by A. C. Cobble
Not that it mattered. He was common, a subject to the ruling class, not a decision maker. No one was ever going to ask his opinion on what form of government was best. He snorted softly. After this adventure was over, he’d probably never see another throne room in his life.
And that was why he was still awake. If they defeated the demons, he didn’t know what would come next. Would Amelie return to the hallowed halls of the highborn, or would she be content to be with a simple brewer?
As he lay there, half-drowsing, he noticed something else tugging at the edge of his conscious. A sound, just barely audible above the breathing of his friends. It could be the wind whipping under the eaves of the roof, distant surf, thunder from an approaching storm, or screams.
He sat up in bed, frowning.
Again, he heard it. It was far off, but now that it had his full attention, he knew somewhere outside, someone was screaming. Or maybe it really was thunder, he told himself. Dark clouds had been creeping in from the north all afternoon. The locals agreed a storm would hit sometime in the night and said it would bring plenty of rain and lightning. That’s probably what it was, just the storm rolling in.
He slipped out of the bed and padded over to the open shutters. They’d left them that way in hopes of catching a breeze to move the stifling air. Now, the air was cooler. It smelled heavy and damp. Thunder rumbled in the north. He heard it clearly that time. Rain was coming.
Ben moved to close the shutters, then paused. He couldn’t see any movement in the streets below, but it wasn’t just thunder he heard. It wasn’t the music from below either, or a drunk getting rolled in an alley. It was sharp, terrified. He leaned out the window, looking up and down the dark streets. In the distance, he heard the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.
“Rhys, Milo,” hissed Ben.
Rhys grumbled and rolled over in his sleep. Milo remained silent. Ben called at them again, louder. By the time Rhys was reluctantly acknowledging him, Ben was already back to his bed. He slipped on his boots and was searching for where he’d put his longsword.
“There are screams outside. Coming closer, I think. Someone’s fighting,” stated Ben.
Rhys muttered a curse under his breath then pulled his blankets up higher.
A clear, piercing cry ended in a strangled whimper.
Both Rhys and Milo jumped out of bed at the same time.
Rhys looked at Ben appraisingly and saw he was dressed. “Go wake the girls.”
Ben nodded and dashed into the hallway. By then, a few doors were opened. Bleary-eyed guests were peeking into the hall. Ben had to bang on the door of the girl’s room for several moments before a disgruntled Towaal answered.
“What is it?” she complained.
“Screams.”
She blinked and then glanced at her own open window.
“Rhys and Milo?” she demanded.
“Getting dressed, and armed,” responded Ben.
“Meet in the common room as soon as they’re ready,” instructed Towaal tersely.
Behind her, Amelie and Corinne were already shrugging into tunics and picking up their weapons.
Downstairs, the companions gathered in the common room with two dozen other guests. The sounds of battle were drawing closer. It was obvious now that it was no simple disagreement. It was an attack.
A half-dozen armed men came stomping down the stairs then exited into the street without pause.
“Shall we go find out what is happening?” suggested Rhys.
“Better than waiting here and finding out too late we should have fled,” agreed Corinne.
Ben nodded and took the lead, following the armed men into the streets of Indo.
Outside, the sounds of battle were clear. Ben flashed back to their panicked flight through Hamruhg. Unlike then, there were no magical explosions, no unnatural blasts of energy. Men and steel were responsible for this clash. He knew that wouldn’t make it any better.
Ben jumped at the peal of a thunderclap, and a bolt of lightning illuminated the street in stark black and white. The storm had arrived.
In the brilliance of the lightning flash, Ben saw a woman clutching her abdomen stagger into the street. She was too far away to see the nature of her injury, but it was clear she was hurt. Another thunderclap and the woman’s head snapped to look behind her. She started to run.
“We have to help her!” called Ben.
Rhys grunted, but he followed Ben and the girls as they ran to the injured woman.
Thunder, shouts, and clashes of battle alternated in a cacophony of sound. They were a dozen paces from the woman when the skies burst open. A sheet of hard rain swept in from the sea, pelting into Ben’s back and sweeping over the woman. She stumbled and fell as the torrent crashed into her.
Amelie and Towaal were by her side in a heartbeat. Amelie tried to shield the woman from the rain while Towaal bent to examine her injuries.
Ben and the others stood watch, peering nervously through the curtains of falling water, looking for signs of the battle.
