by Keith Ahrens
Yet, the rest of me feels like—fuck it, I'd do it the same way again if given another chance. Yeah, I'm a stubborn, principled jerk sometimes.
The hushed argument seems to have reached its conclusion. Two people I recognize as sparring partners from a few days ago step out of the crowd and walk toward us. One of them is carrying a water bucket. Sheathed weapons at their sides, the leader pulls her helmet off and shakes out her shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair. I’m terrible with names, but I definitely remember hers is Olivia. Her second also takes off his helmet. Sweat mats his hair down, and his dark skin glistens in the muted sunlight. No idea what his name is.
“We saw what you guys did yesterday. I want to thank you all for that. And I agree with what you said. I just wish the rest of us showed those kinds of balls around here.” Her voice raises slightly toward the end of her speech, her gaze sweeping the other squads.
“There's not a lot left, but you're welcome to some of our water.” She gestures, and the second man steps forward, holding the water bucket out to Haynes.
Sarge nods in appreciation and accepts the bucket and ladle. He passes it back to Des without looking and says, “Much obliged. We're just trying to make things a little better for folks around here.”
“You’re gonna get us all killed acting like that!” yells a voice from the crowd.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business,” yells another.
“Enough!” shouts yet another voice. A tall man with a horned helmet steps forward. He slams a heavy maul into the parched earth. “We act like tough men with our blades but cower like bitches at an act of kindness! Are we so beaten by these Fey that we will do their work for them?” He reaches around and takes a bucket from one of his squadmates. He then turns back to face us. “I am Grayson, and I, too, will share our water with you!” His squad steps forward with him, all in matching spiked plate mail armor. They carry large axes and hammers, and not one of them is under six-foot-three.
Haynes gestures to me, so I step forward and accept the bucket. The water sloshes gently as I raise a full ladle and take a large sip. Warm and a little stale, yet still refreshing. I didn't realize how dry my mouth was until that moment.
“Our help and alliance are extended to all who want it, all who are willing to stand up for what’s right. We all have a common enemy, both inside these walls and outside of them,” I say to Grayson and those surrounding us. At this point, there's not a lot for us to lose. Our only hope is to make some friends, and fast.
“Well said, friend, well said!” He has a booming laugh as he claps his giant hand onto my shoulder, not quite enough to stagger me, but close.
The crowd begins to thin out. A few squads look uneasy about what’s happening; one or two look downright pissed off and walk away in a huff. But more than a few remain in the area, not quite with us, but not against us. We can work with that.
Better than nothing.
“Did we just befriend the Berserkers?” asks Jesse with a faint giggle.
“Is that what you all call us? I love it!” The mountain of plate armor booms with another laugh. He turns to Jesse and slaps him good-naturedly on the shoulder.
Sarge is in conversation with Olivia, the first woman who stepped up and offered us water. Nian and Thirax have come over to meet the new guys I'm with. They seem to hit it off. I take another sip of water and smile to myself as I pass the bucket to Des. I think we may have just started something good.
The blonde woman breaks off from Haynes and takes a casual walk over to me. “Hey, I’m Olivia," she officially introduces herself. "Way to stir up some shit and still do the right thing. You even managed to isolate your entire group. Good job!” Her last words are said with a disarming smile that takes the sting out of them.
“Thanks. I’m pretty good at stirring up some shit. The rest just seems to come naturally.” She smiles at me again, a very pretty smile. We spend the next fifteen minutes or so talking about our past careers (she was a cop) and our hometown (both from NYC and just about a decade-and-a-half from being on the job at the same time). This is the first pleasant conversation about life back home I've had since I arrived here.
I start to feel pretty good about our actions yesterday until I notice Colt’s squad is gone from the field. They never spoke a word to any of us.
We go hungry again tonight. And now, our water bucket is missing. The evening passes with us all feeling cranky and short-tempered. Even Jesse wakes up long enough to call us all “bloody arseholes” or something like that. Nothing productive gets done or is discussed.
