed course and surrounded the wounded wyvern. A small, winged formed flew above the Shepherd.

"Sure thing, Princess. Maybe with a beach?"

"The wyverns will love the fish! Good thinking."

The wounded wyvern had a wing that was nearly torn off and deep bite marks on its torso. Rolly used Heal Animal and began restoring it. He counted again, still one short, "Lindy? What happened to Lindy? What? Dammit. Well, she bought the rest of you time to get away. She was brave and did her part. Now we're going hunting and getting some revenge!" Rolly's form shifted, scales and scything talons appearing.

"Lindy went down fighting guys. Now get low behind the snowbank. We let the pack pass us then pick off the one on the end. Time to teach winter a lesson about who the apex predators are."

Themis was having thoughts of her own about who was the biggest and meanest thing around. She had three contenders for that title bearing down on her hasty defensive position and didn't want to find out what happened when a fifty-ton ice giant stepped on her. Luckily, she'd been provided with a way of dealing with them. Or so she hoped.

Catapults are not the most accurate of devices at the best of times. You generally hoped to hit roughly the area you aimed at, plus or minus a few acres. The bigger the catapult, the larger the distance you could miss by. It's generally not a problem since cities and armies are large. The Jotun are also large, at over fifty feet tall, but still small compared to an army.

But details matter. One of those details was the distance markings Jorges had placed on the backsides of large rocks after pacing off the distance to them. Another was his familiarity with the machines, having designed and built them, and tested them extensively. Lastly, his class was now devoted to Fortress Building, and that included Engines of War. For him, these Ares-blessed catapults were a precision instrument. He lined up his first targets and five Contract Workers brought wooden hammers down on the release triggers, and the bent arms snapped upright, slamming into the crossbar, the sling at the far end whipping around and hurling a pot of alchemical fire, Ghost Pepper juice, Dwarven Whiskey, and enough imbued Heat to make the casks glow.

The five catapults had all fired a the lead Jotun and four hit it in the chest, shoulders, and two in its large belly. The last shot was to the left and hit a different Jotun on the kneecap. The ammunition exploded and spread caustic burning substances that engulfed the first giant, and set the leg of the second on fire. Jotun hate fire. They were elemental creatures of ice and snow, and the high-temperature napalm was doing terrible damage to them. And they were nearly blind, the fumes from the burning pepper juice attacking their eyes.

The giant hit by four of the firebombs screamed and then was knocked over by his unhurt companion who yelled at him. "Rule 1, you idiot, Rule 1!" Every Jotun child had practice 'stop-drop-and roll', but only because it was a fun game. No one expected to actually be set on fire and feel yourself melting away. The flaming Jotun did so now, but it was a lost cause, and his screams made the rest of the army realize this wasn't an easy fight.

The Jotun with the burning leg slammed his icy axe head down on his thigh, breaking off his leg, but saving his life. He began hopping toward the wagons, leaving his melting limb behind, as his unhurt companion ran at the wagons with long strides, eating up the ground. The Ice Walkers surged forward, but not nearly so fast, an uncoordinated mob. The Rime Knights marched at a steady pace, as implacable as a glacier.

Themis shouted orders, "Reload and target the Knights. Caldrius, get your Mages on their feet and target the closest one with everything you've got." Then she looked at the Butcher. "The one hopping is all yours. If you can knock down a building, you can knock down a one-legged behemoth twice your size."

Ozzy didn't stop to argue that he sure as hell wasn't that big yet. He leaped from the wagon, landing at the edge of the ditch. He nearly fell back into it but momentum helped him stumble forward and he started sprinting at the wounded giant.

Caldrius and his fifty-strong contingent of Fire Mages rolled from beneath the wagons where they had been roused from slumber ten minutes ago. Myrna had walked along, nudging and kicking them, encouraging them to get up. "Wakey, Wakey! Time to fight. Lucky Day for you. Free Breakfast Burritos, hot and spicy to put fire in your belly." Each Mage was presented with a smoking hot burrito that included a piece of Mage's Delight and a brownie put a large triple espresso thick with honey, chocolate, and cream in their other hand. Wide awake and with fuel in their bellies, they bounced out from their hiding spots and climbed into the wagons, casting Firebolts, Fireballs, Flaming Digits of Despair, Crimson Knives, and any spell that had the range to reach the charging Jotun.

The giant screamed as he began to melt, water running down his body. He stumbled but kept going, and was almost to the wagons when silvery thorn vines erupted from the ground and wrapped around his feet, entangling him. Behind the wagon with the Fire Mages, a golden-haired woman clad in Silver Armor floated above the ground, calling forth the vines and commanding them to grow. Around her danced a swarm of Wind Fairies, freed from the bonds of Winter when they entered her service. The Jotun strained against the vines, pulling them from the ground, but the delay had given Caldrius and Rastfian the time they needed to prepare their spells.

The ground rumbled and split as the earth launched two spears of white-hot glowing magma at the Jotun, blasting through its heart and killing it. Rastfian felt like he was going to faint, and Caldrius was breathing hard, but couldn't resist using the experience as a teaching moment. "I'm sure you can tell the difference between the basic spell and the upgraded version. Dealing directly with the element and not relying on a premade spell is slower and more difficult, but I think that the results speak for themselves."

