by Keith Ahrens
She nods and begins barking orders to the newcomers.
Revolver raised in front of me, I turn the corner of the wagon and move forward. I step cautiously as I near the agitated horses. I'd hate to get kicked or trampled to death right now. It sure would ruin our dramatic escape.
Ahead of me, between the second and third wagons, I see a large bow smoldering in the mud. Next to it is what looks like the bow's owner lying on the ground. I approach him with caution, but after only a second, I realize he's not much of a threat. A bullet hole is clear to see through his leather chest plate. I glance up and find Jesse leaning over the edge of the wall, lining up another shot. From where I am, I cannot see his next target.
From Jesse's position, I trace the angle a bullet would have traveled to hit this elf. Add that to the entry hole, and I have an educated guess of its internal trajectory. It looks like the bullet passed through a lung and probably the spleen. This guy is as good as dead but doesn't know it yet. I give him a wide berth just in case and move on.
Sounds of fighting come from before me. Just past the wagon I am hiding behind, a brawl rages. Grayson, in his mud-spattered black armor, is locked in combat with an ogre. The evil Fey has about two feet of height on the Berserker, but they seem almost matched in strength. Spiked club and double-bladed ax meet in midair with a resounding crash; sparks fly where the metal connects.
The weapons twist together, immobile and ineffective. Grayson, despite his solid legs and straining back, begins to slide backward in the mud. His feet dig deep furrows as he nears the thrashing horses, still panicking and attached to a wagon. As I get closer, I take aim with the little .38, but then Grayson makes a move no one expects.
With a final push, he forces the ax and club up into the air and dives forward. His spiked shoulder plate impales the ogre's midsection as he wraps his large arms around the Fey's hips.
With one ferocious shout, he lifts the ogre up and heaves him over his head. Grayson lands on his back as the monstrous body slams into the side of a hysterical horse and snaps its tether. The horse, trapped in the traces with its three fellows, leaps into the air, causing the others to begin bucking. It lands on the chest of the ogre, crushing the monster's ribs. Its iron shoes leave crescent burns in the ogre's exposed skin. The frightened animal continues stomping and bucking long past the point where the ogre is crushed into a meaty mud-mixed paste.
All at once, the four horses surge forward in their harness and pull the wagon with a jolt, the handbrake snapping. The horses crash into the other tethered beasts in front of them, snapping their tethers as well. The wagon, of course, follows and knocks a few more mounts down. General chaos ensues as further shots ring out, the rest of the horses losing their minds.
Now, I've never seen an actual stampede before, and I'm not sure if they generally involve wagons, but I'm pretty sure this is the real thing. In an effort not to get trampled, I try to jump onto the driver's bench of the nearest coach, but I miss by a few inches. It should not come as a surprise to me; I’ve never been known for my impressive vertical leap. I guess I can always blame it on the extra weight of the armor.
I do manage to grab onto the edge of the bench, so it's not a complete miss. The downside is that my legs are now dragging through the mud just in front of the wheel. If I slip, the wheels will crush me, and that'll be the end of that.
In desperation, I try to pull myself up onto the seat. Adrenaline battles fatigue as I realize I can't get a better handhold without letting go first, which is not gonna happen the way the wagon is rocking and bouncing. And I don't have the leverage to try and jump clear. Shit. I wonder how long I can hang on to the side of a magic-imbibed, out-of-control wagon pulled by four crazed horses.
17
A wild crossbow bolt comes out of nowhere and hits the horse closest to me as I continue to precariously grip the driverless wagon careening down the road. The beast runs a few yards and then collapses in its harness, only to be dragged on by the other three terrified beasts. The wagon canters downwards on my side from the extra drag and slows a bit. Enough for me to get a foot on the ground and push myself all the way up into the driver's seat.
I half-lie there for a moment, gasping for air and mourning the horse. I've always liked animals better than most people I've ever met, and this horse did nothing to deserve this fate. Right now, nothing in this place deserves more compassion than this horse. His death gave me a chance to live.
