Taming the Warlord

Covering the ground like a swarm of ants the army advanced on the walled city of Irelez. The ground trembled under thousands of booted feet marching in unison. At the lead was the Warlord, resplendent in his dark armour. He looked across the plains to the target of his conquest. First the city, then he would conquer the witch.

With a raised fist, he stopped the forward march. The soldiers spread out in the fading light of the dying sun to set large campfires. Bright sparks of light would cover the horizon from left to right. From the walls of the city, it would certainly look like they were surrounded.

The Warlord handed a scroll to a soldier, who ran to the city gates. The soldier stopped within bow range of the city and kneeling he set the scroll upon an arrow. Raising his bow, he released the arrow over the walls of the city. The soldier then ran back to the waiting army.

Now it was time to wait. The Warlord retired to the tent set aside for him, a humble abode compared to the almost palatial pavilion. Settling himself amongst his furs, he thought ahead to the coming fight. His mind drifted to the Erra, he felt himself getting hard yet again. How he would enjoy conquering her once his duty here was done.

Morning seemed to come quickly, the Warlord left his tent into the warm dawn. After his morning routine, he joined his commanders on a nearby rise to look over the city. From the amount of men on the walls it was likely they did not wish to surrender.

"Sound for flame." He said to the bugler, who blew three quick bursts on the horn. Soldiers ran forward, half with tall shields and half with longbows. They stopped as one, shields up with the archers behind. Setting arrows on fire, they released high into the air to fall upon the city. Following the flaming arrows they peppered the walls with more mundane missiles. The shields rang with impacts of the Irelezi retaliation. Some of the volley slipped between to fell the men behind but not many. Zults used shortbows and here he had clear advantage.

"Send in the first wave." The Warlord commanded. The soldier beside him blew the horn, two short then one long burst. Carrying ladders the next group of soldiers charged across the field to the great walls of the Zult capital.

Men scrambled up quickly to reach the top of the wall before the ladders were toppled by the defenders. Cries of pain from the men as they fell to their deaths as others rushed to take their place. On and on the assault went, the men defending the walls dodged arrows and scrambled to dislodge the ladders.

"Send in the next wave." The Warlord said after an hour of battle. More soldiers ran to join those dying on the field. Battle was now fully engaged on the battlements, progressing to the gatehouse. The archers concentrated their fire on the groups of defenders on the periphery. Men died on both sides. The wall ran red with their blood.

Defenders rushed to the gate as the doors opened wide. The Warlord roared a battle cry and charged to the city. His soldiers followed with their own battle cries, thundering across the plain in droves. The defenders set themselves ready to repel and hold the breached gate.

Leading the charge, the Warlord was the first to confront the defenders; men a head and a half shorter than him. With a shout he swung his great sword, cutting down the Zulti before him. His following army crashed against the defenders like a tidal wave against the beach.

Sparks flew from the Warlord's heavy iron armour as the Zults' bronze swords struck in vain. With almost carefree abandon the Imperium Army swept through the Zulti defence. The air was thick with smoke from the fires scattered about the city. Women and children fought the flames while their men battled the oncoming slaughter.

Zult soldiers retreated from the Warlord, favouring other targets rather than face their fate at the end of his sword. The Warlord paused within this lull of battle, his blood racing. At least here he was free of that witch's allure. At this moment he felt nothing but annoyance at thought of her.

Sudden realization hit him; she had ensorcelled him. A Zult sword hit him breaking his contemplation. With a roar of anger he swung at the attacking soldier, cleaving him from shoulder to hip. With renewed rage, the Warlord swept through the Zults. He swung his sword wildly and with such abandon even his own soldiers backed away so as to not fall victim to his attacks. The fucking bitch had glamoured him!

Uncontrollable rage fuelled the Warlord until his advance left him alone in the midst of the Zult force. Beset on all sides he traded hit for hit, usually felling more than one with each of his powerful swings. His armour was slick with blood, giving him a demonic appearance. The Zults pressed him hard, as his army fought to regain his side and support his flanks.

The air was suddenly filled with arrows. The archers had gained the battlements and now were firing into the streets at any opponent they saw. Men surrounding the Warlord died under the deadly barrage, his armour rang with the sound of an errant missile or two.

Quickly the battle turned against the Zulti, degenerating into a fighting retreat through the streets. The air rang with the sound of minor skirmishes as Imperials hunted. Within time, the city would be theirs.

With most of the opposition now quelled, the Warlord marched into the grand palace. He strode up to the throne, where the King of the Zults sat defiantly. Palace guards stepped in front of their liege, vowing to protect him with their very lives. They got their wish and died. Soldiers secured the monarch, taking him away.

The Warlord removed his helm, letting it fall to the floor. He slumped onto the throne and let out a long breath. His mother the Empress would be pleased. He had increased her realm considerably this past year. His sisters would have extensive territories to administer now.

For the moment he had to wait. In a day or two the supply train would
arrive. With it would be that witch and he would punish her greatly for the audacity to toy with his mind. As he thought of various punishments he felt himself once again harden.