Rastfian looked down at his hands. "I can't believe I just cast Magmatic Spear of Baetylus from scratch. That should have been far beyond my ability."

The older man smiled down at him and patted his shoulder, "I've found that having a large foe about to grind you under their foot is a wonderful incentive to cast a spell. Now get ready to do it again. Winter has more to throw at us and Rime Knights don't die easily."

Ozzy had built up speed but was cautious as he ran. The ground was treacherous with an icy coating, the remains of the first giant freezing as the moisture from its body hit the frozen ground. He had one of his flensing hatchets in each hand, the weapons only toys when compared to the Jotun's huge axe. The giant saw him coming and smirked at him, shouting loudly, "Bring it, little cousin. Should I put one hand behind my back to make it even?"

Ozzy yelled back, "Not going to say no if you're dumb enough to do it." The Jotun gripped his axe and prepared to swing. His eyes were cloudy from the fumes of the peppers in the napalm, making it hard to judge his swing. As he tried to hit the Butcher, Ozzy dove for the ground, sliding along the ice, the axe going over his head by only four inches. Then he was twenty feet past the Jotun and standing before the giant understood what had happened. Chainey wrapped around the giant's ankle, and Ozzy yanked the chain hard. The turning Jotun was knocked off balance and thrown to the floor as his leg was pulled. "Damn you, you little shit. Do you know how hard it is to stand up with only one leg?"

Ozzy breathed out a stream of fire and the giant's boot started burning. "Be worse once I melt off your foot."

The Jotun couldn't reach him but didn't need to. Axe throwing was a sport the Giants loved in the Far North. It threw its weapon at Ozzy from point-blank range a blow that might have split his skull. The Butcher braced and Shielded, the glowing ship's prow protecting him from most of the blow, but his head was ringing and he was knocked backward fifty feet. He stood back up and walked back to the giant who looked at him morosely.

"You lived through that? Just my luck to fight a Captain who's had a deck under him. It isn't fair at all. Go ahead, little cousin. Take off my other leg, might as well do both arms, as well. Or melt me to a puddle Damn, but this day has gone to hell." He sat with his arms crossed, looking sadly at his foot.

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The Butcher started to heat his axes, then reconsidered, "What happens if I leave you sitting here?"

The giant raised an eyebrow, interested and less sad. "Truthfully, I would crawl forward until I could attack and kill some of the annoying little ones. I have a mercenary contract with Winter, after all, but I could crawl very, very slowly, because of the terrible wounds you inflicted upon me. Of course, if Winter wins, I will be judged worthless and forced into slavery for a decade. Or be melted to steam when your side wins. Unless..."

"Keep going, I'm sensing a third option."

The giant shrugged, "Well, it comes down to trust. I can give you my parole and you can hold me for ransom. You promise not to hurt me or let your allies hurt me. I stay out of the fight. Afterward, I'll owe you a bag of gold the size of my head, my daughter in marriage, or my finest ox. I have one year to deliver or will be judged by my people to be foresworn. Bad shit happens then. Better to give up the ox or the daughter. That breaks my contract with Winter and they won't pay me, but they take a long time to pay anyway. I mostly came south out of boredom. Strangely, home seems much less boring right now."

"I'll take the ox. I have enough gold, and as fine an offer it would be to take your daughter, I wouldn't survive when my woman found out I had to make room in the house."

"Ah, a bound man. I understand. Yes, the ox is best. And women spend gold. Mine goes through it as fast as I bring it home. Very well, off with you to fight and either win or die. Brogthall of Morthag Chasm acknowledges the debt I owe you, but give me your name, then I can pay my ransom to your kin if you don't survive the battle."

"Call me Ozzy. I'm the Butcher of Sedgewick."

"Ozzy it is, but I'm sure I sense a few stories behind you, Shipbreaker. You'll have to tell me some when I deliver the ox." The giant laughed, then lay back to take a nap.

Ozzy started running back to the wagons, then a hundred feet away he saw five wounded Rime Knights emerge from an inferno of fire. The catapults had put all five shots in the middle of the unit, nearly killing all of them. Suzette was between them and the wagons, casting beams of sunlight at them and he could see where she'd already killed three more. They were so focused on her that they didn't turn to face him until far too late.

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Behind the wagons, four snarlfangs raced across the frozen ground at the wagons. A fifth found itself pressed from all sides by a flock of wyverns, an angry Shepherd, and a Pretty Princess with sharp claws. In the first attack, Rolly and Squirmie had each sliced through one of the snarlfangs hamstrings, leaving it unable to run. The wyverns circled, darting in and out, some distracting and others striking. It would have been a long battle without the Shepherd and the bug. Squirmie's claws, so small now, did as much damage as Rolly's long blades. Where he moved in and out of its range, slashing at the flanks, Squirmie could race by quickly, leaving long, bleeding wounds. Even before the other beasts got to the wagons, Rolly had sliced off its head and his pack was chasing after the others.

