By the Moon’s Last Light

By Sean Kane

A budding public historian and author, Sean is a simple dude from North Carolina with a passion for history and speculative fiction, often blending the two together in his writing. He loves heavy metal music, arguing about who has the best BBQ, noodling on the guitar, bad puns, buying books that he’ll never read, and making/wearing historic garb.

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Cannonfire thundered and roared in the night, the mountain valley air was thick with powdersmoke, the light from the waning moon barely poked through. Below in the valley, a massive army of demons had gathered to lay siege. Thick leather boots marched on the valley floor, tromping their way to the fort that stood at the mountain pass, likely hoping they would crash through the defenses and continue their deadly slaughter in the countryside.

At the base of the mountain pass, a weary elf stood within the redoubt of Fort Anvil. Major Howl wore a green threadbare uniform of the Caldrayn Royal Rangers. Frayed gold epaulettes sat on his shoulders, with the major’s insignia of a crescent moon on the buttons. His natural silver hair was tied in a long queue that ran down his back. He sighed and shivered as a brief chill ran through him, unsure if it was from fear or the cold mountain air.

He glanced down the trench, seeing the thin lines of exhausted blue coated soldiers of Caldrayn. They seemed more like husks than living creatures from the two straight nights of fighting. Their eyes were bloodshot, faces blackened from powder, their firing motions purely from mechanical memory.

There was a murmur next to him, he turned to face a grey-green skinned orc. She had spoken but he had not been paying attention. “I’m sorry, what?”

“They’ll likely be at the gates tonight,” said Major Keg. The two had fought alongside each other since they were mere privates in the Caldrayn army. Where Howl may have preferred cunning and precision, she didn’t mind an outright brawl. Years of service gave her a few lines of scars on her face and a chipped tusk. The star and grenade badge on the grenadier cap she held under the crook of her arm marked her as a war mage, a specialist in explosive magic.

“Good, we’ve been waiting for days,” said Howl. Three miserable days at this backwater fort out in the ass end of the kingdom. He looked up at the fort. The defences were old, nearly ancient, but they guarded the only pass through the mountains, the only way though to the last free kingdoms.

A grunt came a few feet away where the two of them stood. A stout dwarf soldier leaned on the wall of the rampart, Serjeant Major Cord, a veteran of many wars and had been a trusted comrade of Howl’s for many years. A scar ran along his forehead like a second set of brows and another on his clean-shaven chin. He wore the dark blue of the Caldrayn army, adorned with silver laced cuffs and lapels befitting his rank. “Tonight will be a night of proper soldiering,” said Cord.

Keg hefted her blunderbuss. “Ain’t that every night, Cord?”

Cord snorted.

Howl heard chanting from beyond. Thousands of voices shouting through the cannonfire. He could make out the words in the Dark tongue. “Death! Death!” He imagined the redoubt would soon be swarmed with the grey and black uniforms of Vakhrus’s army. But they would be ready to defend.

Howl gripped at the hilt of his sword. There were maybe less than a thousand defenders against what he could only guess were tens of thousands. In all his career he hadn’t faced against odds like this, especially not without reinforcements. They should have been here by now. Where are they? Dammit, Lock. “Have them make ready.”

The cannonfire abated, the last of the guns echoing in the pale lit night. Serjeants barked orders as the defenders rustled into readied lines, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. Heavy boots thumped in the nearby grass, snapping small twigs. 

An orderly approached, a human junior officer, looking as haggard as anyone there. “Major Howl, the colonel wants to see you and Major Keg.”

Howl gave him an incredulous look. “Now? They’re right on our bloody door!” 

The orderly shrugged. “Says it’s urgent, sir.”

“Of course, he’s the damned colonel.”

A hand patted him. “Don’t worry, we can hold the war for you until you get back,” said Cord, a smirk on his face.

“If I’m not back in about ten minutes, just wait a little longer.” He sighed and followed the orderly to the “command post” in the rear of the redoubt, where the staff officers stood to make their commands. Technically Howl belonged with them as a brevet colonel, but he always preferred to be with his rankers. 

