We arrived outside the gates of Erengrad just in time, it seemed. The Sarl Horde had been manufacturing siege towers to take the walls for the past several days and they were currently dragging them into place for an assault on the walls. Sections of the ground between the Sarl camp and the walls looked completely frosted over as if a magical battle between an Ice Witch and a Chaos Sorcerer had taken place there. The Ice witch had clearly won, though it seemed as if they had been forced to retreat shortly afterward if they had not pressed on to take the Camp with the aid of the Garrison of Erengrad. Here and there corpses littered the ground between the Sarl Camp and the walls. Fur clad Sarl berserker lay next to mail-clad Kossars with the white ship on blue of Erengrad emblazoned on their coats. I could even see a number of blue-robed Ice Witches scattered about with limbs torn off near the frosted over ground. Neither side had removed the corpses yet, which told me that the last sally had been recent, probably an attempt to halt the completion of the siege towers.
Said siege towers were monstrous constructions of wood and hides. They were not as haphazardly built as something the Greenskins might make, but it was clear that the Sarls had no concept of siegecraft beyond the rudimentary from how the towers creaked and swayed as they were pulled into position by captured Oxen. Spiky bits of metal studded the lip of a wooden platform pulled up with rope, that would drop down onto the walls of Erengrad and grip onto it, allowing the Sarl warriors inside the tower to come spilling out onto the wall to sweep away the defenders. We saw all this from our position on the hills east of the city.
"Siege Towers. I did not think the Sarls knew how to build them." Said Lord Stepan.
"Aye, they must have had help from a Sorcerer who obtained the knowledge from one of their foul gods." Spat Urist.
"If they had a sorcerer, they don't anymore. Looks like the Ice Witches took care of that." Said Feliks Wolkowitz.
"Still have those siege towers though." Sniffed Otabeg.
"Then I think it'd be best if we took them away from them. Father Ivanovich, how go your preparations?" I asked.
"The Sacrifice and Altar are ready, I merely need to do the ritual itself and Great Dazh will lend his radiance to our cause." Replied the priest of Dazh.
We had selected the best sacrifice we had been able to find. A Bull that was white like the light of the sun on a clear day. Father Ivanovich assured me that the sacrifice would please the Sun God, who in any case would have been inclined to help us against Chaos already. The Altar was a stone slab surrounded by four long candle holders, with candles of yellow beeswax. Timber and kindling surrounded the bull, which had been sedated with an extremely potent Vodka Recipe that the priesthood used to render animal sacrifices unconscious, and lashed to the altar. We just needed to light the pyre and Dazh would do the rest. Father Ivanovich had been ready for at least an hour.
"Good. Urist, send to Burlok to begin the bombardment as soon as the ritual is complete. Everyone else, form up in column or wedge if they're cavalry. We're going to hit them hard and fast." I ordered.
"About time." Scoffed Urist. The Dwarf hadn't enjoyed the wait that setting things up had entailed.
"You all know your tasks. Today we smash the Sarls and save the City." I said.
"Then we have to deal with those like Yusupov and Kmcic of Emsk who refused to send aid." Scowled Lord Stepan.
"One threat at a time, my Lord. One threat at a time." I replied.
Soon everyone had set about their appointed tasks. Otabeg and I had formed up in a wedge with my Household Guards and our Winged Lancers. Urist had gone to take charge of the Infantry who were forming up in columns to smash through the lines of Sarl Warriors in the rear with momentum. Lord Stepan and Feliks went with their troops. Father Ivanovich went to go conduct his ritual, and Burlok was overseeing the guns. As the sun rose in the sky and dawn broke out across the hills, filtering down into the valley where Erengrad lay next to the sea, a chant began to rise over the assembled men.
"Great Dazh, Giver of light, bringer of life, we beseech you! Your children lay open to the predations of the minions of Night! Send us light to blind your enemies, send us light to show us the way! Glory to great Dazh! Death to the minions of Night!" Chanted Father Ivanovitch, before lighting the pyre.
The white bull thrashed once, twice, and then stilled, immolating in the fire. Father Ivanovich's body was suffused with golden radiance and he produced what looked to be a magnifying glass from his robes. The radiance channeled through the glass and a flash of golden-white light shot forwards from glass, intensifying with the rising of the sun. I could still see, and so could our armies, but I could tell from the shouts of confusion ringing out from the siege lines of the Sarls and within the Sarl Siege towers that our foes could not, the golden radiance of Dazh filling their vision and ensuring they could not react to what came next.
