Chapter 11-2

The Infernals were still in sight in the distance. The champion of Mashano was staring at them. He grumbled, “Why do they stand there? Why do they not attack?”

The Wyre spoke. “They haven't exactly shown the best tactical sense so far. Their timing for their attack was rather poor, for earlier or later and they might have well trapped one of our armies against the other, instead of getting between us. Perhaps they don't recognize the opportunity to attack while we get ready.”

It had not occurred to Garkhen to think of that. It was odd, somehow, thinking that the Infernals might be unskilled in warfare. They were, after all, savage and evil. But he supposed that did not make one tactically knowledgeable.

“I'm not complaining, either,” the Wyre continued. “I certainly hope it's true, because the only other reason I can think of is that this is a trap.”

The champion grunted. “And where is that dragon that was with you? It does not seem that fire magic would be of use here, but his claws and teeth would.”

The Wyre simply shrugged in response. He opened his mouth to speak, but then a shout came from down the line. It was time to move out.

They marched forward in their small squads, warily watching for ambushes. None materialized. Only the growling, roaring, shouting lines of Infernals outside the walls of Elifort could be seen. As Garkhen approached, he could see that they were not truly so numerous—there were perhaps a couple hundred of them. But that was more than they had faced earlier, and there were a greater number of larger ones.

As they neared, Garkhen began chanting, calling upon Bahamut, weaving wards against fire and claw around his squad. He could hear other voices doing likewise, calling upon gods or magical energies to protect or prepare an attack. 

Whether because they heard their foes preparing for battle, or because the names of goodly gods drove them to wrath, the Infernals before them roared and charged towards them. His preparations complete, Garkhen observed those that were making for his squad. Several smaller ones, only slightly larger than a man, as well as a pair of troll-sized ones, and one even larger quadrupedal beast. They outnumbered and out-massed his squad, but the young Warder felt no fear.

Instead, he loosened his grip on his shield, grasped his symbol of Bahamut, and brought it up before his face. As the two swiftest Infernals neared, he chanted a brief spell-prayer, inhaled... and then exhaled a bolt of lightning through his symbol.

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And so another battle begins! But it's late now, so I'm going to bed.