B4 Chapter 48: A Wall of Oaks

The Third Legion continued their pursuit of the desert monsters as they carved through the forest. It was clear that the enemy had abandoned all attempts at self-preservation, not even bothering to defend their rear as they cut a swath of desolation and flame through the trees. The hazardous terrain they left behind also served to slow the Legion somewhat. But Quintus quickly had to abandon any notion of keeping their shields and other wooden equipment intact in exchange for speed. It was an acceptable loss in this case.

The elven defenders did what they could. Those whose attacks didn't rely on wooden arrow shafts or plant-based skills joined the pursuit, hammering the ants and worms that charged ahead and adding their corpses to the desolation. Those who lacked better ways to contribute remained at the treeline to combat the flames and red sand.

The city came into view ahead, its massive central tree appearing like a mirage and towering over the rest of the forest. The fact that it was even visible at all was a testament to the damage this suicidal charge had already dealt, and confirmed some of Quintus's concerns. The destruction of so many trees did have an effect on the elves' stealth enchantments.

The enemy commander bellowed something unintelligible. His staff glowed with golden light as he veered his forces toward the tree. The Legionnaires took the opportunity to take shots at him, but the coward ducked within a mass of his troops before they could do any significant harm.

Another massive worm fell, its fleshy body crushing ants beneath as it fell limp under the Legion's attacks. Quintus slashed forward, opening a tunnel through its corpse as the mages kept the red sand from spilling out. Yet it wasn't enough. More continued to surge through the earth ahead. They were making a dent, but not fast enough. Quintus wasn't confident they'd managed to rout them in time.

"Sir! Elves ahead!" One of the messengers informed him.

Quintus sensed the line before he could see them. They were members of the second Legion, all lined up precisely in front of the charging monsters. Their round shields locked together in a solid wall, albeit a much smaller one than the true Romans usually made. Behind them stood a second row of robed figures, both male and female, all of them wielding wooden staves and topped with bushels of wheat. Priests of Ceres.

He half hoped they'd be clad in steel or leather, having found some material resistant to the red sand during this short window of preparation. But no such luck. Still, the grim determination written plain across their faces made it clear that they wouldn't allow that shortcoming to stand in their way.

"Get ready!" Quintus shouted. He couldn't imagine that this wall would slow the enemy much at all. But even if it had only a slight effect, they needed to take advantage.

The monsters continued to tear through the dying forest, spewing a seemingly endless cloud of red sand before them. Quintus heard men cough as it mingled with the black smoke to fill their eyes and noses. Quintus slashed with his windblade to keep the way clear, the others trusting him to lead them in the right direction. Anyone else with the ability to shift the cloying stuff away was focused on keeping their forward progress.

The Second Legion braced for impact, and the air cleared just enough for Quintus to see what happened next. The robed priests raised their staves in unison, their tops glowing the golden color of freshly harvested wheat. Spears of divine light shot out in every direction before converging on the elven Legionnaires themselves.

Their armor and shields swelled with energy. Massive pauldrons sprouted from shoulders as the small round shields lengthened and spread. Roots grew from their bottoms to dig into the earth even as their tops shot skyward and split into massive boughs. Before their very eyes, the elves' lesser shield wall turned into a literal wall of trees, the elves themselves hidden entirely behind massive oaks.

The worms and ants spewed sand at the wall. But rather than crumble on impact as the other trees had, these "shields" sparked and spat with the same golden light. Cracks and crevasses opened up across the surface of the trees, making it clear that the sand's effect hadn't been completely negated. But whatever those priests were doing had slowed the damage. For how long, Quintus had no intention of finding out.

The monsters crashed into the wall at full speed. The impact shook the ground, echoing through the forest with the force of an explosion. But the wall held. A moment later, the enemy found their rear similarly smashed into by Quintus and his Legionnaires. They carved through the monsters with abandon, slicing with swords and not bothering to conserve any resources. Without shields, it wasn't like they could defend themselves well either. Some of the worms and ants tried to tunnel beneath the trees to continue their charge, but found themselves run through with golden roots and stone spikes that erupted from the ground.

Quintus wasted no time finding the opposing commander. The beastkin howled with rage, hammering at the wall even as Quintus shot out of the formation toward him. This time, he didn't hesitate to lop the creature's head clean off.

The loss of the commander set the troops loose from their spell. Their already faltering suicidal charge crumbled like the forest behind them as their unified sense of purpose dissolved. But Quintus wasn't satisfied to simply let the enemy escape. He and his men hunted down every last one, executing them before they could cause more trouble. He lost himself for a time in the dance of battle, whirling and slashing into whatever foes dared come near in a vortex of death.

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When the dust finally cleared, Quintus and his men found themselves panting in the center of a smoldering clearing. The forest around them was gone, replaced by blackened ash and dyed various shades of red. Countless bodies lay in their wake, paving a miles long path all the way back to the desert itself, now visible past a long column of his men. The elven wall ahead of them groaned and creaked, its massive oaks scored, blackened, and resembling a moth-eaten piece of cloth more than bark in many places. But it had held.