From my position on the bench, I have a great view of the wall looming above me. I catch a glimpse of Des, knife in hand, doing his running best to close the gap between them and a group of goblins with crossbows. Jesse just stands in the middle of the chaos and guns a few down.
The wagon jolts, and I'm brought back to my current situation. I sit up and fish the loose reins from the floorboards. Between my advanced driving courses, personal experience, and my knowledge of animals, I try to apply a mix of these skills to handle this wagon.
I pull hard on the left rein to try to turn this contraption around. The remaining horses react right away, and the wagon slews into a tight turn. The leather straps of the harness give way, and the body of the slain horse slides off into the mud. I refuse to look back at it.
As I come about, I see complete mayhem before me. The road is clogged with untethered horses and a jumble of wagons no longer neatly lined up. Another battle has begun at the breach in the wall. I watch as our people try to load the wounded into the wagons and untangle the horses. All the while, fighting a group of ogres clothed in blue and silver livery.
Scanning the top of the wall, I find Des and Jesse nearing the end of their fight. Des picks up the last goblin and tosses him from top of the bulwark and back into the courtyard. I hear its screech fade away and imagine the thump at the end.
Finding the best way I can to assist them, I maneuver the wagon to the base of the wall under Jesse and Des. The stonework looks a bit lower here as the hills rise to meet it. I still estimate it's about fifteen to twenty feet between the top of the wagon and the wall—far enough to break a leg or a neck if one were to land in an unfortunate position.
“Yo! The way back is overrun! You're gonna have to jump!” I shout up into the rain. Jesse looks down and gives me a small wave as he scans back over the parapets. Whatever he sees is enough to convince him that jumping off a thirty-foot stone wall is preferable than the alternative.
He grabs Des by the arm and points down to where I am while talking. It’s tough to tell at this distance, but Des seems to pale a little. Jesse slaps him on the shoulder and jumps with a loud laugh. I watch him arc down as if in slow motion, a crazy grin on his face as he slams hard onto the wooden roof. I hear a loud crack, and I hope it’s the wood and not his leg. The wagon rocks on its rudimentary springs and bounces a little; I pull back hard on the reins to check the nervous horses.
I don't see Des's descent, but I sure feel it as the wagon rocks with a second impact. A tremendous crashing noise comes along with his landing. I turn in my seat and see most of the roof has collapsed. Leaning over the splintered edge, I find two bodies tangled in broken beams, obscured in dust, lumber, and rain.
I flinch back as several crossbow bolts rain down and land randomly inside the wagon and the bench next to me. Without a second glance, I assume that more goblins have reached us from the wall, and I turn forward, snapping the reins and yelling, “Go, dammit, go!” because I don't speak horse, and I have no idea what will make them run. It was probably the reins that got them moving, but I'll take it.
With a lurch, the horses pull on the reins with great force, and the wagon jumps forward. I haul on the right rein and try to get some distance from our foes. The team of horses charge back into the general melee; I hold on tight and do my best to steer through the obstacles before us.
More gunfire comes from the breach as we roll past a driverless wagon and get a good look at the chaos our exit has created. Six hulking ogres are decimating the escapees as they jump from a jagged h
ole in the wall. Another four ogres are down and not moving but surrounded by a good fifteen to twenty humans. They, too, lay shattered on the ground and still.
Making a quick decision, I turn the horses toward the edge of the ogre formation and pull my mace from my belt. I need to clear them away or no one else is getting out unscathed.
The ogres react a bit too late; I guess they didn't expect a wagon to attack them. The first one goes down under steel-shod hooves of the horses, and the second one comes into range of my weapon's arc. I crouch in front of the bench, set my feet, and swing for the fences. Teeth and tusk shatter as the iron mace smashes like a wrecking ball through the ogre's lower jaw. Its head snaps back, and I see its feet leave the ground.
The force of my swing combined with the momentum of the wagon gives the shot plenty of power. More than enough to make me lose my damn mace as it rebounds and sends shock waves back through my hands and arms. It rattles from my numbed hands and lands in the back of the wagon.
