The Marradi forces began advancing, but they were in no hurry. They stopped, still well outside of bowshot, and for a few seconds the world seemed unnaturally still. Then three large, glowing fireballs rose from the center of their line almost in unison. Silently, every person on the battlefield watched the lumbering flight of the spells, transfixed by the deadly promise they held. Reaching the apex of their arc, they started falling, targeting the center of the Harvand defenses.

Seconds felt like minutes to the spectators. Finally, just before crashing into the waiting soldiers, the fireballs impacted sheets of glowing, magical shields, liquid fire in all directions except on the heads of those waiting below. As a deafening cheer rose from a thousand throats, Edwin let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

A second volley followed, aimed at different points in the Harvand lines, but again they were intercepted. Edwin turned, smiling at Salissa who looked just as relieved as he felt.

“So far so good, eh?” She simply nodded.

“Great,” Bordan said quietly, “now we can finally fight properly. All we have to do is win against a numerically superior foe in regular combat and we can go home.”

Craning his neck, Edwin chuckled.

“They’re thinking the same thing. They just started moving again.”

“Then they’ll enter the range of Giant’s Head any moment now.”

Bordan was right. Even before the Marradi were close enough that the two armies’ archers could join the fray, the fixed siege weapons of the Harvand fortification started shooting. Despite Edwin’s unnaturally good eyesight, it was practically impossible to make out the bolts that were ejected from the mountain at speed, but he saw where they landed and tore holes into the enemy formation. The elevated position of the ballistae meant that the projectiles arrived at a higher angle than was ideal, only hitting two or three soldiers at a time, but any dead Marradi soldier was one they didn’t have to fight later on.

Several times, Edwin saw a bolt bounce off a magical shield, ricocheting into the distance or shattering completely, but either the enemy’s distribution of mages wasn’t as good as the defenders’ was, or the fast, hard-to-see bolts were just that much harder to block than the ponderous fireballs. Next, both sides’ archers began to shoot, volleys of arrows filling the sky like swarms of malicious steel-tipped birds, dark shadows against the clouds painted orange by the setting sun. Edwin had expected the Marradi to get into melee as quickly as possible, but fifty meters before reaching the defenders’ lines, they stopped once again.

“What are they up to now?” he asked Bordan, but before the other man could answer, three more fireballs bloomed into existence and shot upwards.

At first, Edwin was confused. Why try this again now? If they wanted to see if they could overwhelm the defenders’ magical defenses, they could’ve done it from their initial position. Also, why didn’t they fire them off at a low angle, directly at the Harvand soldiers? Following the spells’ trajectories, he realized why.

They weren’t aiming at the Harvand formation at all.

“Oh no,” Salissa said quietly. “There are no mages up there, are there?”

“No,” Edwin answered, grimacing. Completing their arcs, the fireballs exploded around Giant’s Head’s firing ports, illuminating the dark mountainside with bright, magical fire.

“This won’t get through though, right?” Leodin asked. “I mean, you said it’s all magestone, and practically indestructible.”

A second volley soared into the sky. “I don’t think they can make the mountain collapse on them,” Edwin said slowly. “But I don’t think that’s their goal… damn.”

Two of the fireballs had harmlessly exploded on the outside again, but the third one had slipped through a firing port. Edwin didn’t know what the interior of the shooting floor looked like, but his mind was more than capable of conjuring up the sounds of wooden splinters clattering against stone walls, the screams of the wounded, and the smell of burning flesh. A third volley, only two fireballs this time. Another few seconds of worrying, hoping… and again, one made it through, magical fire spilling back out of the slit in the mountain.

“They must have some way to aim them,” Edwin said, the analytical part of his mind assessing the information even as the emotional one was still in shock. “They’re way too accurate.”

A horn sounded across the battlefield, and with a resounding battle cry, the Marradi charged.

“Alright, enough gawking,” Bordan said. “That over there is far from their entire force, so expect us to get company soon.”

Edwin stepped down from the fallen tree he’d climbed onto for a better view, dropping to his knees next to his teammates, settling in to wait. Unlike the previous battles, he didn’t have to wait long. Not two minutes after the enemy charge Leodin went rigid, ducking his head so he could just see over their cover.

“I see red, hundred and fifty that way.”

Bordan scooted over, putting his head right up to the marksman’s pointing arm.

“That’s them alright. Spread the word, I want to greet them with a volley.”

