Worthy to the End

By Richard Walter

The hot sky of the summer afternoon was filled with the deathly silence one comes to expect when a bitter conflict has ended. The smell of death and battle pierced the nostrils of the hardy soldiers as they waited, waited for the moment that would end it all.

Ahead of them was Moon-glow, a once peaceful village brought to its knees by the vile powers of Chaos and it's evil followers. Moon-glow was a scene of wanton destruction. Most of the buildings were ablaze, or smouldering piles of ash. Bodies were left where they fell. Men, women and children all hacked to death, the forces of Chaos killed and maimed indiscrimantly. The cool breeze changed slightly, the foul smell of death and decay increased ten-fold.

The scene inside the village was no better than the outside. The narrow streets were awash with blood and gore, dismembered bodies traced a sinister path to the main battlefield, a mile or so to the north.

Captain Longhurst of Vanahiem had travelled with his army for eleven days to reach Moon-glow, they were held up and dead-mans pass by the Orcish hordes of Urzag Axegrinda. However, they were here now, although it was already to late for the people of Moon-glow, the furious Captain would have revenge.

Longhurst stared out towards the battlefield. Thousands of bodies littered the floor, more brave humans than there were Chaos. Whole blocks of infantry lay where the fell, broken banners flapped gently in the breeze. One unit in particular had caught Longhurst's eye, the regiment had been ran down as they fled, the piles of their bodies blocked a small road leading to scattered buildings they tried so vainly to defend.

The ground around the battlefield was crimson with blood, a savage testament to the ferocity of the battle.

A sudden movement in the distance made Longhurst snap out of his reverie. Chaos. The Chaos warband was a mighty sight, Beastmen brayed and bellowed at each other, Chaos Knights cantered on their dark steeds whilst the foul Daemons giggled and laughed at one another, horrors to un-bearable to mention waited in anticipation, the Captain also spotted the foul Dark Elves. Longhurst looked around at his men. Raising his sword and marching to the front of the Camelot detachment, Longhurst shouted hoarsley.

"Men, the creatures of evil are upon us, bearing down on our very souls. We must fight to the end, we must all write our names into the history books, we must all be..." Captain Longhurst looked at his soldiers, each and everyman had cold fury in his eyes, he continued. "We must all be worthy to the end."

The Medieval army cheered and applauded as Captain Longhurst made his way to the main battle line.

Longhurst knew that the battle would be long and hard, but he also knew that the forces of Chaos were already weakened, and that battle fatigue would soon set in.

Captain Longhurst surveyed his proud and splendid army, the Chaos army may be large in numbers but Longhurst's had the tactical advantage.

To his left was Rupert Smith and his Macemen, Smith's Macemen were the lowest form of soldiers Longhurst had ever met. Each one of the fifty strong regiment was a thief, murderer or some other type of criminal. Even though they were villians, Longhurst knew they all had the heart of a true warrior and would gladly march with him to the Northen Wastes and back again. Longhurst was glad he had them fighting by his side. Rupert Smith caught the gaze of his leader and gave him a sly grin.

In front of the Macemen was the Arncourt Swordsmen, each of these noble youths would today be forged in the heat of battle. Their brilliant armour and weapons reflected of the sun and gave them an almost god like apearance. They waited in anxious silence, this was their first, and to some, last outing into battle.

The three Arncourt Swordsmen regiments were positioned nearby the elite Pikesmen of Ravensborn, these soldiers were stern and fearless veterans when it came to the forces of Chaos, each of the fifty warriors had met them countless times before. Their leader, Sven Maln was a good friend of Longhurst's.

Protecting the flank of the infantry was the knights of Redbridge, their penants flapped gently in the breeze. Longhurst knew that they would fight to the last man defending the flank. The knights of Redbridge where small in number, yet the made up for this with sheer excelence in combat.

Behind the Redbridge knights rested a unit of Dwarfen Clansmen. Longhurst had rescued them at dead-mans pass. The Dwarf's were eager to repay the courage of Longhurst and his men, as they gripped their mighty weapons even tighter.

