The doomhawks weren’t the worst the north had to offer. Compared to titans, they were relatively weak. Their greatest advantage was their numbers. Their second, their large bodies. Their feathers didn’t defend against magic and couldn’t deflect blades. Their talons were sharp and powerful enough to hold onto struggling prey as they lifted them into the air, but they couldn’t fight worth a damn. Their hunting strategies relied on ambushing prey, as they couldn’t stop anything that put up a struggle.

Lancecain didn’t have much to do as the first birds reached their defensive line. The Bleak Moons were competent. Even given the restriction of not using magic, they still managed to swiftly dispatch the hawks that came within striking range. Those not engaged in active combat worked together to shift the corpses to the side. Watching them, Lancecain recalled Lourianne Tome dashing about the battlefield during their campaign, casually tossing around the bodies of the enormous birds.

Lancecain had undergone frequent work under one of the best melders in the north since he was a young man, magic guiding him into obtaining a prime physique, and he still couldn’t accomplish such a feat. Birds were generally lighter than their frames would suggest but even the smallest doomhawk weighed as much as a horse and a half. Their wings also made them unwieldly to handle.

Far from tossing them into wagons with an ease that could keep up with the slaughtering pace of a full army, the most Lancecain could manage was pushing their bodies off to the side and that was with a knight or two helping him. The more magic was thrown, the more agitated the flock became, and the more angry birds assaulted the knights.

When two dozen came at them at once, Lancecain had to forsake his efforts to join the assault. It was a chaotic battlefield, more so than he was used to. His footing was uncertain while stepping around, and sometimes onto, corpses. Thankfully, his targets were large and not very agile. If he dodged their grasping talons, it was a simple matter to cut into their wings. A large enough wound would send them crashing to the ground, where they would be impaled by multiple weapons, ending their life in moments.

But, as more enemies dove at them and the corpses became closer to obstacles rather than hindrances, Lancecain found it difficult to swing his sword. Thomas finally gave the order to use magic and the forces atop the building let loose. The pressure was eased as the birds were caught off guard, giving the ground forces a precious reprieve. They worked together to push away the corpses, desperately making space.

The constant exertion was exhausting but Lancecain didn’t pause, readying himself for the next wave. To his surprise, it didn’t come. He felt a wave of dread mixed with a strong dose of frustration when he looked up to find, despite having slain at least a hundred of the birds on their own, they hadn’t even made a dent in the flock. Thousands still circled above them.

“Don’t relax yet,” Thomas shouted. He was a frightening visage, his armor worn armor splattered with blood as she threw off viscera from his spear. “We just killed off the scrawny ones. Now the flock is deciding who the next sacrifices are going to be.”

It made sense. Normally, the armies were assaulted by the desperate led by a handful of elder doomhawks. There was no question of leadership. Now, there were hundreds of elders. From them, new sacrifices had to be selected and they squawked incessantly as they established the new pecking order.

“Now would be a good time evacuate the civilians.”

Lancecain flinched. The commander had a point but he could still swing his sword and his mana core was full. Retreat wasn’t on his mind but Thomas’ words brought him back from the battle lust.

Being sent away didn’t feel good but the old man was right. There wouldn’t be a better time to get the civilians to safety. If the elders attacked, never mind the larger birds circling above them, he had no faith the knights could defend them.

At their size, crashing into the building would topple it, crushing everyone inside. He’d heard stories that some of the largest doomhawks in the history of the campaigns could even use magic. If one percent of them had such capabilities, that meant at least a hundred casters would be throwing spells back at them.

“…then I’ll be counting on you to cover us.” The duke believed in his rational mind. Lancecain wouldn’t fail him nor the civilians counting on the orders to lead them through the crisis.

“You do your master and your legacy proud.”

