Hot water, that's all, it's just hot water, he repeated feverishly like a mantra in his head as he and Ivar slowly tipped the cauldron over the palisade.
The steam alone caused both his face and hands to become damp and begin to burn from the heat, causing him to hiss in pain.
But all of this was nothing compared to what happened when the water finally gushed out of the cauldron down the palisade.
There it poured onto the pile of people he had previously mentally referred to as a porcupine.
It's just hot water, it's just hot, good God, what the hell is going on here, his inner mantra interrupted itself when he heard the first screams.
He was sure he had never heard such sounds before in his life, neither from humans nor animals.
The pain-filled screams that now filled the air drowned out even the noise of the surrounding chaos, and they were so loud and shrill that at first, he couldn't believe they were coming from human throats at all.
He was sure that, regardless of gender and age, it shouldn't be possible for a human to make those sounds.
I don't want to see it, he thought, pale with fear, but his body moved of its own accord.
It was as if a strange morbid curiosity, a perverse fascination, had taken hold of him, which he could not resist as he looked down over the palisade to see the hell down there.
The porcupine from before was now no longer recognizable.
The bandits that had made up its core now lay on the ground, writhing and trembling in pain, while those that had stood on the edges of the porcupine scattered in terror in all directions.
Some tried unsuccessfully to help their comrades lying on the ground to get up, but they quickly gave up due to the enormous heat.
It was also obvious that none of the affected people would have been able to get up anyway
In keeping with the inhuman sounds they were making, the bandits who had been hit by the water only looked remotely human now.
Their skin, if you could still call it that, had taken on a piercing to dark shade of red. In addition, it was swollen all over and covered in blisters.
Their leather armor and shields had hardly been any protection, quite the opposite. Their armor and the clothes underneath had soaked up the hot water and were now burning them even though their cauldron was long empty.
Some of the bandits tried desperately to peel themselves off their armor, but they were unable to do so due to their scalded and shaking hands.
All they could do was call pitifully for help, their voices becoming increasingly quieter and croakier until they all finally gave way to an indefinable whimper.
When he saw them there lying there on the ground with their skin burned and burst, and the smell of burnt flesh filling his nose, he couldn't help but think of sausages and that he hadn't eaten anything since the dragon's men first arrived.
This grotesque association immediately filled him with nausea and horror.
While he was still lost in thought looking at the burned men and women below him, he only vaguely noticed how the noise of battle changed and was now drowned out by panicked cries for retreat as more and more bandits ran towards the edge of the forest.
"It was just hot water," he said, confused, not even realizing that he had been thinking out loud until someone answered him
"It was very hot water," Ivar replied in a hollow voice.
I didn't see that coming, Bartold thought as he saw and heard in shock what the hot water was doing to his men.
Even those who weren't hit now called for a retreat in panic and ran towards the edge of the forest, where he stood with a white-faced Miriam and a vomiting Martin.
What was worse than the number of people fleeing, however, was the number of those who didn't, because they were no longer able to do so, either because they were dead or in too much pain to even stand up.
Damn, so many of you shouldn't die before the gate is broken open, he thought angrily, clenching his fists so that his nails dug painfully into his palms.
Some of the scalded men managed to stay on their feet and retreat with the help of their comrades, which gave Bartold the opportunity to see the injured up close as they reached the edge of the forest.
A sight and a smell he would have gladly done without.
When he saw the swollen and partially burst skin of the scalded people, it quickly became clear to him that none of the injured would join another wave of attacks and judging by their horrified, ashen faces, none of the uninjured ones either.
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"This is pure madness, guys," Martin said, trembling, having probably now gotten rid of the entire contents of his stomach.
"C-can we call Aodhan now?" Miriam asked in a miserably trembling voice.
Be glad I still need you, bitch, I hate that question, it flashed through his mind angrily, his hand involuntarily clenching around his sword hilt, but quickly loosening again when he heard the others shouting.
"This is a damn fortress!"
"It must have been magic; did you see what the water did to them? “
“There was no way that was water, it must have been acid or some other alchemist stuff.”
“We have to call off the attack, they're slaughtering us there.”
“Bartold must finally tell Aodhan to get his fire-breathing ass over here.”
While the dragon's men shouted in panic, Bartold took a deep breath to get himself under control.
He knew that he had to put on another performance and so he raised his voice.
“So, you think we should retreat and call Aodhan because we can't get through the gate? So, you think we need a dragon to push through their defenses?” he asked those gathered.
There was hardly any need to strengthen his voice with magic, since they were all close enough and there weren't that many of them left.
“You bet we do!”
“Bring Aodhan here!”
