by Mark Barber
As one, the winged Abyssals turned and fled, the one eyed temptress leading the rout. Aestelle heard the three angelic warriors converse in a language she could not understand, a melodic exchange of words as they turned and regarded her with eyes of pure silver-white. Eyes not unlike her own. The closest of the three, a woman of unnatural beauty with golden hair, dropped to one knee and held her hand out to Aestelle, offering her a smile filled with warmth and compassion.
“Take my hand, sister,” she said softly, “it is not your time yet.”
Aestelle again commanded her hand to move up, but her arm remained motionless. Her brow furrowing with sorrow, the Elohi leaned closer and gently took Aestelle’s hand. The instant she did, a wave of calm washed slowly over Aestelle, instantly taking all of the pain away. She watched as a glowing halo of white moved from the Elohi’s slender fingertips to travel down across Aestelle’s wrist and up her arm. As it moved over her, Aestelle felt herself strengthened and reinvigorated. As if her soul was charged fresh, she suddenly found the ability to call upon her knowledge of divinity magic and send a pulse of healing power throughout her body. As she did so, she felt her arcane powers meet the halo of energy from the Elohi.
The glowing white ring continued to travel across her, moving over her wounds and leaving them healed in its wake. Aestelle watched in amazement as the ring eased across her arm, replacing the broken, torn, bloodied, and dirty limb with fully healed, cleansed, and refreshed skin. Her vision sharpened into focus; her hearing returned to normal, her heartbeat strengthened within her chest. Slowly standing, Aestelle felt stronger than she ever recalled. All weariness, all pain, any negativity within her body and mind had been expelled. She looked down on herself and saw her torso and limbs completely refreshed and untouched beneath her torn armor. She reached down and recovered her greatsword.
“Thank you,” she said with the upmost sincerity to the Elohi as she bowed her head in respect. “Thank you so much.”
And with that, the Elohi were gone. The three winged angels jumped back up into the skies and flew off to the north, toward the bulk of the Abyssal forces. Her body energized and strong, her mind and soul thankful and humbled, Aestelle recovered her pistol and banner and walked purposefully back to her borrowed warhorse.
Chapter Twenty-One
With a snarl, Tancred withdrew his sword form the guts of the lower Abyssal he faced, tearing open a gaping wound for the steaming innards to drop out of as the monster fell howling down at his feet. Yet again Tancred found himself alive, exhausted and facing the briefest in lulls as another wave of the seemingly ubiquitous lower Abyssal warriors was defeated. His breathing labored, Tancred quickly and apprehensively checked to either side to ascertain who still remained with him in the Basilean battle line atop the hill.
Orion stood to his left, soaked in blood, his narrowed eyes staring at the far end of the hilltop expectantly. Jeneveve knelt to his right, one hand holding onto her sword while the other clutched the Eloicon chained to her waist. Xavier had rejoined the battle, as had Valletto. Silus was the last remaining paladin, meaning that Reynauld had fallen against the last wave of attackers. While the stalwart paladins’ numbers dropped only slowly, less than ten of the resolute militiamen remained alive. Their leader, Dorn, was not one of them. Only two men-at-arms remained standing.
The hilltop was carpeted with corpses; most of them the crimson skinned invaders from the Abyss, but regularly punctuated by the bodies of militiamen. The rain, summoned by Valletto, had eased significantly but continued to fall to make the ground treacherous underfoot. Tancred looked to the south and west, but still there was no sign of their relief force.
“What was that?” Jeneveve asked breathlessly.
The ground trembled a little underfoot as simultaneously a deep roar was issued from the slope on the far side of the hill. Tancred felt his pulse quicken as he fixed his eyes ahead, his metal clad hands tightening their grip on his sword. The ground rumbled again, and again Tancred heard the guttural grunting from the unseen side of the slope. A few nervous words were exchanged between Orion and Jeneveve. Then, appearing above the crest of the hilltop, Tancred saw the next foes they faced.