Grabbing the reins again, I pull hard to make a tight turn for another pass. The wagon doesn't make it halfway through the angle when it’s rocked yet again, this time by a massive explosion. I flinch as a white-hot fireball detonates within the breach of the wall. The shockwave knocks humans and ogres from their feet while the following wave of fire finishes most of them off. The towering granite wall crumbles further, raining chunks of stone in all directions.
A blanket of silence covers the area. My wagon limps to a stop as even the horses are stunned by the blast. Where the breach once was, the stones glow red and orange from the heat they've absorbed. The rest of the wall has collapsed in on itself. No way anyone could've survived that. The breach is sealed, and not another soul is getting out that way.
“All right, you bastards, enough standing around! Load these wagons and move out, NOW!” Olivia shouts with clear authority as she picks herself up from the mucky ground. She pushes her mud-matted hair back out of her eyes and reaches down to help someone stand up. No one questions her, and most begin moving with a purpose.
I jump in surprise when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn, fist raised, and see Jesse grinning.
“Aye, lad, let me take a turn at the reins; I believe I have the proper know-how,” he says with a grin. I do believe he's really enjoying himself right now. Yup, he's insane, I have no doubt about it.
Shifting over, I hand him the leather reins. “Here you go. How’s Des?”
He still grins and replies, “Taking a bit of a rest, the malingering cur! Ha ha!” I stare at him for a moment, then shake my head. It’s probably the right kind of crazy for now.
Two wagons begin to move out from the mud toward the road. A third is still being loaded, but I don't see anyone else milling around. What I do see are the broken bodies of men and women of several different species lying bloody in the mud. Each one seems unnatural and still as the driving rain falls and begins to cleanse their lifeless forms. Never have I seen a more sad or disturbing tableau.
“Let’s get moving before they mount a real pursuit,” I shout to Jesse.
I smile a little as we reach the road, spotting Haynes and Grayson riding on horses while they direct three other wagons. “Follow them!” I say, pointing after Olivia's wagon. I see her blonde hair as she bounces in one of the drivers' seats. Jesse snaps the reins, and we are rolling and bringing up the rear.
Haynes pulls his horse up next to us and slows it to a trot. “Grayson and Colt are staying back to disable the other wagons and scatter the horses. They're gonna catch up, so get moving and don't stop till you hit the fork in the road. I'll go scout ahead and look for any surprises.”
“Aye, Sergeant, God's speed to ye!” replies Jesse, full of cheer.
I nod to him. “Good luck.” He kicks the horse, leans forward, and takes off at a gallop.
As we begin to pass where the elven archers had positioned their ambush, I say to Jesse, “Stop for a second, I gotta grab something.”
He slows the wagon to a stop, and I jump off and head to the first archer's body I see. I roll it over and pick up his bow. It’s about three-and-a-half feet tall and made of at least two types of wood and brass. It's beautifully carved on the wings, and the handle is covered in a smooth leather wrap. The quiver easily slides from his shoulder, and I grab another handful of arrows from the next archer's corpse. Sprinting back to the wagon, I hop up, this time much more gracefully than my last attempt.
Peering through the shattered roof, I spy Des sitting up and holding his head. A good deal of blood is running down the side of his face from a jagged laceration to his forehead. Scalp wounds always look bad. They bleed a lot but aren't usually dangerous. “How's it going down there?” I ask.
He looks up at me with a scowl. “Been better, Hoss. My head’s poundin’ like a bad hangover, and I'm pretty sure my ankle’s broke.”
“Shit. Sit tight for a minute until we're sure there's no one following us… but, hey! Des, we made it out!” I say with a grin.
Des smiles back, a bit weary and sad. “Son, I hope you didn't just jinx us. This don’t look like home to me yet.”
We hit the road proper, and the wagons begin to pick up a surprising amount of speed. At a guess, I'd say we're doing at least fifty miles an hour, much faster than this thing should be able to move. The beauty of magical enchantments.
