Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

43: War

The Anloch soldiers were slowing down. They hadn't reached the bottom yet, and Delilah narrowed her eyes.

"The undead are getting restless, Lieutenant Coppin," another captain whispered from behind. "They can smell the blood of all those men."

"They've stopped - we must charge on them now."

"No," Delilah snapped. "If we charge now, then they'll still have the high ground and we'd be trapped in the bottom of the valley. My guess is they'll send out scouts to check for enemies on this side, if they do wish to continue up here." Her lip curled.

She knew how to lure the Anloch army up their side of the valley. She got to her feet, spotted the nearest captain on horseback, and slapped the horse's hindquarters.

The horse reared and neighed - before it shot off downhill. Practically a painted target.

"What did you do that for?" a captain gasped. "You just condemned him!"

"Yes. Exactly." Delilah mounted her own horse and watched a ripple spread through the soldiers at the sight of the lone figure. His horse was out of control, going too fast to stop.

An arrow sliced clean through his throat, and the men around Delilah uttered angry cries.

"Wait," she snarled at them.

Long, tense minutes trickled past. Eventually, when no Valian army arrived to avenge the death of their own, the soldiers cheered and started to swarm up the other side of the valley.

Delilah smirked. The fools were cheering in the face of their deaths.

"That captain was my friend," a man whispered as they watched the body vanish in a stampede.

"No place for friends in war," Delilah said curtly. "Only cruelty and ruthless brilliance. I'm going to find a vantage point. Watch for my signal before you release the soldiers."

She turned and cantered down the line of the undead, feeling satisfied by their resolute stillness, before she found a trail winding up the side of the neighbouring mound. She rode up it until she'd settled on a nice ledge jutting out over the valley.

The Anloch soldiers were halfway up the slope when Delilah unsheathed her sword and raised it, letting it catch the light.

A captain barked an order.

And the undead crested the rise, began to charge blindly at their enemy.

Delilah's bones quivered when the front lines slammed into each other, ringing with metal and men's cries. She wished she was down there, but she'd only disrupt the undead ranks. She would join the war when the fighting got messier. Later.

Delilah watched fear spread through their enemies as they realised who - what they were facing. The undead were ploughing through men, completely unafraid, bellowing and slicing. Blood stained the slopes, Anlochs lost their footing. They were being driven steadily downhill by the horde.

Delilah stroked her horse's mane, watching the men try to dreg up their courage. Some of them gave in to their anger as they watched their friends fall, and she saw a few skeletal bodies crumple. But they would get back up soon.

The Anlochs were putting up a valiant fight, and Delilah felt her smirk turn to a scowl. She bit the inside of her mouth as the Fire Opal pulsed enticingly in her pocket.

She couldn't give away its location by using it.

But she wanted the enemy army dead. Now. Their strength unnerved her - strength against their own fear and the undead pressing down on them.

Delilah's horse pawed the ground, affected by her nerves.

Then a horn blared, and her head snapped up. Opposite her, on the western slopes of the valley, another legion began to charge. They were tiny, unable to properly make out, and they ran with rage - they ran like they had never known fatigue.

It had sounded like a Valian horn, and Delilah squinted at the lone figures remaining on the hilltop while the third army surged towards the fight. Would they help or hinder? At the moment, Anloch and undead forces were evenly matched, so either they would be defeated, or...

Relief surged through her as the newcomers slammed into the Anlochs' western flank. The ranks buckled. Undead soldiers streamed over fallen bodies, swarming, joining Delilah's legion.

Delilah grinned, gripping the reins in her excitement. Her horse reared in protest and she clung on, laughing even as surprise jolted through her. A whoop burst from her, a cry of pure victory as their enemies raised their hands in surrender and defeat.

The undead killed them anyway. They did not take prisoners.

Delilah urged her horse into a gallop, plunging down the side of the valley as her captains did the same from the starting hill. They rode up to the mingled undead ranks just as their mysterious saviour joined them, too.

Delilah grimaced at the sight of him. "And what are you doing here?"

Hawk was grinning, his windswept hair giving him a wild, unkempt look. "Saving your sorry arses from becoming the first defeated Valian legion. You needed my help."

"No, we did not!" she snapped. "You made it easier - but that didn't mean we were going to lose."

"Whatever." Hawk rolled his eyes.

The undead were still biting and clawing at the corpses, and the churned-up mud was stained red. The hardest part of the battle turned out to be trying to order them back into formation, as well as separate the two legions.

"We easily dispatched one of the Empire's armies," Hawk said as he watched the captains struggle with Delilah. "And Dante's spy-messengers told us that the army heading your way was larger than expected."

"How has everyone else fared?" She knew Dante had set them on routes with specific targets in mind. They would decimate their numbers before the three nations could have chance to unite against them.

"I don't know, but Dante's legion have set up camp to the west. Now we've achieved our first task, we should go to him and see where he wants us next."

Delilah nodded. "It feels strange. I've won my first battle, and it didn't take that long, but I wasn't even in it."

Hawk's grin was a feral slash. "Oh, don't worry, you'll have plenty of chance to get stuck in the thick of things later."

She remembered what Dante had told Hawk, and wondered if he was hoping she'd charge into the next battle to get captured or killed. She just gave him a tight-lipped smile.