Well beyond bow range, Morgen sat atop his perfectly white horse. He examined the city’s pitiful wall. It couldn’t be more than ten feet tall.
The town looked like they knocked down most of the buildings for the wood and brick needed to build the rickety structure. I could ride up and push it over on my own. It was tempting. One good fire would reduce the entire place to an oily stain. Not for the first time he regretted sending Gehirn to Geldangelegenheiten to consecrate his new temple. He glanced over his shoulder at the arrayed ranks of soldiers. Fifteen thousand men and women, armoured in bright steel, crisp white livery blinding in the sun. What a beautiful sight. It reminded him of when he lined his toy soldiers up just right. General Misserfolg might be an idiot, but he knew how to move an army.
Morgen played this moment over and over with his toy soldiers and now that he was here, he suspected he’d over-thought the encounter. This flimsy wall won’t even slow me down. And though the wall was manned, there were a lot fewer than he expected. Had King Schmutzig recalled troops to the capital in hopes of making a last stand there?
Taking a deep breath, Morgen scowled at the stench of sweating soldiers and horse shite. His army might look perfect, but true perfection was still a long way off.
He closed his eyes, sat rigid, back straight. The unshakable belief of fifteen thousand soldiers washed over him. They had no doubt in their god. I will lead them to victory.
Today he would take Unbrauchbar without losing a single soldier. The city would fall to his Gefahrgeist power.
Wait, Nacht said. Morgen’s Reflection watched from a mirror-polished shield, his dirty face stretched by the curve of the surface.
Morgen sighed. Out front of his troops, none were close enough to hear him and so he spoke aloud. “Why?”
There are more than fifteen thousand people in Unbrauchbar.
Morgen’s spies suggested the city had a population of maybe twenty-five thousand. “So?”
Numbers matter. There are more people here who do not believe in you, who do not worship you. His Reflection grinned. People who want you to fail.
Morgen wanted to argue that he was a god, but his Reflection was right. Numbers mattered. “But strength of belief matters too. My people believe in me utterly, have no doubts.”
But will it be enough? What if you try and fail? Your soldiers will begin to doubt.
Closing his eyes, Morgen stifled the urge to curse. Out here, beyond the borders of Selbsthass, he relied on the belief of his soldiers to sustain him. If they learned doubt, he would be greatly weakened.
“If I take this city without losing a single life they will know I am their god. Their faith will be that much stronger, making me stronger.”
Nacht was gone.
Morgen eyed the miserable excuse for a city. If I fail… He gestured General Misserfolg forward and the man rode to his side.
“How many Dysmorphics do we have?” Morgen asked.
“Twenty,” answered Misserfolg without hesitation. Though Dysmorphics came in many shapes, sizes, and manifestations, he knew exactly what Morgen asked.
“Call them forward.”
Misserfolg spun his horse away to fetch Morgen’s cadre of Dysmorphics.
Within minutes, a score of massively muscled men and women formed a line alongside Morgen. Each held a huge longbow made of horn and sinew from some herd animal common to the GrasMeer. Long arrows as tall as Morgen stood, fletchings up, ready in standing quivers. On each broad back hung a huge sword and a steel shield Morgen doubted he could even lift. He watched the Dysmorphics twitch and shift. Unable to stay still, they flexed and compared themselves to their companions. The twenty made a wall far more intimidating and solid than that surrounding Unbrauchbar.
Morgen glanced at Misserfolg. “Clear the wall.”
The General dipped a quick bow and screamed, “Arrows ready!”
Twenty Dysmorphics nocked arrows in perfect unison and stood motionless, waiting.
“Draw!” yelled Misserfolg.
On the Unbrauchbar wall, the defenders laughed and made rude gestures. They knew they were well beyond arrow range. Some dropped their pants, showing pale arses to the invaders.
“Nice of them to offer bullseyes,” joked someone from the Geborene ranks, earning a stern look from Misserfolg.
Twenty men and women held colossal bows bent at full draw. Not one shook with the effort. Someone once told Morgen the bows had a three-hundred pound draw. The one time he picked one up, he was unable to bend the string.
“Loose!” Misserfolg bellowed.
More than a dozen soldiers toppled off the Unbrauchbar wall, some with two arrows in them.
“Again,” said Morgen.
Misserfolg repeated the process, faster this time, dropping more soldiers. By the third volley, the men and women on the wall had disappeared from sight. Sometimes a Dysmorphic archer pinned someone through whatever they cowered behind.
“Give them a moment,” said Morgen. “Kill anyone who lifts their head.”