The morning isn't much better. The light in our little cell hadn't dimmed at all like it usually does. More psych torture, I guess. Tough to get a deep sleep with the light on all night. All I can think of is a cup of coffee and a jelly doughnut. And my mouth begins to water.
No one says much as we wait for the jailer to unlock the door. Uncomfortable minutes crawl by as we hear him make his deliberate way toward us. The door clicks and then opens after a long pause. The ogre jailer seems to leer at us as he pulls a key from his belt pouch and tosses it into the room. With a porcine chuckle, he heads to the next cell.
Des picks up the key with a frown. “Something's wrong here.”
He fits the brass key into his shackle and has to fiddle with it to get it to unlock. “This ain't the regular key.”
We pass the key around, each of us having a little trouble unlocking our shackles. We hear the roach coach come rattling the down the hall, but we all try to ignore it. To our surprise, it stops at our cell.
Ledger Goblin opens the door and says with a grin, “Only one human here deserves food; enjoy it!” He tosses a sealed MRE to me. Snorting barely concealed laughter, he slams the door and moves on.
“Fuckin' amateurs,” mutters Haynes.
I look around the room. Jesse stares at the MRE, and Des tries to remain nonchalant. Haynes seems to be studying me again, not the MRE.
I smile and tear open the package. “Anyone hungry?” The tension breaks like cheap glass.
We divvy up the meal meant for one among the four of us. No one person gets a full belly, but at least it's something. The mood lifts slightly. We eat quickly and make our way to the arming room.
Des tries to put the substitute key in the lock, but it doesn't fit. This day just keeps getting shittier. The Gnolls pace and growl behind the door.
“Hurry, Pack. We heard talks of violence this morning!” Nian's voice sounds muffled from behind the thick wood.
“Sons o' bitches set us up!” Des slams the key to the ground in frustration. “The doors are sealed with magic. The key deactivates the wards and opens the lock. We're not gonna be able to get the door down.”
“How do you know this? I never noticed any magics or wards,” asks Haynes, surprised.
Des looks down toward his beard, not meeting Haynes' eye. “I noticed it about a year ago. I could feel it when the wards opened. I asked Thorn about it. She said I might be sensitive to the magic or something.” He holds out his right wrist and rolls back the sleeve, revealing a small blue circle.
Haynes pauses, appraising Des for a moment. “We'll come back to that later. Nian! Thirax! We can't open the lock! Try to slide some of the smaller blades under the door!”
A few moments pass, and a small dagger slides halfway out until the hilt gets caught. The Gnolls try to slam it harder but cannot get it to fit.
“Sergeant, that is the smallest blade, yet it won't go through,” yells Nian.
“The dirt is too packed down to dig under the door,” Thirax snarls.
Just then, we hear the ogres begin to bark and grunt the orders to move out. The Gnolls go into a frenzy and begin howling and alternate scratching at the door with their claws and throwing themselves at it to try and knock it down.
“We gotta move out folks, stay together, watch each other’s backs, and get to our usual spot as fast as we can. Thirax! Nian! Save your strength! You might need it if we don't return!” Haynes t
akes charge as usual and leads us into the flow of people heading out to the gates.
We are the only ones without armor and weapons. I've never felt so naked while still wearing clothes. I get jostled a few times on the way up the steep hallway. It’s dark in here, and I can't tell if these little hits are on purpose or not. We pass the alcoves, and to our dismay, they are devoid of even the most broken and dull blade.
Jogging out into the dim sunlight, I notice two things immediately: One, it’s raining for the first time since I've been here, and two, we have a welcoming committee waiting for us.
Rat-Face and Spike-Hair Girl stand front and center about twenty feet before us. Just behind them is a tall man in a black cloak, the hood raised to shadow his face. He's probably the guy who stabbed Colt. Two others I recognize from the fight the other day are next to the cloaked guy. Everyone has a sword or some other kind of blade out. Everyone except us, of course.