The wall's light faded. The elven Legionnaires and priests became visible once more as their shields shrank back down, most of them crumbling under the strain of the battle and that spell. Sylendor stepped forward, the elven legatus remaining as composed as ever despite the holes eaten in his resplendent armor.

"Legatus Quintus."

"Legatus Sylendor." Quintus straightened, wiping the sweat off his brow. "My condolences for the mess. We moved as quickly as we could."

"As did we." The elf nodded gratefully. "Thank you. Your warning allowed us to mobilize without delay. Without it... things would have ended far worse. Of that, I am certain."

He just nodded. The sounds of panting and crackling flames filled the clearing as they all took a moment to rest.

***

Marcus somehow found himself running halfway across the empire yet again. Not that he minded the travel, of course. The road was among his more preferred of locations, especially given how pleasant they were to walk upon now. But he did wish that sometimes his travels could be done with just a little less haste.

Still, he couldn't complain much about the reason. Defending against dragon attacks were most certainly worth making a story about. He'd ventured north a couple of times in recent memory to witness them, but those had been little more than skirmishes and chance events that he'd more often than not arrived just in time to miss.

But this? A more sizeable attack? This was far more promising. Especially given the protagonists heading their way.

"Bard Marcus!" An orc shouted from their marching formation. Compared to the Legion's neat columns, this more closely resembled the rough mobs that he'd come to associate with the race. But they still tried, and their natural abilities allowed them to move quickly regardless. "Play us a song to stir our hearts to battle!"

He chuckled at the request. Giving a stellar performance while on the move like this was quite the tall task. Then again, he was quite the bard.

Swinging his lute from his back, Marcus began to sing and chant as he ran. Their voices and chants joined his own, spreading across the countryside in a rousing war chant that would've made any enemy shiver.

Unsurprisingly, they were quite fond of such songs. Their relative lack of experience when it came to such entertainment made them quite the enthusiastic audience. He was starting to introduce them to high poetry and classic epics as well.

The veritable bonfire of enthusiasm was tempered only slightly by the grim-faced Roman beside him. Gaius rode among a contingent of his First Legionnaires, leading the orcish auxiliaries northward. Yet his disposition was not nearly so positive.

When he'd finished his first song, Marcus took a small break to speak with the young Legatus in low tones. "You wear your dissatisfaction like a cloak, my friend."

Gaius's eyes flicked to him, then forward again. "To you, perhaps. Not everyone can read emotions like notes on a page."

Marcus didn't respond. It was true, but he was rather certain that it wasn't just his abilities that allowed him insight into Gaius's current state. The Legatus had been insistent on leading the defense of the border himself, even though he was not permitted to pull the majority of the First Legion away from their duties. It meant that the thousands of orcs were accompanied by less than a cohort of true Romans.

"At least you need not worry about losing men," Marcus joked. "Not with so many shock troops to make use of."

But rather than agree, Gaius simply shook his head. "Death is a reality of war. I understand that the First Legionnaires are valuable. But they are valuable in large part because of their combat prowess. A fine sword left above the mantle is no weapon at all. Its blade will become dull if not sharpened."

"...True." Marcus agreed consolingly. "Yet testing the sharpness and loyalty of these new weapons is an important task as well."

Despite his callous words, Marcus actually did feel some concern for the orcs. True, they bred like rabbits, but he'd grown quite fond of the green-skinned warriors-turned-scholars. Thankfully he'd seen enough of their abilities to avoid fretting over them like a concerned maid.

Gaius grunted. "I understand. I made no objections to the emperor's orders. I merely hope that he doesn't coddle his greatest force out of... concern for their well-being."

The young Legatus didn't speak more on the matter. Even speaking as he was likely was too close to treason for his liking, even though Marcus ensured that no others could hear them.

Truthfully, he understood both sides. He would have leapt at the chance for such a cushy and low-risk job if he were a lifetime soldier like the Legionnaires, but he recognized that they largely didn't share that same outlook. He also understood Tiberius's concern about losses. True Romans were irreplaceable right now, unless they sired and raised sons in their stead. So in a way, their time may well be better spent doing that. Yet was it really an effective use, especially when the orcs could outnumber them so quickly?

Marcus honestly didn't know what was better---for the soldiers to continue their conquest and growth or to pull back and cultivate the next generation. Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about it.

They continued northward, occasionally encountering a dragon that had pressed into the empire's territory. Gaius allowed the auxiliaries to take care of the threats for the most part, though he ensured that the Legionnaires were not entirely idle during battle. Still, the orcs proved plenty capable, hurling ranged weapons with a ferocity and accuracy that beggared belief. They managed to send the small dragons they came across fleeing back north and even outright killed a few.

Still, their presence this far south was a problem. It meant that the north was more compromised than they'd hoped. Marcus simply hoped that they were up to the task of dealing with whatever had caused this problem to begin with.