A huge, horned head with large, dim looking eyes loomed over the crest of the hill. The creature, easily twice the height of a man, continued to lumber up onto the hilltop. Clad in a loincloth of mail and fur, and armored with a few plates of metal and spiked rivets driven into its red, muscular flesh, the huge monster stared down at the remaining defenders. Holding a crude axe high above its head, it let out a deafening and prolonged roar as four more of the creatures stomped up onto the crest of the hill. The five hellish creatures – molochs – paced forward toward the defenders.
The final few militiamen broke and ran, their courage finally giving way to blind terror. With panicked screams, they turned and fled to the north side of the hill, disappearing down the slope to slip and slide down into the darkness of the night. Tancred shook his head. He could not blame them. Having seen molochs in battle before, the same terror gripped at his heart, but training, experience, and most importantly faith was on his side. He would stand his ground to the bitter end with his last paladins and men-at-arms.
“On my command, take them down!” Tancred shouted to his seven remaining warriors.
The nine Basileans stood in line as the molochs picked up their pace, their clumsy walks accelerating into lumbering sprints. With a combined, earth-shattering cry, the five scarlet behemoths lunged forward at the paladins and their single sorcerer. Wearily, Tancred delved deep within his spirit to summon the will for another charge. Caught out alone nearest the charging molochs, the last two men-at-arms bravely faced down the enormous demons. The first soldier was batted to one side like a toy, smashed off to plummet down the hillside and disappear into the night. The second soldier valiantly attempted an attack with his spear but was seized by the lead moloch, held high in one hand where the demon beast effortlessly tore his head off his shoulders with the other.
Seemingly from nowhere, a gap was torn in the clouds and a beam of pure moonlight shone through to paint the hilltop in an aura of white. Tancred looked up and saw three large, slender shapes fly down from the heavens, their bodies encased in graceful armor of silver and gold. The winged figures darted down and straight into the flanks of the charging molochs, slashing at them with swords of fire.
“Elohi!” Xavier exclaimed. “We are favored by the Shining Ones!”
“Forward!” Tancred shouted gleefully. “Strike them down!”
One of the colossal, ogre-like molochs was cut down in the first pass by the winged Elohi; the lead warrior striking a horrific tear across the monster’s chest before a second angel flew in to lop off its head. However, the third Elohi was grasped at the ankle by one of the molochs as it flew over and plucked from the skies. The beautiful angel was dragged to the ground and thrown down heavily where, despite his best efforts to fight back to his feet, two of the immense, red demons hacked down at him with their brutal axes until the Elohi faded away into an aura of shining light. His immortal form temporarily banished from the mortal world and forced to return to the heavens to recover.
The paladins charged across the hilltop, their heavy greatswords held high to attack. Tancred saw Orion smash into the molochs first, jumping up to slice out and carve a deep rend into the arm of one of the hellish monsters locked in combat with a female Elohi. Xavier was next to arrive, but the second moloch in line saw the paladin’s charge and rushed out to meet him head on, lopping down with its axe to slice a great wound across the veteran paladin’s chest and send him crashing to the ground.
The same moloch continued its charge and hurtled toward Tancred and Jeneveve. Both paladins were experienced enough to recognize an unwinnable position and dived to either side to allow the charging behemoth to pass between them. Tancred quickly picked himself back up and returned to the fight, chasing the moloch down to thrust his sword into the creature’s back before it could
bring its clumsy body around to face him. The moloch let out a great roar of pain and swatted out at Tancred. Its backfist connected with the paladin’s body, lifting him off his feet, sending him flying across the hilltop, and causing him to crash painfully into one of the portal stones. Groggily returning to his feet, Tancred looked up and saw Jeneveve immediately fall victim to a near identical attack, propelled through the air to come crashing down into the dirt a few feet from him.
The moloch was on him again, towering over him as a long, viscous trail of drool dripped from one side of its mouth, unable to close properly from an array of jagged teeth the size of daggers. Tancred brought his sword up, but the moloch, fresh to the fight and unhindered by wave after wave of combat, was somehow faster. His eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched in despair, Tancred frantically searched for the strength to bring his blade up into an effective guard to counter the hammer blow raining down toward his skull.