Colonel Ironhand stood especially tall for a human, the near model of an army officer. Amid the tired and ragged soldiers, he was immaculate, his uniform cleanly brushed and his face close-shaven. A great white owl flew off with a missive clutched within its talons. The colonel turned to Howl and Keg. “Major, I’ve got news. Good and bad.”

Howl frowned and rolled a hand at the colonel, beckoning him to continue.

“Reinforcements are late but will be here.”

“Great, what’s the good news?”

“That was the good news.”

Howl deflated and scratched at his chin. “Oh.”

“They likely won’t be here until dawn.”

“Well, then let’s hope that if we’re still here, he brought coffee and pastries for all of us,” said Howl.

Keg didn’t take it as well. “Dawn? You said they’d be here by nightfall and it’s midnight! The horned bastards out there are just getting started, our soldiers are worn out.”

Ironhand sighed, his mouth pressed flat. “And we shall have to hold until then. Those are our orders.”

“Hold? We’ve been lucky the last two nights, are we pressing it a bit much? Why’s he late? Did he stop for tea?”

The colonel frowned. “Major, he’s a superior officer, you-”

“And he ain’t here!” she snapped. “I’ve not slept in two days, so I’ll beg some pardon, but if he’ll take any offense and court martial me, then he’ll have to get here first!”

“Major, please,” the colonel put up placating hands. “I understand, I-”

A huge volley of musket fire erupted. Ironhand’s mouth snapped shut and he glanced back out to the frontlines, whipping out his spyglass. “They’re pressing on the center but we’re holding firm for now.”

“We’re heading back, sir,” said Keg. “We’ve got some devils to kill.” She and Howl darted back to their line. Tall orc grenadiers hurled big gobs of magic fire, ripping apart masses of devilkin. Rangers took more careful shots, aiming for enemy officers and mages. Cord was humming an old soldier’s tune as he swung his halberd into any devil that managed to make it over the rampart.

“They’re confident tonight, sir!” the dwarf yelled. Blood had spattered one side of his face, giving him a grisly look. “They’re bold! They hope to break us tonight! But we’ll break them, won’t we lads?” He gave a hoarse, barking laugh as he swung his halberd again.

Howl glanced up, seeing the pale moon peeking through the clouds that blanketed the stars. “Tonight will be a night for the annals for sure.”

“Then let’s show them how proper soldiering is done!” Cord pointed at the next wave.

“Bloody hell that’s a lot of them,” said Keg, loading up her blunderbuss with a heavy charge. She held up a large lead ball, painted and inscribed, and rammed it down the wide barrel. The blunderbuss roared with fire and the ball zipped into a mass of devilkin. As the ball slammed into the chest of a soldier, it exploded into fragments hitting the soldiers next to him in a wide circle. “That’s at least eight.” She grinned.

“Is it a competition now?” Howl sighted an officer and fired. The bullet took the devil right between the eyes. The rank and file started to waver, shrill cries in protest. Serjeants with decorated horns shoved the rankers back into line, pressing them on, until they too were shot from sharpshooters.

“Over there.” Keg pointed out in the distance toward the rear of the enemy army. “What’s that bastard doing?”

Howl gazed across the killing field and trenches, behind the mass of enemy soldiers, spying a Dreadmage, garbed in tattered robes and bone fetishes. The mage waved his hands into the air, circling and grasping at an invisible rope with his fingers. There was a slight pungent smell in the air, like a bitter copper taste that made Howl cringe. Some kind of dark sorcery was afoot.

He flicked his rifle up, aiming his sights at the far off mage. It was a shot only possible with his rifle and elven eyesight. He arced the barrel up slightly to compensate and fired. Through the puff of smoke he saw the bullet soar over the field towards the mage, muttering a curse as the bullet slapped at a magic shield and bounced away. “The night is just getting better and better,” he muttered.

Sickly green energy surged and cracked above the Dreadmage, creating a small tempest of dark magic above him. The energy flashed and crackled. The sky seemed to be torn apart as a thunderous tearing sound made Howl bend over and cover his ears.

A hulking figure lumbered from the dark rent in the air, one giant snout followed by a long serpentine body with several thick limbs. Its leather wings were tattered looking, its skull horns protruded in grotesque fashion. Rotten gray scales splotched with black spots that webbed throughout its body. A sharp horn protruded from the end of its long tail.

