Shortly before we passed Hochebuz, I judged the purpose of my first set of training exercises complete. The men were reforged, if not in ability, then in trust of their fellows. Standouts were picked out for leadership roles, basic experience with the wagon fort and general camp order was learned. Perhaps more importantly, I doubted any of the soldiers would go against my orders any time soon.

  While I did not have a great understanding of spearmanship or archery, I was lucky enough to possess ten royal guards in my retinue. Training and sparring overseen by Captain Roderic and his men quickly replaced my afternoon cohesion exercises. The three battalion commanders also got to enjoy extra lessons from me afterwards, while the morning was spent marching. I also taught them additional signals. The standard ones in the Cintran army were not terrible, but magic provided additional opportunities.

  Cyril, Bastan and Sorin proved to be fast learners as I taught them tactics, and tried to instil some strategic thinking into their heads. Lessons on magic and possible defences against it were part of that. Not that there was much to say in that regard. In the end, magical defence was my job.

  However, I made many plans with Sorin, the leader of the Third Battalion and thus the man in command of the archers. Of course, ‘shoot the mage’ wasn’t anything groundbreaking, but there was much room for improvement. Recognising the most common defensive spells for one. Some could be overwhelmed by enough arrows, some just weren’t that good, allowing the occasional arrow to slip through and some I could disrupt, giving my archers an opportunity to strike. For others, diverting archer fire towards them would have simply been a waste.

  Massed fire towards singular targets also wasn’t something the longbowmen were used to, so I had Sorin pick out thirty of his best to train them specifically for that. If an enemy mage or commander came into bow range, they’d be in for a nasty surprise.

  Unfortunately, while Sorin was an excellent shot, his leadership abilities were the most lacking of the three. Unlike Cyril’s past as a guard and Bastan’s work as a mercenary, Sorin had been a tourney archer and a hunter, making his fortune in solitude.

  It was something to work on.

  And, as I could see through my spirit eye, Saov Llygad, the time for that was rapidly encroaching. I had spent quite a few hours scouting to arrange this, but hopefully, the men would appreciate the opportunity to get some real training done.

  “Master Witcher,” I sidled to Coen, “I would like you to sit this one out.”

  The smoothness of our march could in part be attributed to the witcher. Coen could deal with most monsters that barred our way alone. When he himself was not sufficient, he was able to quickly convey enough information to the men that even the more numerous creatures proved unthreatening. His knowledge had already proven crucial to the point that I had to pat myself on the back for my foresight in acquiring such a valuable asset. Without him here, we would have either lost soldiers or worse, I would have had to put myself in unnecessary danger. That it allowed me to examine the witcher more thoroughly while he fought was just a bonus.

  “Oh?” The witcher responded, “You sense another? I’m growing jealous of that spell, sorceress.”

  I inclined my head in agreement. It was a very convenient spell to have out here, though one I only dared to use because of the hundreds of armoured men surrounding me.

  “MEN! Enemies approach! Wagon fort!” I shouted, then watched with satisfaction as the soldiers swiftly began moving. They probably thought this was just another drill, despite what I had said. They would be quickly disabused of the notion.

  I spurred my horse. Together with the witcher, we settled behind our lines. The wagons were formed into a triangle, their wheels linked and dug into the earth while sharpened stakes were quickly stuck into the ground, providing extra protection.

  Spearmen took up positions both on top of the wagons and between them, guarding the gaps, while the longbowmen readied their bows.

  And in the nearby forest, monsters approached.

  Cyril was tense, clutching his spear. Though they drilled every day, never before had the sorceress said anything about enemies. However, this was Cintra.

  “Keep your eyes peeled!” He silenced most of the chatter while he scanned the treeline in front of him. Logic dictated that the enemy would not be coming from the plains behind their back, and so the majority of the men were gathered at the front and flanks, with only a hundred or so left to guard their backs.

  After a few minutes of tense silence, he glanced back. The sorceress sat on her black horse in her brutal armour, staring impassively towards the forest. Her bodyguards were arrayed in a defensive formation around her.

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  The realisation that this was likely the real deal settled onto him.

  ‘But what could be coming? Brigands?’ Yet what sort of bandit would attack an army on the move? It had to be either invaders or monsters, but the Sorceress had always warned them of the latter in advance. Instead of risking the wagons, either the witcher went forward alone or with a smaller retinue of soldiers to clear the way. While Cyril was not the most politically educated, the idea of Nazair striking this far without any sort of warning seemed preposterous even to him.

  ‘So what could it be?’