Lightning arced through the night sky, illuminating the hilltop and connecting savagely with the moloch. The lumbering demon suddenly stood upright, its eyes wide open in shock as its body convulsed and flailed from the deadly force of the bolt tearing through it. Agonized cries escaped its gritted, fanged jaws as the lumbering monster shook and quivered, steam rising from its blackening skin, until it suddenly exploded in a shower of blood and body parts, lumps of its flesh raining down around Tancred. He looked thankfully across to where Valletto stood a few paces away, swaying wearily but smiling in acceptance of Tancred’s silent gratitude.
Up ahead, the battle fared well but was not completely one sided. The remaining two Elohi hacked down one of the molochs, leaving burning wounds across its body from their rapid attacks. Although well used to his aptitude on the battlefield, Tancred was still amazed to see a moloch fall dead at Orion’s feet, the huge demon crashing down lifelessly as the tall knight stood to one side, his blood-soaked blade held at the end of a long, sweeping attack having somehow defeated the huge demon in one on one combat. Sadly, Silus of the Blades of Onzyan had attempted to replicate the feat; the final moloch wrapped a huge, powerful fist around the old paladin’s body and lifted him high up into the air. With a macabre grin, the demon squeezed his hand and crushed the paladin, crumpling the thick plates of armor as if they were paper and forcing an agonized howl of pain from the brave warrior. Silus’ final act was to lean forward and thrust his blade straight into the moloch’s mouth and up into its head. Both demon and paladin fell down dead together, locked in a morbid embrace.
“Brother Xavier!”
Jeneveve shouted out in panic and ran to kneel by her comrade’s side. The banner bearer lay crumpled where he had been struck down, blood flowing from his mouth as his eyes blinked in shock. Jeneveve placed her hands over his wounds and channeled her powers into healing; a hint of color returned to the aging knight’s face to indicate the slightest of effects, but from Tancred’s experience of battlefield wounds, it seemed she had done little more than delay the inevitable.
Tancred looked across the hilltop. The Elohi had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived; the molochs lay dead, and the seemingly endless wave of enemies had finally halted. Tancred stepped to move across to Xavier but was stopped as Orion grabbed him by his upper arm.
“Battlefield healing spells will not save Xavier’s life!” he said urgently under his breath. “He needs proper aid!”
“You think I do not know that?” Tancred snapped, yanking his arm free. “I would do anything I could to help our brother, but the stakes are higher! If this hill falls, Basilea falls! Brother Xavier knew that when we started this fight!”
“Then get him out of here!” Orion growled. “Take him and find our relief force! Bring them to us before it is too late and this hill is in the hands of the enemy!”
“Do not spout such idiocy!” Tancred shouted. “I am not leaving you! I am not abandoning the defense of this hill, and I am not abandoning my last brother and sister! I will fight here with you! I will fall with you!”
“We cannot hold them off forever!” Orion exclaimed. “This is not about noble sacrifice, this is about stopping them taking control of these portal stones! One of us needs to get down there and direct our army to hold this hill! They are stumbling around in the darkness, oblivious to the threat to our nation’s very existence! Lord Paladin, you need to direct them to this hill!”
Tancred let out a breath. It was not what he wanted to consider, even to hear, but he knew it was the truth. The relief force needed to know the severity of the situation.
“Sister Jeneveve!” Tancred turned to face one of his last paladins. “You must…”
“It needs to be you, Tancred!” Orion urged, planting a hand on his shoulder. “You are our leader! Go and lead! Get down there and take charge of this mess before all is lost! Go and do what you do best! Leave me here to do what I do best - dig my heels in and kill! I shall have Jeneveve and Valletto with me!”
Tancred looked across desperately at the other two. Jeneveve gave him a knowing nod, her face serious and committed. Valletto walked across and took a small, black pouch from inside his cloak.