The dragon swooped down to the fort. Green fiery breath disintegrated the soldiers into ash. It snatched some into its jaws, snapping them in half with its large teeth. Screams and cries emanated from the lines as soldiers scrambled to get away.

Howl’s chest tightened. The center lines were faltering as the dragon plowed through. He looked down to the right flank, spotting enemy soldiers swarming the lines. Someone fired a shot, but the bullet only smacked into the dragon’s thick hide and bounced away. Howl’s stomach clenched. How the blazes are we going to hold?

A beam of fire arced from within the redoubt, smacking into the dragon. It reared from the force, tumbling and spinning in the air. It righted itself with a snarl as another slammed into its chest, tearing a gaping hole. Colonel Ironhand stood on the ramparts, his arms bright with magic. He cocked a fist back and lashed out another fiery beam, puncturing the dragon. The beast roared and unleashed a spray of its own fire at the colonel. Howl ducked down from the build up of heat.

The fire abated, tendrils of smoke wisped away from the redoubt. Ironhand still stood upright, unharmed from the dragon’s fire, his hands outstretched above him. His breathing was ragged, and Howl could see his chest heaving from exertion. 

“He can’t keep it up for much longer,” said Keg. “He’ll wear himself out.”

“We can’t let up either, we need to fend the rest off the other bastards and give him some room,” said Howl.

Ironhand hurled another beam at the dragon. The dragon gasped, its body lurched and then stiffened before falling to the ground with a large crash, landing on several devilkin. 

A cheer broke out from the fort in between the fire of muskets and cannons. Even Howl couldn’t help but grin at the small victory. Perhaps there’s still hope then.

The grin faded as the dragon twitched. Sinew and flesh began to knit itself back together, the gaping holes became only scars on renewed hide.

“It’s Tethered,” said Keg. “The robed bastard bound it to him. We can’t kill it no more than we can shoot a ghost.”

Howl cursed himself for not realizing the Dreadmage had summoned not only an undead dragon, but a Tethered one, this was only a physical manifestation of itself from another plane, bound to the mage’s own soul. Howl turned to his company. “We won’t have enough ammo to keep it at bay, much less fend off the rest of the army.” He pointed off in the distance. “We need to cut its strings.”

Keg blinked, glancing out to the field and then back to him. “You don’t mean to go out there, from the defense and sneak behind enemy lines to shoot that mage do you?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Why not artillery?” asked Cord.

Howl shook his head. “It might hurt or interrupt him, but if he has defenses, the rounds won’t do a thing. Plus if we divert the guns to hammer away at him, we’ll just be pulling too much away from our own defenses. This needs to be closer.”

Keg opened her mouth to say something but caught herself. She gave a grim nod and pointed at a magic earring, which would allow her to communicate with him over a longer range. “We’ll give you some cover, but don't hesitate to shout if you need more.”

Howl selected a company from his rangers, some of his best marksmen and mages. They were tired but determined, eager to take a more direct approach at the enemy. Howl didn’t blame them. He hated being on the defensive.

War mages summoned their arcing blasts to create covering fire for the rangers, making a gap big enough for the rangers to slip through, followed up by a thick screen of smoke. Howl led them through an old entrance tunnel in the defense works, one that connected to a much larger web beneath the ground. He could only hope they were still secret to the enemy. The tunnel led out to a cave that overlooked the lower half of the valley from a hill. Far enough from the demons, but still within rifle range. The rangers lay prone on the ground, their enchanted wool uniforms blending in with the environment. They would be nearly invisible unless someone walked right up to them.

The Dreadmage stood within a small circle of defenses. Flickers of energy danced about his body as he moved his arms. Two other minor mages accompanied him, along with a handful of sharpshooters that lined the defenses. Howl guessed they were there to protect the Dreadmage from attack. It would be futile to directly charge them, either the sharpshooters would catch them or the mages would. 

“As a volley, pick your targets,” said Howl. The rangers nodded in acknowledgement and brought their rifles to bear. Hammers pulled back with a series of clicks, and they counted off.

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Four.” 

“Three.”