Behind them, Ben heard a jingle of armor. He turned and saw the slim young girl, Lady O’ecca Iyrron, leading a score of heavily armed men. They carried short spears in their hands and wore broad-bladed scimitars on their hips. The men had bulky armor and large helmets, which Ben saw between flashes of lightning were formed into the shapes of ferocious animals, a snarling tiger, a shark, and a bear. The girl wore the same thick armor but no helmet. In the rain, Ben couldn’t see details, but the armor appeared bright green, matching the clothing the girl wore earlier that day. He also noticed she was carrying a strange spear. The haft was the height of the girl. On top of it was a long, curved blade. It was close to the length of his arm. He’d never seen a spear like it.
The girl met Ben’s eyes and flicked down to the injured woman Towaal was helping. She nodded at Ben. Then her group passed, the men not sparing a glance for Ben’s party.
“I told you to watch out for her,” mumbled Rhys.
Towaal stood and shook her head. “She was holding her bowels in with her hand. When she fell, she lost her grip. There was no chance to save her.”
Ben swallowed uncomfortably and looked toward the sound of fighting. “There could be more like her.”
“It’s not our fight,” admonished Towaal.
“We could say that about the Veil, Lord Jason, or even the demons,” argued Ben. “Our fight is when someone needs us.”
“Don’t act noble to impress that girl,” snapped Amelie.
Ben looked at her. “People are dying, Amelie, people like this woman. What do you want to do? Go and help, or hide in the inn? Your decision.”
Amelie winced. She paused, then drew her rapier. “We’ll get closer and see if we can help protect the innocents. We do not engage unless we have to.”
“Of course,” agreed Ben.
He drew his longsword and felt the crash of the storm in his head. It wailed in counterpoint to the fury of the one overhead. Rhys and Corinne drew their weapons as well. Milo hefted his trident.
Ben led them forward, trotting down the street and turning the same way Lady Iyrron and her men had. Ben was sure they were headed to where the fighting was hottest.
“This won’t be like fighting demons,” called Rhys, speaking loudly to be heard over the pounding rain.
“We’ve fought men before,” reminded Ben.
“Not like this,” said Rhys, his voice tense. “This will be different. There will be people like that woman. Children, too. You’ll see them, dead or injured. It will be hard, but ignore bystanders if there is an armed man nearby. You can’t help the innocents if you turn your back and get yourself killed. Focus on opponents. Once you’ve dealt with them, there will be time to tend to the injured after the fighting is done.”
Ben swallowed and gripped the wire-wrapped hilt of his longsword. He’d faced his share of men and even a few women. He’d never seen an innocent child cut down.
“Remember. Don’t engage,
” added Amelie.
They rounded another corner and stepped back when a billow of flame erupted from the next street over.
“Not a mage,” declared Towaal. “Either the lightning or the raiders set something afire. It must have found oil or another accelerant. Hopefully, it was an isolated warehouse. If not, this could turn into an inferno.”
Ben shook his head, not understanding what she was saying except that it wasn’t a mage.
“There,” shouted Corinne, pointing down the street.
A woman and two children were scurrying under the eaves of a building, trying to stay unnoticed. Ben and his companions moved toward them. The woman gripped her children tightly when she saw their party but relaxed as they got close.
“Turn around, you fools!” she shouted. “The Red Lord is here.”
“The Red Lord?” wondered Ben.
“He won’t stop until every last one of us is butchered. Our only chance is to flee and hope they don’t have the town surrounded.” The woman eyed their weapons. “We’re going to the beach, young man. You can come with us. I’ll show you the way out.”
Ben shook his head. “No, we’re not leaving yet.”
The woman didn’t respond. She simply grabbed her children and hurried away.
“Who is the Red Lord?” Ben asked his companions.
“A bad guy, it seems,” responded Rhys unhelpfully.
Another boom and gout of flame burst up beside the first. The rain would keep the fire from spreading, but whatever was catching there was blowing up big.
“Let’s go this way,” said Ben, leading the companions away from the fires. The sound of fighting was coming from all sides now, so one direction was as good as another.
Before they made it to the end of the street, another family came running their way, splashing through puddles, panic painting their faces. Behind them, half a dozen warriors poured around the corner. They were armored like O’ecca’s men but black instead of green. Short swords waved in their hands as they ran.
“Amelie, you won’t get through their armor with your rapier. Aim for the gaps,” instructed Rhys. “Ben, you’ll cut through that lacquer armor easier than steel, but be careful, it can still foul your blade. They won’t have faced many mage-wrought blades down here. Use the surprise.”
Ben nodded grimly. Amelie flanked him on one side, Corinne and Rhys on the other. Towaal and Milo hung back. The mage would only use her power if necessary. If she was too obvious with her magic, word could get to Eldred.
The fleeing family saw them and turned toward Ben’s friends. Evidently, they decided that any armed party was better than the six blood-thirsty men chasing them.
The armed men drew closer, and Ben saw their armor was jet black with bright red splashes of paint on the chest. The Red Lord’s men, he guessed.