The words eased some of the young knight’s guilt as he sprinted toward the building. Inside, the most vulnerable members of the fort were gathered on the main floor. Mothers holding onto their children. Gray-haired seniors leaning on canes or seated in chairs along the wall. Servants with no talent or stomach for war. Last, the younger trainees, too inexperienced to fight on the frontline, surrounded them, ready to defend them in the unlikely event the building was breached.

Most of them wouldn’t survive an encounter with the weakest doomhawk. The trainees could handle a few but they wouldn’t come out of the assault Lancecain had just endured unscathed. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the next wave. However, despite their lack of ability, none of them were panicking.

Death could descend at any moment. It was too much to ask them not to show any fear, especially from the children, but all their gazes were resolute. Ready for whatever came next. It was a sight that was as awe-inspiring as knights standing up to impossible odds. It made him proud to be a knight of Victory and reaffirmed his love for his home.

“I need everyone’s attention.” At once, the quiet mutterings throughout the room ended and all eyes turned to him.

“There are more people in the other rooms, Lance,” one of the trainees said softly.

“Run and grab them. Pack everyone close, we don’t have time for me to repeat this multiple times.”

The trainee nodded. Waving over three others, they moved through the crowd as quickly as they could. His helper barely took a minute to return, nodding at him to say he’d completed his task.

Lancecain raised his voice. “You’re all aware that a large horde of monsters is currently assaulting the fort. The fight is intensifying. Our knights can’t fight and guarantee your protection so we will evacuate. There is no time to grab anything you’ve left, find anyone you’ve lost, and no time to hesitate. We’re going, now, and we don’t stop. Keep up, keep an eye on whoever’s beside you, and keep calm.

“Trainees, break into three groups. I want those under sixteen behind me.” They needed the reassurance of someone to follow the most, lacking both the strength and training for him to trust them out of his sight. “We march five abreast and the Moons will cover the sides.”

Not only did the official order of Victory always have the most recruits, they tended to be the most capable in terms of teamwork. They were the best hope for defending the civilians if they were attacked. “Be ready to support the rear if necessary. The rest of you, bring up the rear. Your job is to help the seniors and call out any threats. Understood?”

Several affirmative shouts answered him and the crowd began to move. The civilians weren’t as fast as the trainees, especially the seniors, but they were resolute. In minutes, they marched out of the building, moving quickly. Thankfully, the icefall hadn’t reached far enough to make the walk more difficult. A quick glance to the sky showed that the doomhawks hadn’t decided on their new hierarchy. The knights withheld their attacks, taking every moment of the valuable rest.

Lancecain didn’t waste the opportunity, hurrying the crowd of hundreds through the fort. As he’d discussed with the duke, they didn’t head straight for the exit, instead going for the eastern wall and following it to the gate. Knights on the wall must have seen their approach because once they were close, the gate was raised. They didn’t waste a moment going through it.

Lancecain stood to the side, shepherding the civilians toward the order of the Polar Duelists. His “flock” was halfway through when the screeching started, quickly reaching a deafening crescendo. His stomach knotted with dread as he looked to the sky but he kept his voice level, encouraging the people to keep moving while he watched for the first attack. He had no doubt that they were very visible targets, even if the horde of monsters were concentrated by the western wall. It’d be too easy for a handful to break away and cause significant casualties.

They never got the chance.

Before the first bird could dive, there was a brilliant flash of purple light, accompanied by a rumble that felt like someone had hit a drum the size of Peaks. Lancecain shut his eyes the moment he saw it, but dark spots still polluted his vision. While rapidly blinking them away, he saw doomhawks rain from the sky, the attack devastating the crowded horde.

They didn’t waste any more time debating who would go first. Doomhawks dived for the western wall where the spell originated. They were answered by a lot more magic, including another flash of purple death. It tore through the flock of monstrous birds, hitting one of the leaders circling above. It screeched, its shrill voice a pale imitation of the Lord but still drawing a wince from the young knight.

Lancecain turned away. The duke was right. That was not a fight for him. Not yet.