  He had his answer soon.

  Grotesque, insectile monstrosities started appearing between the trees. Dozens of dog-sized creatures scuttled forth, looking like a disgusting mix between a crab and a spider. Behind them loomed their larger brethren, the size of cows. Luckily, those he could count on the fingers of a single hand. Cyril dreaded what would happen if one of the larger variants made it to the wagons.

  Both he and his comrades gaped at the sight, but Cyril broke out of it first, “STEADY! We just need to defend the wagons!”

  Indeed, the monsters were not too numerous. As long as they did not break, they could get through this.

  “Loose!” Soren’s shout echoed a moment later. A rain of arrows descended on the swarm, without much effect. A few of the smaller ones were killed, but the larger variants ignored the arrows entirely as they glanced off their carapaces. A few ended up lodged in the monsters, slowing them down but not stopping them.

  Cyril could see his men wavering.

  Then, three of the large ones were impaled by spears of ice falling from the sky. They were nailed to the ground like the bugs they were, writhing impotently as the rest of the swarm continued onward.

  The men cheered, and Cyril breathed a sigh of relief.

  By the time they reached the wagons, only two of the big ones remained, the sorceress having picked off the rest. While the small creatures were definitely dangerous, they could not truly threaten their fortifications.

  Unfortunately for Cyril, one of the remaining big monsters was headed straight for his section.

  “Kikimores,” Coen grimaced with distance, “A big nest too. Are you sure…?”

  I nodded. I doubted the witcher would be much good in a battle like this. Oh, obviously his superhuman constitution would help, but the benefit of his presence would be marginal. It didn’t take a genius to understand that his fighting style was not suited for pitched battles.

  Pirouettes just weren’t that helpful when your enemies formed a spearwall. Well, they weren’t helpful normally either, since they were quite an extreme way of dodging. A normal human would tire themselves fast. Luckily for them, witchers didn’t have that problem.

  My staff glowed for show as I muttered an incantation, another three spears of ice manifesting over my head.

  I kept a careful watch over the larger variants, the warriors. Whenever it seemed like one would spew its venom, I acted, spearing the creature through and pinning it to the ground. It took a while for them to die, but they were unable to do anything.

  While I was not completely opposed to letting my men experience something like the Kikimore’s venom, the caustic liquid would damage the wagons and likely kill quite a few of my soldiers. On the other hand, the benefits of gaining experience with an exotic attack like that were marginal at best.

  Better to kill them before then.

  The deaths of their larger brethren seemed to drive the smaller workers into a frenzy, causing the dog-sized creatures to attack with even less regard for their well being.

  Despite that, the soldiers performed admirably.

  I was, perhaps, giving them too much credit. The infantry stood safely behind and on top of the reinforced wagons, stabbing the kikimores as they tried to crawl and leap over the makeshift fortifications.

  It was only the leaps which proved threatening, but luckily, the monsters lacked any sort of coordination. Whenever one managed to find itself on top of the wagons, or even behind our line, the soldiers did not hesitate, quickly swarming the lonely creature and killing it.

  As the final two warrior variants approached, I debated killing them, even though they seemed either unable or unwilling to use their venom. Perhaps they were too young. I did not think the creatures possessed the intelligence to fake the lack of capability.

  After debating for a few seconds, I killed one and let the other approach.

  Damage to a single wagon was acceptable.

  The monster reared back as spears immediately stabbed and probed its carapace once it neared our line. Most did not punch through its chitin, but a few managed to hit joints or other lesser-armoured parts of the monster.

  Screeching, it slammed into the wagon, pushing it backwards slightly. Fortunately, much of the force was dispersed onto the surrounding wagons, thanks to the way they were linked. Though the men stumbled, they recovered quickly, never losing their grips on their weapons.

  The kikimore warrior did not like that. Its legs tensed and coiled, and then it leaped.

  The clarity of my reflex enhancement made its target abundantly clear. It would land straight on the wagon, just its fall likely lethal for one or two of my people.

  Three spears of ice skewered it in midair, the impact throwing it off its original trajectory. The body fell to the ground in front of the wagon.

  Cyril surreptitiously checked his pants and breathed a sigh of relief as he found no wet spots. The same could not be said for some of the soldiers around him.

  Maybe fighting with a sorceress behind their backs wasn’t so terrible.

  Her voice suddenly echoed on the now silent battlefield, “What are you waiting for, you louts? Get to butchering. That’s good chitin right there. Maybe we can do something about that pathetic armour of yours.”

  Speak of the devil.