What came next was the thunder of 20 artillery pieces firing at once. Burlok had drilled their engineers well enough that with his guidance they could fire as one volley. 20 cannonballs shot out from our artillery. 5 of them striking out at Sarl siege towers. The rudimentary construction of which could not stand up to cannon fire. Support struts were smashed and towers collapsed, killing those inside and startling the oxen that had been lashed to them, causing the sudden free pack animals to start a stampede back into the Sarl siege lines. There were enough Sarls besieging Erengrad to almost match the Western Oblast's entire pulk at full strength, but blinded as they were, taking fire from cannon in the rear, the oxen stampede winnowed down numbers as much as the cannon had. One more volley was fired from Burlok's Artillery before they had to adjust their cannon to fire plunging shot over the heads of the rearmost Sarl Ranks. It wouldn't do to hit our own charging men, after all.
Speaking of which, I took up my lance and shouted to my men, "Come, brothers! For you who shed your blood with me today shall be my brothers forevermore! Let us drive these monsters in the guise of men from our lands! For Erengrad! For Kislev!" Then spurred my horse forwards, leading the charge.
A great cheer went up at my paraphrasing of Shakespeare and our forces rushed to follow me in. The rearmost ranks of the Sarl host had been disorganized by the cannonade, and blinded by Dazh as well, they could not effectively form up to repel our charge. My lance took a giant of a Sarl warrior covered in blackened mail right in the chest, through the sternum, in fact, snapping off in his chest. I drew my sabre and began to cut my way through the Sarl ranks. I sliced through the upraised arm of a Sarl in leather armor and down into his collarbone before moving on to slay another by hacking into the crown of his unhelmeted head. Next to me, Otabeg's lance had similarly snapped in the corpse of a Sarl warrior, though as an Ungol, he had enough experience in mounted combat to have recovered his lance from the first two Sarls he killed with it before it snapped on the third. His Ungol scimitar was currently whirling around him laying low Sarls left and right. My Household guard was doing similarly around me, hacking out with cavalry sabres or hatchets, in a few cases still having their lances though now that we were stuck in, they would need to drop them soon. Likewise, my winged lancers were doing the same. I took in the battlefield as I hacked off a sword hand of a Sarl warrior trying to get at me at the wrist.
We had plunged into the disorganized rear of the Sarl line and had torn into them, breaking open their rear. Up ahead I could see cannonballs begin to land in the center of the Sarl host, Burlok's artillery having adjusted in the first few minutes of battle to keep the pressure on. In the front though, the Sarls had managed to subdue the rampaging Oxen and reorient around a man in odd-looking scale armor wielding some sort of Javelin like a short spear and extolling his men to "Stand fast you dogs!" I hacked away at another Sarl, sabre ripping through his leather armor and biting into his collarbone. Our charge would lose its momentum soon enough, but we'd planned for that.
Indeed as we began to get bogged down by the continuing firming up of Sarl resistance, Urist arrived with our Infantry columns, shouting battle cries in Khazalid. The Infantry poured into the gap in the rear that we'd torn open with the cavalry, Kossar Axes swinging at every turn, streltsi firing volleys at the wings of the Sarl formation. The rear ranks of the Sarl host had been wavering before, but now they began to literally dissolve, with individual Sarls either fighting as lone warriors and dying or trying desperately to find a way out of the slaughter. If the rear ranks were dissolving, the middle ranks were now wavering, and I plunged ahead with my sabre, cutting into foes from horseback as my household guard and winged lancers did the same. Here my sabre cut into a Sarl's face, there it slipped into the gap between mail hauberk and helm to slice out a jugular. All around me the battle had turned into a slaughter. I had yet to even take a wound.
Urist was not so lucky though, my Dwarven advisor was engaged with the Sarl who had rallied the rearmost ranks, while his equipment was made of good dwarf-steel and his breastplate had been runed by his cousin, it seemed that whatever beast the scales of the Sarl Warlord's armor had come from was just as impervious to damage and had fewer gaps that Urist's more segmented full-plate, being a coat of scales. Normally scale armor didn't fend off crushing blows well, like those from the hammerhead on the rear of Urist's axe, but Urist was not managing to make a dent in the man's armor. I thought he had it under control until the man ducked away from a hammer strike from Urist and pulled a small, single-edged, cutting dagger from his belt, which he jammed into a seam in Urist's plate between the vambrace and couter, driving the dagger Into Urist's elbow and forcing him to drop his axe.
"Urist! That's my Dwarf!" I shouted as I spurred my horse on towards the fight. The Sarl Warlord looked off towards my charge and hefted his Javelin, throwing it at me. His throw was true and the Javelin smashed into my chest, knocking me from my saddle. Thankfully, my breastplate held, though I was going to have a hell of a bruise if I survived this. The Sarl Warlord approached me as I stumbled to my feet in the mud, retrieving my sabre as I stood. Likewise he retrieved his Javelin. I stood shakily and realized that no normal man could have thrown that with such force as to knock me off my saddle. Normally you need another horseman and a lance to do that. He must have some kind of blessing from one of the Chaos Gods to enhance his strength.