I'm just now starting to realize that I might have screwed up pretty big here. Apparently, we created enough waves to be noticed.
Haynes steps forward and nods to Rat-face. “Liam, you sniveling coward, still a crony for the Fey?” he asks in a conversational tone.
“Well, Sarge, since you kicked us out of the squad, we've had to do what we can to get by. We can make this quick, for old times’ sake, if you want,” he says in a faint Boston accent.
“You know these guys, Sarge?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Sure do, Son. Had to kick Liam here out of the squad 'cause he cried all night, every night, and it kept us all up. And his girlfriend, Linda, over there”—he points at the girl with the spiked hair—“she’s just a nasty bitch.”
Des starts in a slow drawl, “I get the feeling they think they're entitled to our gear and whatnot.”
Off to our right, a commotion starts. A small group begins to push their way through the crowd. I recognize Olivia, the slight blonde who offered her water to us.
“Hey, this doesn't look like much of a fair fight!” she calls out in a challenging tone.
The thick crowd is reluctant to make a hole and allow the woman and her squad through. Before they can pass the last few people in their way, someone in the crowd makes a move. A lady from Olivia's squad gets grabbed from behind and pulled off balance. An arm snakes around her neck, and a knife is pressed to the delicate skin of her throat.
“You son of a…” Olivia's voice trails off as others pull swords and surround her squad. She turns back to us and sends a dejected look that says it all. Someone planned this well. Really well.
Liam laughs. “Your Berserker friends and your Gnolls are still locked in their cells. There's no one left to help you now. Why don't y'all just get down on your knees, and we'll get this over with?”
“Bring it on, you filthy coward,” Haynes says in a low, deadly voice as he glides forward in a balanced fighting stance. His hands empty and out just past shoulder width, he moves in short, smooth steps.
Liam points at one of his squadmates and commands, “Take him out!”
The goon, eager for a fight, slaps the visor of his helmet down and pulls twin fighting axes from his belt.
The Sergeant moves to meet him. I take a step to join him, but Des stops me with one hand. “Sarge don't need us for this part, he needs us to watch his back for any more sneaky crap.”
The twin axes gleam in the rain as our foe walks forward about ten feet. Haynes waits for his approach, looking bored.
Liam's hitman lets out a yell and charges the last ten feet, his left ax out in front and the right ax raised high above his head. In an eye blink, the ax swings with astonishing speed, aimed at the Sarge's head.
Haynes flicks his right forearm out and moves a little to his left as he takes a small sidestep. His motions are pure economy of movement. His forearm meets his attacker's wrist, and instead of stopping the falling ax, he slides his arm up and over it. Curling his hand around the forearm of his opponent, he yanks down as he steps past. The added momentum and a slight redirection of the ax veers the blade off its intended course by just a few degrees and into its new target. The crescent blade buries itself in its owner’s upper left thigh, knocking him from his feet and into an awkward forward roll. A spray of blood mixes with the rain in the air.
He rolls to a stop at Jesse's feet. I watch as Jesse casually kicks the man in the face, shattering his jaw and more than a few teeth.
Haynes continues moving forward without missing a beat. The rest of Liam’s squad advances in alarm and anger, blades out in front. The Sarge comes to a smooth stop, just out of range.
While that was impressive, I do have my doubts about him fighting the rest of these guys, unarmed. They seem to have come to the same conclusion as they gather their resolve and begin to move forward.
Jesse, Des, and I step quickly to back up the Sarge. I think we all know how this is gonna end, but I'll be damned if I just sit back and watch it happen. The three of us exchange glances, confirming we all would rather go down fighting together. My throat is dry, and adrenaline begins to course through my system as we march forward as one.
Liam and his squad have us outnumbered, as well as the advantage of being armed and armored. Cruel smiles and grim looks meet each other across a muddy field.
“Hey… Caleb!”