The Beastmasters driving the creatures had their orders and charged straight at the wagons. It was a good plan and the four heavy beasts would normally have hit the wagons, knocked them asunder, and moved into the interior of the camp where they could slaughter at will. None of them noticed the triple line of small alchemical traps activated by their thundering hooves. Each one exploded sending tendrils of sticking webbing out in all directions. By the time the snarlfangs had tumbled through all three lines of traps, they were hopelessly entangled and tumbled into the ditch, their charge's momentum broken. As they struggled to break the webbing, crossbows fired, peppering them with small wounds. The creatures roared in fury and tried to climb the wall, only to be met by a half-dozen spears each that punctured their hides and held them back.

Contract Workers darted between the spears and chopped at the snarlfangs with their adze, the primitive weapons doing far more damage than the spears or crossbows had done. The workers all used the skill to raise their strength and at rank 15 and strengths of 20 or more, the weapons punched deep. Butchering and Hunting skills added to the damage. The Workers didn't get away unscathed. An adze lacked range, and all the attacking workers were injured by claws and fangs, and seven of them died. More stepped up to take their place.

From either side of the battle, a Battle Alchemist used a staff sling to throw acidic potions at the beasts' hindquarters, doing damage and weakening their mitigation. The wagons were rocking back and forth as the snarlfangs tried, again and again, to climb up the wall and reach the defenders. They might have made it if they hadn't been attacked from the rear by a hunting party of wyverns. Rolly's pack used their wings to soar over the ditch and land on their foes' backs, ripping and slicing. Squirmie made an attack run across the rear of the formation, sliced low on their hind legs, and Rolly followed up, lopping off a leg or paw and causing the beasts to tumble into the ditch. Two wyverns died, and Rolly would have joined them if Squirmie hadn't lifted him out of the ditch. One of his legs was missing and two of the creatures were fighting over who got to use him as a chew toy. Squirmie was worried and furious, all at once.

Rolly smiled at her, then passed out. Squirmie dropped a bloody mess of a Shepherd in Ben's lap and went back to fight the snarlfangs, taking out her emotions on them.

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The General was watching the battle unfold in the front and was happy to let the Butcher and the Fae Sorceress handle what was left of the Knights. "Save your mana, we'll need it for the Ice Walkers. How is our rear doing." She turned to find Ben casting healing spells on a Rolly while one of the Legion's Healers did the best to tie off his missing leg.

"We're holding, but just barely. The snarlfangs were faster than we expected and actually dodged and weaved to avoid arrows and spells. If it wasn't for the ditch and the traps breaking their momentum, they'd have crushed through the wagons. I think this batch will be dead soon, but another group will be harder to stop."

The sound of catapults firing came from the center of the camp. Five black jars flew through the air, coming down in front of the Ice Walkers, shattering, and scattering a caustic liquid. Unlike the other ammunition, this batch put out greenish fumes that spread along the ground. Ice Walkers stumbled from the mist, dying from the powerful poison. They would rise again, the next Winter unless their bones were seared by fire, but for now they weren't moving. As the mists dispersed, Jorges loaded the catapults again, and put another batch of poison into the remaining Ice Walkers, but more were moving forward in an endless horde.

"Themis! Any other targets? I'd love to use this crap up. Makes me nervous having it around. The shambling horde doesn't like the poison gas and I can probably finish them off."

Jorges nodded, "Good enough for me." A minute later the weasels had crossed half the distance when the world turned green.

The general pointed, "Hard to see them, they blend in with the snow, but there's a swarm of giant snow weasels out there. Deal with them, then use the rest on the Ice Walkers. Any left, the cavalry will finish up" She could see the contingent of Legion Cavalry charge again and again against small groups of barbarians or wolves, always moving and doing damage.

The Red Banner was doing the same but now they swung far left, and entered Winter's backfield, seeing a juicy target. A group of Ice Wizards seemed to be arguing about what to do. Finally, one out-shouted the rest and they turned to deal with the charging cavalry. But far too late, which suited Captain Bernice just fine. She had her troops in a wedge, with her at the tip of the formation. Spells came at her, some chilling her slightly, and three more bouncing off her enchanted shield. Her armor was the best in the Northern Duchy, and any damage it negated was damage her unit didn't take. The Red Banner hit the wizards at a full run, trampling them under hooves, spitting them on the ends of spears, and killing all of them in only a few minutes. But it took its toll on them. Horses and riders were freezing and Bernice knew they had little left in them. The wizards had only killed one of her soldiers, frozen solid in his saddle, but everyone needed a warmfire or they were going to lose fingers and limbs to frostbite. The wind was picking up, and it was getting colder.

Back in the camp, spirits were high. Delbert was once again keeping the cold away, and healers were working on the wounded. Winter's remaining forces were retreating quickly. The Legion and the Red Banner made it back, half frozen and in need of warmth, food, and healing. Ozzy and the Sorcerous had finished the Rime Knights and returned to the camp. It took a lot of work to settle the horses, who were nervous and skittish. Rolly was out cold, recovering from his wounds, and no help.

The Butcher felt a cold tingle down his spine and felt like he was being watched. A soldier pointed at the sky and Ozzy looked up to see the clouds moving in a circle, faster and faster as the temperature dropped and the winds began to howl.