"You're lucky your armor held, boy. You won't be that lucky again. I can respect a Warrior who set your attack up. Takes courage and cunning in equal measures to do that. I'm going to give you a chance. Flee. Flee for your life and let me sacrifice this city to the Blood God to settle my debt to him." He growled out.
Silently I prayed for Ursun to give me the strength to match this Champion of Khorne. Outwardly, I said, "I can't let you do that."
The Sarl Warlord grinned savagely and said, "I was hoping you would say that." Before raising his Javelin to strike again.
I don't know whether it was because Ursun had heard my prayer and granted it, or if it was just adrenaline, but I managed to get my Sabre up in time with enough power to parry the incoming thrust aside, even if the clanging of weapons together felt like it rattled my teeth in my skull. The Sarl warlord frowned and thrust out again, and again, I parried. I felt warmth begin to emanate from the Mark of Ursun on my chest as I parried a third thrust, then a fourth. It seemed as if just the act of defying Khorne was causing me to gain strength from my mark with each clash. By the fifth parry, I no longer felt the rattle of my teeth as we clashed. The Sarl Warlord scowled and tried something else next, a sweeping blow at my temple that I managed to duck under. As my mark grew warmer then, I felt confident to try a counterattack. I swung low with my sabre, trying to get the Sarl Warlord in the knee. Predictably, he just stood there to take it, assured of the imperviousness of his armor. I don't know whether it was Ursun's blessing through my mark or just good luck, but I managed to slip my blade past the scale coat and land a hit to his thigh.
That brought him up short as he scowled, "I don't know how you're doing this, boy, but the Blood God will not be denied his due!" He shouted, bulling ahead with a big thrust, intent on striking me center mass with all his might to impale me. I spun away from the thrust, reflexes enhanced by Ursun's Blessing channeled through my mark and brought my Sabre down on his javelin with a powerful hacking slash. The wood of the haft of the javelin cracked in half, splintering at my attack and causing a full foot of the weapon to fall into the mud, including the metal spearhead. This unbalanced the Sarl Warlord, causing him to stumble forwards. I spun around once more, drawing a belt dagger. It wasn't dwarf-steel, having been a present from my father when I turned 14 before I had been inserted into his body. With the dagger in my off-hand, I completed my spin by thrusting it overhand down between the collar of the scale coat that the Sarl Warlord was wearing and his neck, taking advantage of his overbalance to do so. The dagger sank into his Trapezius muscles and through his collarbone, into his chest cavity. The Sarl Warlord fell to his knees with a wet cough.
I was breathing hard, pretty sure that I had pulled a muscle in my sword arm from parrying his initial thrust before Ursun's Blessing took hold. I also had at least one bruised rib, and my chest felt like I'd been hit with a battering ram from that javelin throw. I still had won this fight. The Sarl Warlord hacked up a wet bloody cough as he sat there kneeling in the mud with my dagger stuck in his body. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
Through bloodstained teeth, he told me. "You think you've won, but Khorne cares not from where the blood flows. Just that it flows. By defending your city, you have honored him yourself. In your own way." Before choking wetly and spitting out a glob of blood.
I frowned, he was right, that was a part of the setting, but I was pretty sure that other gods would keep the power Khorne got from this to a minimum. Ursun for one, maybe Dazh too. "Even if your dark god gains something from this, you still lose." I pointed out.
Another wet, choking laugh came from the Warlord. He had no other answer and soon slumped forwards into the mud, dead.
Now though, it seemed like Erengrad was waking up. One of the sally ports in the walls opened up and a large number of men mounted on Bears poured forth from it, along with kossars and winged lancers. At the head, I could see my father shouting and waving his cavalry hatchet around. The destruction of the rear by my forces, my killing of the warlord, and now the sally from the city was just too much of a combination of defeats for the remainder of the Sarl Host to bear. They began streaming off the battlefield in droves, morale broken by how the fight had turned against them so badly. I wasn't paying much attention to it, the whole ordeal had taken so much out of me that it was hard enough to keep my feet as it was. Fortunately, at this point, the battle was effectively over. The Warlord was dead and his host fleeing and scattered. Erengrad was saved. I would find out later that only a paltry dozen of the Sarl ships had gotten away out into the bay after their crews had hastily picked up whatever straggling warriors they could. The rest of the Sarl Armada had been sunk by the remnants of the Erengrad Fleet as they sallied out from the fortified harbor just before my father had led his own sally out of the sally port. Of the nearly 21,000 Sarls and miscellaneous Norscans that had attacked Erengrad. Some 1,000 would return to troll country to empty villages. 2,000 would flee southeast towards the Verge and Emsk. The rest were dead, killed in battle or ridden down after during the rout.
This was a victory