“Give this to my son,” he said to Tancred, “and tell him I loved him to my very last breath.”
Tancred batted away the mage’s arm with an impatient snarl.
“Do not talk nonsense!” he snapped. “I…”
The mage grabbed Tancred by the neck with a surprising force and dragged the smaller man over to meet him face to face. Tancred looked up into his tear filled eyes and saw such a pure, unadulterated anger and hatred that he actually felt fear.
“Give this to my son!” Valletto repeated with venom. “And you tell him I loved him to my dying breath!”
Tancred nodded silently and took the pouch. He helped Xavier up to his feet, taking one of the grievously wounded knight’s arms around his neck. The relief force could only be advancing from the southwest. He turned and looked at the final three warriors. Jeneveve offered him a slight, sad smile. Valletto stared off to the south, toward the capital. Orion stood tall in the center, the very picture of the noble paladin ideal.
“Shining Ones be with you,” Tancred said, his voice choked. “I shall be back as soon as I can.”
The fate of the nation rested with the three soldiers Tancred left behind on the hilltop. The shouts, clashes, and din of battle had resumed by the time he was only halfway down the hill.
***
The rear ranks of troops watched Aestelle warily as she approached, dozens of heads turning in unison as she rode past. The lead units were already engaged with Abyssal scouts, but even from behind the front lines, it was clear to Aestelle that the demonic skirmishers had been sent out with a sole purpose – delay the progress of the relief force. Dionne wanted the hilltop and its portal stones. Nothing else mattered.
Finding the force’s commander was easy enough. A dictator, far more ornate in his choice of armor, banner, and retinue than Hugh had ever been, followed up behind the front few ranks of Basilean soldiers. The center line was made up of three blocks of legion men-at-arms, some forty men in each square, flanked by units of paladin knights on horseback, similar in size. With a second line made up largely of men-at-arms - some units armed with crossbows - the part of the force that Aestelle could see numbered at least two hundred.
Aestelle rode over to the dictator and dismounted by him and his inner guard of five heavily armored legion soldiers. The dictator, his features hidden behind a white helmet with gold trim that matched the rest of his impressive, plate armor, stepped out and looked her up and down.
“What are you supposed to be?” he demanded.
“Aestelle of Kurros, Dictator,” she replied formally with a curt nod, content to show reverence to his rank but unwilling to display any more subservience than strictly necessary. “I was formerly a battle sister, but more recently I was a scout with Dictator-Prefect Hugh’s force.”
“What news?” the tall dictator insisted immediately. “Was that you s
ignaling us from atop the hill?”
“Yes, that was me,” Aestelle replied, “I was sent by Lord Paladin Tancred of the 15th Cohort, Order of the Sacred Arc. There is another hill just beyond the ridgeline to the northeast. Our only survivors are defending the hill. The Abyssals are going for the portal stones on top, and if they take that hill, they can open a path from the very Abyss itself. It is imperative that the hill does not fall.”
“Oh?” the dictator tilted his metal encased head. “I am well aware of the portal stones and our direction from the Duma. But I have absolutely no proof that you are who you claim to be.”
“Why in hell would I lie to you?” Aestelle snapped.
“You’ve signaled my forces into contact with the enemy, at night, in a valley. It is the perfect ambush site.”
Aestelle let out a growl of frustration and turned away, running her fingers through her hair.
“Look, you stupid bastard, we’re moments away from hell itself pouring into the damn Hegemony! Use your bloody head and listen!”
“Be you a peasant scout or an agent of the Abyss, I don’t need to take insults from you!” the dictator signaled to his guards. “Take her away and have her restrained until this is over!”
Aestelle drew her greatsword the moment two of the armored legion guards moved toward her, stopping them dead in their tracks. She immediately regretted it.
“You are not taking me prisoner!” she spat. “Not after all we’ve been through! You have battle sisters in this force? Go and get one of them! I’ll prove I am who I claim to be!”
“Put that sword down, now, or I’ll have my men pin a dozen arrows in you,” the dictator ordered.