Waiting out the cries of approval, he finally continued.
“You're right, of course, we need more firepower to tear down this gate, but we don't need a dragon for that,” he said, struggling for confidence.
“What does that mean?”
“Have you seen what they're doing to us?”
“Fuck you Bartold I want to see fireballs flying now!!”
“Yeah, why don't you try to break down the gate yourself instead of just holding speeches!”
After the bandits' increasingly outraged cries had died down, he cleared his throat, slightly uncertain, but spoke in a confident voice, nonetheless.
"Oh, I can't open the gate. As you said, I'm just one man with a sword who makes big speeches, but she can," he explained, pointing to a confused Miriam.
"That's right, she's learned how to handle fire, so she can definitely tear down the gate!"
"Can she do that? We need more than a jet of flame for the gate."
"By Ruediger, why didn't she tear down the damn thing immediately when we started the attack?"
After the initial excitement had calmed down somewhat, the dragon's remaining men looked expectantly at Miriam, who was somewhat unprepared for the sudden attention.
"Uh, yes, I can do a little fire magic and have learned a few tricks, but I don't know if it's enough for the whole gate. Maybe I could," she began uncertainly. but got finally interrupted by Martin.
"Are you sure about that? The last time you tried something bigger, you almost set yourself on fire and that was just a fallen tree trunk. We should call Aodhan instead, I mean he does things like that professionally and all," he said worriedly, looking uncertainly back and forth between Miriam and the gate.
Much to Bartold's annoyance, Martin's skepticism seemed to have an effect on the others too.
Which didn't get any better when Miriam spoke up again.
"That's right, I've never tried anything that big," she admitted, scratching her head uncomfortably.
Buzzing around the whole time and now acting modest, eh? As far as I'm concerned, you can explode as long as you take enough of the gate with you, Bartold thought frantically, while also considering how close she would have to stand to the gate and how big the explosion would have to be for that.
He realized how dangerously little he actually knew about magic like this.
He knew that alcohol could help fire mages, but he wasn't sure whether the potential explosion radius would increase if he poured enough liquor into Miriam.
He finally interrupted his train of thought because he knew that he first had to take care of his people's low morale, which was now being dented by both Martin and Miriam.
"Don't worry Martin, I'm sure Miriam can do it, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Oh, and since we were just talking about Aodhan, when I spoke to him earlier, he himself mentioned that you should try it before we get him. Don't look so surprised, the old dragon noticed that you were training with fire magic and said he was very impressed, well, as far as a human can impress a dragon with fire. He even said that you are something like a representative dragon in the making for him," he explained with a confident smile and a small laugh at the end of his lecture.
"He said that?" Miriam asked, astonished, which he confirmed with a quick nod.
"He really said that," she repeated in a whisper, her surprised expression slowly giving way to a broad grin that spread across her face like a brand.
"Haha, if even Aodhan is so convinced of me, there is no doubt. I should stop being so modest and show these village idiots who they're messing with," she said fervently.
She opened her hand, on which a ball of fire about the size of a fist soon formed, which finally took the shape of a small dragon.
The surrounding bandits stared spellbound at the fire dragon in her hand until she hurled it upwards, where it exploded just below the treetops of the nearby trees with a loud bang in a shower of sparks.
This brought a greedy sparkle to the eyes of the assembled dragon men and some grinned and giggled like children at the fair.
"Yes, exactly, we have a dragon and a fire mage, we are unstoppable."
"Do exactly that again on a larger scale and send those bastards to hell for our comrades."
"Yes, by Grotar, let them roast."
"Exactly, show them why they should fear us even without dragons," Bartold said triumphantly and was relieved to see that apparently no one else had seen the telltale glistening sweat on Miriam's forehead, or at least no one wanted to see it.
He rummaged around in his belt for a moment and pulled out a small flask.
"Here's some more fuel," he explained generously and handed it to her.
Miriam took it with a sparkle in her eyes that Bartold would normally have found quit concerning, but now it made him hope for the best.
“Yeah, damn it, we don't need Aodhan with Miriam”
“Finish them off Miri”
“Now the bastards on the fence are in trouble, folks”
filled with new energy, the others began to hand Miriam their own flasks, which she took with a grin like a child on his birthday and emptied one after the other while the dragon's men cheered her on.
Bartold watched the whole spectacle, grinning along with the others.
From a raging Wolfman to a psychopathic sea elf, a grumpy dragon and now to you, my good, stupid Miriam. It's good to know that no matter how difficult the road gets, I'll always find an idiot to smooth it for me, he thought contentedly and cheered Miriam on with the others as she drank.