I adjust the strap on the quiver and slide it over my shoulder. I test the pull on the bow and find it tough, but manageable. I pull an arrow and set it to the string and watch the trail behind us. I wonder how many prisoners actually got out and how many more were left behind.
18
Haynes And Thorn
Haynes pulls the reins and slows his horse to a walk. The deluge has lessened, and the road seems clear to this point. He turns in the saddle and scans behind him. He's a bit surprised to see a riderless horse galloping about a hundred yards back. He puts his hand on the .45 but doesn't draw it yet.
As it gets closer, Haynes notices the reins seem to be held up in the air, and the stirrups aren't bouncing loose like they should be. He turns his horse to face the newcomer, now drawing his pistol. He aims in the general area the rider should be. “That’s close enough! Reveal yourself or die unknown!”
“Oh, oh no, don't shoot, Elias! It’s me!” A moment later, Thorn fades into sight. Her robes are blood-spattered and muddy. Her hood is dripping cold rain onto her face, but her eyes glow blue with happiness.
They both dismount in a heartbeat and run to each other. Her petite figure is lifted off the ground by a bear hug from Haynes. Both laugh with joy at finding each other. Tears flow freely as they bask in a short-lived moment of undiluted bliss.
“I thought we lost you,” Haynes whispers into her hair.
“And I, you! I was trapped on the grandstand, but Osmanthus… Osmanthus gave his life so I could hide myself and flee.” Tears of joy now turn to ones of sorrow.
“But wasn't he our guide out of here?” Haynes pushes Thorn back a little with reluctance and looks her in the eyes.
“He was. He was also my friend and our contact to the other side! What are we to do?" Thorn's arms drop to her sides, her eyes betraying a shared feeling of hopelessness.
“It’s okay now, my love," Haynes reassures her. "Take a deep breath. It’s not as bad as it could be. We made it out! I'm sorry for your friend, and I'm sorry to have to ask this, but can we still go on with the plan without him?"
"I don't know.” Thorn lingers with her hand in Haynes' for a moment before she walks back over to her horse deep in an internal struggle. She seems to steel herself, as if she has come to a decision, and her voice grows more confident stronger. “I'm able to get us through, of that I can assure you. I know where the crossing point is. The gate naturally occurs in a place of moon metals, and there is only one source close enough. But I cannot tell you what will happen without him after we make it to your world.”
Haynes stays silent for a few moments. Walking up to her, he lightly grips h
er shoulders and maintains eye contact. He stares at her for a moment as if to gauge her mental state and reserves. “I'm… I'm truly sorry about your friend. I want to know more about him, but now is not the time. Hopefully, once we make it to my home, we'll still be able to find sanctuary even without his aid. Perhaps when we are safe, you'll want to share everything with me. For right now, we need to keep everyone together and moving. Let’s mount up. You lead the way.”
They step apart with some regret and remount their steeds.
“How much farther to the lake?” Haynes asks.
“About another hour or two, then we have to leave the main road, and it's maybe another two hours if the wagons can make it,” the elf replies. "The sooner we get off the road, the safer we'll be.”
Without discussing it, they rein their horses close together. Their knees almost touch as their horses trot along, and after a few minutes, Haynes holds his hand out, and she takes it. They ride in companionable silence until they reach the rest of the party.
The road is muddy and rutted, causing us to bounce quite a bit on the hard-wooden bench. I don't think a small cushion would be too much to ask for. Might as well wish for a cold beer and a soft easy chair. Damn, I miss home.
After about twenty minutes of watching the road behind us to make sure no one is following, I decide it’s safe for now. I climb into the back of the wagon to take care of Des's ankle. His scalp has stopped bleeding by now, but he still looks miserable.
Out of the wind, it’s a lot warmer in here, but the air remains damp with the falling rain. I didn't realize how cold it was topside until I'm sitting down within the wooden walls and pulling Des's boot off. His ankle is a swollen, bruised mess. We hit a large rock or something of the like, and the wagon jostles. Des curses with the pain of the movement. The last jostle causes my mace to slide out toward me from under a bench. I pick it up and shake a small bit of bone and green skin off before replacing it back on my belt.