Camp of the True Queen of Glacia, Central Glacia, Sunday Evening (Fandom Time)
Karla looked at the heaps of the dead surrounding her camp and blinked back tears. The only "upside" to this--and yes, Karla was thinking of that in quotations--was that most of the dead were not her own.
Except for how they were, of course. Everyone was hers. Both sides. The people the dead left behind--they were hers, too. And the loss and grief they would feel when they discovered their children, siblings, and loved ones were gone were her hers to carry.
Hobart had sent an army of his own against her. But rather than sending an army of Blood to challenge her fighters, he'd sent a lesson instead. A ragtag bunch of landens; farmers and miners, mostly, fighting with the implements of their profession, not even proper weapons or armor. The landen men and women had been hard enough to face, but in places where the conscription hadn't returned enough healthy adults, their numbers had been bulked up by the old, the infirm, even children and pregnant women.
As if that weren't enough, Hobart's Black Widows had implanted a compulsion into their minds. Ordinarily, the touch of a Blood's psychic powers on a landen's mind would instantly burn it to ash, but this web was careful and delicate. Karla wasn't sure how much would have been left of them as individuals, if anything, once the spell had worn off, but it didn't matter. None of the landens had survived the onslaught.
When Hobart's landen army had first arrived, Karla enacted the plan that they'd come up with in the early days of the war, after Jono had first suggested that Hobart would likely turn to landens as shock troops. Warren had carried her high up into the sky so she could see the whole of the army and she'd created a shield around them all. It was a strain, surrounded several thousand people all at once, but Karla was the strongest witch in the entire Territory and she thought she could hold it up for as long as it took for the leaders to acknowledge it was fruitless and surrender.
But it didn't work that way. Once the shield was up, separating the oncoming troops from her own, the compulsion took effect, turning the landens into savage, killing machines. They reminded Karla of zombies, mindless, only intent on violence, ignoring wounds and injuries in favor of trying to kill someone, anyone at all. Except they weren't undead, they were still painfully quite alive, and soon the shield was spattered with fresh blood, wails of agony vying with snarls of rage as they fought one another, unable to get to the real enemy.
Horrified, Karla had let go of the shield, sending her troops in to try and restore peace and order. Black Widows and Healers followed, hoping to salvage what they could. In the face of the common enemy, the brainwashed landens had ceased ravaging one another and fell onto their would-be rescuers.
The fight was short, but it was ugly. When Hobart's landens lost their weapons, they'd fight with their fists. Lose their fists, they'd fight with their teeth. Nothing short of a life-threatening injury could stop them. After a little girl no older than nine had ripped out a Healer's throat with her teeth, Karla's own troops abandoned defensive maneuvers and began putting the landens down. The Healer had died, ruined neck bleeding out in the snow, a permanent look of confusion etched onto her face. The little girl died only a few feet away, finally bleeding out from the deep cut in her thigh that the Healer had been attempting to Heal.
It was a bloodbath, but ensorceled frenzy was no match for discipline, armor, and real weapons. The landens had been killed down to the last person. It didn't feel much like a victory though. Those who'd gone into the shield to help came out with hollow eyes and shaking hands. Several had just dropped to their knees where they were and began to cry.
"War is Hell," Morton said softly, looking out at the scene.
"No," Karla whispered. "Uncle Saetan would never allow something like this to happen there."
"Then what would you call it?"
"Just war," she said. "There's no other word horrifying enough to come close."
[For team Glacia. NFB. Trigger Warning for death and horrors of war]
Except for how they were, of course. Everyone was hers. Both sides. The people the dead left behind--they were hers, too. And the loss and grief they would feel when they discovered their children, siblings, and loved ones were gone were her hers to carry.
Hobart had sent an army of his own against her. But rather than sending an army of Blood to challenge her fighters, he'd sent a lesson instead. A ragtag bunch of landens; farmers and miners, mostly, fighting with the implements of their profession, not even proper weapons or armor. The landen men and women had been hard enough to face, but in places where the conscription hadn't returned enough healthy adults, their numbers had been bulked up by the old, the infirm, even children and pregnant women.
As if that weren't enough, Hobart's Black Widows had implanted a compulsion into their minds. Ordinarily, the touch of a Blood's psychic powers on a landen's mind would instantly burn it to ash, but this web was careful and delicate. Karla wasn't sure how much would have been left of them as individuals, if anything, once the spell had worn off, but it didn't matter. None of the landens had survived the onslaught.
When Hobart's landen army had first arrived, Karla enacted the plan that they'd come up with in the early days of the war, after Jono had first suggested that Hobart would likely turn to landens as shock troops. Warren had carried her high up into the sky so she could see the whole of the army and she'd created a shield around them all. It was a strain, surrounded several thousand people all at once, but Karla was the strongest witch in the entire Territory and she thought she could hold it up for as long as it took for the leaders to acknowledge it was fruitless and surrender.
But it didn't work that way. Once the shield was up, separating the oncoming troops from her own, the compulsion took effect, turning the landens into savage, killing machines. They reminded Karla of zombies, mindless, only intent on violence, ignoring wounds and injuries in favor of trying to kill someone, anyone at all. Except they weren't undead, they were still painfully quite alive, and soon the shield was spattered with fresh blood, wails of agony vying with snarls of rage as they fought one another, unable to get to the real enemy.
Horrified, Karla had let go of the shield, sending her troops in to try and restore peace and order. Black Widows and Healers followed, hoping to salvage what they could. In the face of the common enemy, the brainwashed landens had ceased ravaging one another and fell onto their would-be rescuers.
The fight was short, but it was ugly. When Hobart's landens lost their weapons, they'd fight with their fists. Lose their fists, they'd fight with their teeth. Nothing short of a life-threatening injury could stop them. After a little girl no older than nine had ripped out a Healer's throat with her teeth, Karla's own troops abandoned defensive maneuvers and began putting the landens down. The Healer had died, ruined neck bleeding out in the snow, a permanent look of confusion etched onto her face. The little girl died only a few feet away, finally bleeding out from the deep cut in her thigh that the Healer had been attempting to Heal.
It was a bloodbath, but ensorceled frenzy was no match for discipline, armor, and real weapons. The landens had been killed down to the last person. It didn't feel much like a victory though. Those who'd gone into the shield to help came out with hollow eyes and shaking hands. Several had just dropped to their knees where they were and began to cry.
"War is Hell," Morton said softly, looking out at the scene.
"No," Karla whispered. "Uncle Saetan would never allow something like this to happen there."
"Then what would you call it?"
"Just war," she said. "There's no other word horrifying enough to come close."
[For team Glacia. NFB. Trigger Warning for death and horrors of war]