‘I’ve just remembered something,’ whispered Fred as they halted in the centre of the front line. ‘About Piper’s children.’
‘What?’ Ray whispered back. The enemy were only five hundred yards distant now, advancing at a steady march. They had a whole lot of big, bass drums for keeping the time, their low pounding rhythm punctuated every ten steps or so by all the enemy making a sound that was more like an animal snarl than a shout.
There were also a lot more of them than he’d first thought. Many hundreds at least. Not that Ray was counting. It was just the impression he got, that there were an awful lot of them, approaching very quickly.
‘We aren’t so good with getting hurt as Denizens,’ said Fred. ‘I mean, if our heads get cut off, that’s it. And our arms and legs probably won’t grow back either.’
‘Silence in the ranks!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. He walked slowly along the front line, not even looking at the onrushing enemy. ‘This will be just like a drill! The enemy are Nithlings. They are inferior! We are the Army of the Architect! The Architect! Let me hear you say it! The Architect!’
‘The Architect!’ boomed out six hundred Denizen mouths. It sounded incredibly loud and solid and confident, and Ray started to feel a bit better, despite what Fred had just said.
‘We will not give ground!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. ‘The Architect!’
‘The Architect!’ boomed out the massed recruits. Ray noticed that Sergeant Helve was timing it so they shouted at the same time the enemy made their creepy snarling noise, the shout almost completely drowning out that and the enemy’s drums.
‘Colonel Huwiti is going to tell you the plan!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. ‘Just remember to stand by your comrades! Remember your drill!’
Colonel Huwiti strolled out in front of what was now four ranks of recruits spread in lines right across the parade ground. He casually saluted Sergeant Helve, who returned the salute with absolute precision. Neither Denizen seemed to even notice that there was a solid dark mass of humanoid Nithlings in dark lacquered armour with short, spark-tipped spears tramping straight towards them, and now only three hundred yards away.
‘This will be very simple,’ said the colonel in a quiet but carrying voice. ‘First rank, if you would be so good as to lock your shields, set your power-spears, and draw swords. Second rank, ready your power-spears to throw. On the command “throw”, you will throw and retire to the rear. As the second rank retires, third rank will march forward, and on the command ‘throw,’ and then retire as fourth rank marches forward and throws on command. As each rank reaches the rear, it will turn to face front again and draw swords. Listen for your sergeants’ and corporals’ commands and all will be well.’
‘Yes, sir!’ bellowed Helve, the kind of ‘yes, sir’ that drew everybody else to empty their lungs yelling, ‘Yes, sir!’ as well.
‘I feel a bit small,’ muttered Fred as he locked his shield with Ray’s and the Denizen to his right, and set the butt of his power-spear in the ground.
‘So do I,’ said Ray. They were both at least a foot shorter than the Denizens to either side of them, and even when they held their shields high, the line suddenly dipped when it came to them.
They could hear the beat of the enemy’s footsteps vibrating up through the ground now, and their snarls and even the crackle of their weapons, all too like the sound of lightning-charged tulwars, the favoured weapon of the Horde.
‘You two Piper’s children, retire at once to the fourth rank!’ snapped someone in front of them.
Ray automatically obeyed the voice of command, unlocking his shield and turning on the spot to march back, Fred at his side. Behind him the line shuffled together and in front of him, Denizens stood aside.
They were just about to go through the third rank when the enemy all screamed at once, and the pounding of their feet got much louder and faster, with the drums suddenly booming twice as fast and horns blaring as well. At the same time, Helve and some other sergeants were shouting, ‘Second rank! Throw!’ though even their legendary voices were almost lost in the din.
Ray knew the enemy had charged, and two seconds later, he almost felt the shock wave of sound and movement as the Nithlings’ front rank crashed into the locked shields of his comrades and the air was filled with screams and cries and curses, the hiss of superheated spears and the ratcheting screech of savage-swords meeting Nithling armour.
‘Third rank, throw! Fourth rank, advance!’
Ray had only just reached the fourth rank. He swivelled around as the whole line advanced, and he and Fred wedged themselves in, raising their power-spears as they did so.