Huh? Everyone stops and looks to our left. I break out into a grin when I see who it is. Colt comes limping out of the crowd with what’s left of his squad flanking him.
“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to return your spears from the other day! I think you forgot them after you finished plugging my bleeding leg!” He has a hard grin on his face as he tosses me a spear. Then he turns his head and adds, “I think all you guys left some blades and whatnot with us the other day as well.”
Vince walks up to Sarge and hands him a large bastard sword that he pulls from his own sheath. Des gets the other spear, and Jesse is handed a saber and a dagger. His smile is wicked as he swings the blades in lazy patterns, staring right at Linda.
The rain begins to pick up, and I'm forced to squint my eyes against the rising wind. The sky darkens as thunderhead clouds begin to roil over the courtyard. Olivia and her people fall in behind us, their attackers fading back into the crowd. We fill in around Haynes, forming up with him in the front and center of our fighting square, and Colt’s men step up to guard our flanks. We all now have weapons out and at the ready. Our ranks bolstered, the tide of morale is now with us. My boots stick in the thickening mud while our growing numbers march forward together.
Liam and his squad start to look a bit nervous. This is no longer an easy fight, and now they find themselves outnumbered. I tighten my grip on the spear and remind myself that they asked for this. This was their plan; we just flipped it on them.
“Well, Liam, it seems the situation has changed!” Sarge shouts into the wind, rainwater dripping from his face. “How about you drop your weapons, and get on your knees?”
A peal of thunder rips through the air, loud enough for it to rattle in my chest and assault my eardrums. The scent of ozone is almost overwhelming. The little hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand straight up. A loud buzzing hum begins to crescendo from the clouds.
The look on Liam's face swiftly changes from uncertain fear to downright terror.
The crowded practice field reacts almost at once with shouts of “INCOMING!” echoed from almost every squad. Groups begin to scatter, and I watch as everyone tries to make for the tunnels at once.
Almost before the last shout finishes, and before any confusion can take me, new screams begin as large blasts of forked lightning arc down from the low clouds. The streams of electricity blaze through the crowds, throwing bodies and large clumps of mud into the air. Rainwater vaporizes to steam as the electricity courses through puddles. The tops of the walls are swept with high winds and spidery flashes of lightning, knocking screaming goblins to the muddy ground below.
The impending fight now forgotten, we run for
the shelter of the tunnels as an unorganized mob. I grab Jesse, who is still staring down Linda, spinning him around and pushing him in front of me as I urge him to run.
Suddenly the world goes bright white like an old flashbulb to the eyes, and I feel myself being lifted and pitched. Muscles tense and spasm, and excruciating levels of pain wash through me as I roughly smack the ground. Lucky for me, the driving rain has softened the hard pack to thick mud. I somehow land mostly on my back and slide a few feet, having no way to slow my momentum. What finally stops me is a large rock half-submerged in the mud. I hit that headfirst. Stars erupt behind my eyes, as bright as the lightning overhead.
I lay there for hours or seconds, trying to breathe while every muscle in my body spasms beyond control. My head feels like it's splitting down the middle, bit by bit. Hot blood mixes with cold rain, which are both filling up my twitching eyes.
Once again, I feel it’s important to mention a little something about myself. I've been electrocuted before. Several times in fact. Mostly doing ill-advised home repairs, but on one memorable occasion, I got partially defibrillated. It involved a speeding ambulance and a bumpy road, but the details aren't really important right now. The takeaway from this story is I really hate being electrocuted. It hurts like nothing else. I'm gonna label it as 'avoid at all costs,' if you have the option. This current experience is pretty unforgettable already.
Two pairs of strong hands grab me under my arms and rapidly drag me through the mud. I watch the storm clouds swirl above me, and more lightning leaves afterimages in my vision. I'm suddenly able to take a deep breath, and it feels good… for a second. Then the pain really hits. I feel myself scream but hear nothing. The world goes dark, and the pain finally recedes.
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