To Longhurst's right sat four units of Dostock Crossbowmen. Eagerly they awaited the chance to unleash their deadly burning bolts. Longhurst smiled to himself as he remembered their first outing against the Skaven Warp-fire teams. Aye, the smell of charred fur and burnt rat flesh reached out long into the night.

Behind them, Butchers Mercenaries glared feriously at the Chaos horde. These Mercenaries had a taste for battle, and they revelled in the thought of all the carnage they would bring upon the enemy this day. A savage giant of a man, Vincent Butcher, made the two giant axe's he wielded seem like they were feather-weight. Each of the Mercernaries had hand weapons to kill and maim any foolish enough to charge them, the language and choice of words they used fitted in well with their dirty, rough nature.

To the right of the Mercenaries sat the Vanahiem Imperial Regiment. Two-hundred of Longhurst's best men, each armed with the finest weapons and armour. The commander of the section, Marcus Bragg, saluted Longhurst, in turn the commander bowed his head.

In the distance Longhurst could make out the Vanahiem 74th, the Cavalry battalion. Over a hundred of the finest Knights waited patiently, seated on the finest steeds in the whole of the kingdom. Banners and brightly coloured penants flapped silently. A huge roar from behind the knights saw some of the Arncourt Swordsmen drawing their swords, imaging some evil demon. Longhurst laughed out loud as he saw the huge form of Mordrak, a huge Emperor size Dragon. Atop this huge, crimson reptile rested Borlan, Vanahiem's finest wizard winked at the stern Longhurst.

Behind Longhurst sat a steep hill. This is where Vanahiems arsenal rested. On the first level of the hill, three Hell-blaster Volley Guns sat, their crew waited patiently for the order. Flanking the guns sat four units of Vanahiem Archers, two units for each flank. The leader, Boris Kingston took another swig of the Bugmans Ale he managed to "borrow" from the Dwarf
survivors.

On the second level of the hill nestled four squat cannons. Longhurst could make out the dull cannon balls that had brought death to so many. Protecting the cannons sat a unit of Hand-gunners. Each of the gunners looked like they were ready for some serious fighting, Longhurst didn't doubt it.

On the third and final level sat Longhurst's prize. Two Great Cannons and three Mortars stood silently. Longhurst's army had been saved from a complete rout countless times by these five weapons, to re-pay them, Longhurst ensured that they received the best care in the world. Protecting these weapons from the threat of a flying daemon or a sudden charge, were two units of Hochland Long-riflesmen and 10 Foot knights.

A rousing shriek was all that was needed to silence the warriors, the Chaos were ready for battle. Longhurst had just enough time to reassure his army. "Give 'em cold steel, boys!"

Longhurst scanned his army to see the impact of the Chaos horde. Smith's Macemen leered and grinned at the nearest unit of Dark Elves, nothing scared these pyschopaths. The Arncourt Swordsman, however, looked timid but where ready to prove themselves.

The Pikesmen under Sven Maln's command appeared to be playing cards, this left Longhurst with mixed feelings. The Redbridge knights sat in silence, as they always did. The Dwarf's were definitely playing a game, a drinking one. A scowl from Longhurst was enough to stop the drinking game and to get the Dwarf's ready for combat.

Behind him, the cannon crews began to light slow burning tapers and piled shells into small mounds, the archers and hand-gunner's also loaded their weapons. The Hochland long-riflesmen were already kneeling down, waiting to get in a shot.

Longhurst's own warriors were waiting patiently, each unit was eager for revenge. Many of the soldiers came from Moon-glow.

Mordrak waited impatiently, almost puppy like in his manner. Flames danced out of his nostrils, Borlan placed a reassuring hand on the huge reptiles neck.

"Here they come, lads!" shouted one of the Macemen.

"Army, march!" shouted Longhurst.