With hand signals and whispered words, the adventurers quickly relayed the information to the surrounding groups, where crossbows were loaded and arrows placed on bowstrings. Edwin was sorely tempted to peek over the tree and look for the approaching enemy, but he clamped down firmly on his nagging curiosity and kept his head down. Even though he couldn’t see them, the approaching soldiers announced themselves to his sharp ears with cracking branches, heavy footsteps, and quiet voices.

The call of a bird echoed between the trees, followed by the rustling of fabric and leather and the snapping of a hundred bowstrings. Confused screams arose from the enemy, and Edwin finally raised his head over his cover. The Marradi were carrying large shields that covered most of their bodies, but they hadn’t been expecting to be shot at. While traipsing through the uneven terrain, they hadn’t concentrated on covering themselves, instead looking out for where to place their feet. The adventurers had used that initial moment of inattention, and dozens of arrows had found flesh.

Still more had impacted shields or bounced off helmets and armor, and after a few seconds of confusion, the enemy bannermen had restored order to the soldiers and whipped them into a charge.

“Fighters ready!” Bordan shouted, sending another arrow from his bow, then shouldering it and picking up his spear. “Receive charge!”

Edwin shot to his feet, adrenaline racing through his veins like lightning, making his movements twitchy. He’d wished to join the fight instead of sitting on the sidelines, but now that he was standing here, a wall of enemies running toward him with murder in their eyes, he felt just like he had when fighting against those first direwolves, a small eternity ago.

He hefted his glaive, the weight of the Pioneer weapon comforting in his grip, and stepped to the side to take his position next to the fallen tree. Bordan and two others with spears would use the natural cover to their advantage, but Edwin’s weapon wasn’t long enough, nor was it particularly suited for stabbing.

Finally, the enemy reached the adventurers’ uneven line, and Edwin swung his glaive in a low arc. Two spears were thrust toward him, thunking into his chest plate and against his armored leg, and he aborted his attack and stepped back. He took a second swing, stepping into range as he brought his weapon down, and again several spear tips flashed toward him, forcing him back once more.

Edwin growled in frustration, eyes narrowing. Bordan had warned them that fighting a shield wall was hard, that one didn’t merely fight the man straight ahead, but also the ones to each side. Still, Edwin hadn’t expected it to be this frustrating. Their spears were long enough that he couldn’t reach them without stepping into their range, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that. The only creatures he’d fought before that used weapons had been goblins, and he’d always held the advantage in range. The hobgoblins had been different, but he’d never fought more than one at a time – and he’d usually cheated.

That’s it! Edwin thought. I’m just not good enough to deal with them in a fair fight. I need to cheat.

While he’d already been stabbed multiple times, his armor hadn’t been penetrated once. As much as he liked to curse Master Quinnick for his insistence on making him look like an unholy cross between a monster, an evil overlord, and a demon, it was easy to forget that the man was a master armorsmith with decades of experience. The overlapping plates had very few weak spots, especially if he was facing the enemy. Despite the ribbing of his teammates, Edwin didn’t actually enjoy being hit, but maybe it was time to get used to it.

With the battle’s first moments of terror behind him, Edwin took a second to study his opponents. They were advancing toward him, but the need to keep their line intact slowed them down. Now that he was close, he could see how different the enemy infantry’s armor was from their Harvand counterparts. They wore simple metal caps, a steel breastplate, small, unadorned pauldrons, and vambraces to cover their forearms. Their legs were protected by cuisses and greaves, he knew from Bordan’s descriptions, although he couldn’t see them behind the large, rectangular shields. Those were different as well compared to those used by Harvand’s heavies: While they were the same size, they lacked any metal reinforcement.

Edwin had to respect Marrad’s efforts to create a set of armor that protected its wearer well but was cheap in resources. Where heavy infantry had fewer weak points, being almost completely covered in steel as they were, the additional protection came at a steep increase in material required.

Not that it would’ve made much of a difference against Edwin. Taking a half-step back, he gripped his glaive near base, just above the spike. He reared back, grinning evilly as the eyes of his opponent grew wide, then brought the heavy weapon down in a mighty overhead swing. The soldier he was aiming for raised his shield while those to the sides stabbed at Edwin, their spears scrabbling against his armor ineffectually.

His glaive fell on the wooden shield, the supernaturally sharp blade splitting it in half like a log. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the soldier started to scream, staring at the stump where his forearm had been, blood squirting from the clean cut. Edwin pulled his weapon back, the blade dislodging from the enemy’s half-severed thigh with a squelch.

It was time to get to work.