A beating of drums sang out from the Macemen, as the army marched onwards.

A roar followed by a leathery flap of wings, Mordrak shot off into the sky and began to circle the battlefield.

The tramp of marching armies bounced around the secluded area. Longhurst felt adrenaline surge through his body.

A sudden movement nearby caught the attention of the left flank. A large unit of fifty deadly Witch Elves shrieked and danced as they broke from a hidden area in the woods and charged towards the left flank. Longhurst cursed his decision on fielding the Arncourt swordsmen in such a vulnerable area.

Nervously, one brave youth raised his sword "For honour and glory!" he shouted with a hint of fear. The first regiment dashed for the Dark Elves and made contact, the Swordsmen fought with extreme valour and determination, but the deranged Witch Elves easily cut down the noblemen. Howls of pain and fear rang out as the brave fighters were hacked apart. Panic rippled through the army.

The remaining two units of Swordsmen made a valiant rush for the Witch Elves. However, a blue bolt shot across the field into the path of the youths, ten of the brave warriors fell, their bodies black from the bolt of pure evil.

Almost at once, the remaining Swordsmen turned and ran for their lives. They did not want to face these she-devils. The Macemen shouted and cursed for the young swordsmen to turn around and fight, but they paid no heed. The beating of the Macemen's drum stooped. Longhurst knew he was in danger of loosing the entire left flank.

The whole battlefield fell silent, the Witch Elves cut off trophies from the fallen soldiers, even the wounded soldiers suffered the cruel blades. The she devils laughed and shrieked, high on the ecstacy of battle, they were already looking at the remaining swordsmen, who were now formed valiantly around a tree.

"Come on lads!" Roared Smith, he waved his hand in an urge for the swordsmen to retreat back to the lines.

The Witch Elf leader threw back her head and let out a battle cry. The Witch Elves ran towards the brave swordsmen. The youths gripped their swords bravely. Tears welled up in eyes of every swordsman, they did not want to die.

Longhurst looked at Rupert Smith. Smith met the captains eyes.

"Ready, my lord?" he said, with a touch of cold fury.

"Do you think you can stop the Witch Elves?"

"No problem, guv!"

Turning to face his regiment, Smith raised his right arm and brought it down in a sweeping gesture as he did this, he uttered his command. "Macemen, FORWARD!"

The beating of drums started again as the field sang out with the heavy tread of hob-nailed boots.

As they came into range, the Witch Elves began to charge the Macemen unit.

"We'll crush 'em. CHARGE!"

The furious Macemen charged full tilt into the Witch Elves, as soon as contact was made, they brought their mace's crashing down upon the skulls of the elves, crunch after sickening crunch bought a smile to Rupert Smith's face as he jumped on the head of the fallen Witch Elf Sorcereress, while she was still alive. Even though the Witch Elves were renowned for their frenzied assaults, not even they could compare with the fury and rage of the Macemen as they struck and parried the enemy, making their Maces seem as light as feathers. Soon, the fifty Witch Elves were reduced to ten, with no casulties on the Macemens side, Longhurst was glad he fielded them next to the swordsmen.

The remaining Witch Elves turned to flee. Rupert Smith's face was a picture of fury "Lets get 'em!" he roared as he flung his mace at the nearest elf, she fell with a sickening crunch into the blood-slick mud. The Macemen soon encircled the elves, they began to plead for their lifes, but the Macemen didn't listen. Longhurst chuckled, he had seen this happen before.

Each Macemen poured a small bottle of liquid onto the Witch Elves. The Elves spat and gurgled as the deadly vapours reached their noses. Smith then took two stones fom a pouh and banged them together.

The area roared as each of the Witch Elves became engufed in a sheet of flames. Their shrieks pierced the sky as they ran around, further billowing the fire. The Macemen kicked and pushed the Witch Elves to the ground. When the last charred body fell, the Macemen hurried back to the main lines, Smith picked up his mace, still embedded in the skull of the Witch Elf.

To be continued...............