He set himself, prepared to meet the charge, then jumped in surprise when Milo’s trident flew past his shoulder. The three-pronged weapon caught the leader of the oncoming men in the face. Ten paces away, the man flipped backward from the impact, rusty steel buried in his head.
Ben recovered quickly and took advantage of the surprise. He rushed to meet the attacking men. Rhys, Corinne, and Amelie came beside him.
Ben’s first opponent raised a vambrace-covered arm to deflect Ben’s apparently wild swing. Once deflected, the man likely assumed Ben would be wide open and unable to defend against a counterattack. Instead, Ben’s mage-wrought steel sliced through the armor and severed the man’s hand. The man was spun from the force of the blow. Ben left him momentarily to parry the thrust of a second attacker.
He brushed aside a sweeping strike from the man’s heavy sword then thrust at the soldier’s neck, burying a hands-length of steel in the soft flesh. The warrior dropped his sword and clutched at the gaping hole in his throat before falling back into the rain-soaked street.
Amelie was on the first man, stabbing under a plate in his armor and finding the meat beneath it. He flailed the stub of his arm at her, but life was quickly draining from his body.
Rhys was standing over a headless, armored body. Corinne was kneeling to pull her axe out of the corpse of the fifth warrior. That left one more combatant for Ben to face.
The man’s eyes darted around wildly, clearly aware he was now outnumbered and his companions had fallen without wounding Ben’s friends. The warrior staggered backward and then hurled his sword at Ben’s face.
Ben ducked the blade and watched as the man ran the other way, boots splashing in the rain soaked street.
“Not going to chase him?” asked Rhys.
“Minimal engagement,” stated Ben.
Rhys grinned at him.
They cleaned their swords and Milo retrieved his trident.
“You could take one of their weapons,” suggested Ben.
Milo hefted the three-pronged spear. “This feels comfortable.”
Ben didn’t argue. The way the former apprentice had hurled the thing was impressive.
The next street they came to was filled with mayhem. Flames flickered weakly in the deluge of rain. They barely lit struggling fighters, dead bodies, and blood. Every few heartbeats, the scene was sharply illuminated with a fork of lightning followed by a crash of thunder.
Ben swallowed the bile in his throat when he saw that among the carpet of dead were unarmed men, women, and children.
“Focus on the combatants,” yelled Rhys over the rumbling thunder.
As they watched, the tide of the battle was turning. One side, outnumbered and injured, were forming a thin line. The other group bunched up at the far end of the street, preparing to charge.
“Oh no!” cried Amelie.
A trio of adults were leading a long line of children out of a burning building. The children were panicked and screaming. Some of them couldn’t have been more than two or three years old. They were barely able to walk in the pounding rain. The adults scooped up as many as they were able, but they couldn’t carry all of them.
Slowly, they made their way out of the building and into the street. The top of the building was drenched, but through the open doors, Ben could see smoke and fire. They had nowhere to go with the little ones but into the middle of the battle.
At the far end of the street, the warriors had formed into a wedge and were preparing to attack. Black armor with bright red slashes. The Red Lord’s men.
“They’ll massacre those children,” lamented Corinne.
“No,” responded Ben forcefully, “not while we’re here.”
He trotted forward, his companions falling in behind him. There were twice as many of the Red Lord’s men, but the defenders had Ben and his companions. He judged it an even fight.
The crescendo of wind was building in Ben’s head. He knew he could unleash it and amplify the power of the storm. It’d be enough to send the entire group of attackers tumbling to their backs, but it could also alert Eldred to their presence in Indo. She’d experienced the wrath of his sword. An unexplained blast of wind would be like a brightly painted sign for her, pointing directly to where they’d been. No, Ben knew they’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, with steel and determination.
Ben’s friends joined the motley clump of defenders and they all moved in front of the retreating children. There were townspeople brandishing tools, city guards, and what looked like the tattered remains of Lady Iyrron’s men. Ben glanced down the line and saw her there as well, black hair plastered to her skull, bladed spear in hand. She was standing boldly in front of her men, waiting on the charge. Only one of her guardians appeared to still be standing. Ben hoped she knew how to use that spear, but he didn’t have long to worry about it. With a shout, the Red Lord’s men surged forward. Two score of them. Swords and spears waved wildly as they ran.
“Protect the children!” shouted Ben.
The world descended into chaos. In the torrential rain, visibility was cut in half. The dirt streets of Indo were slick with water and blood. Ben settled his feet as best he wa
s able and waited for the attackers.
The first assailant swooped in, swinging a powerful overhand attack, rainwater flying off his blade as he swung down. Ben ducked under it onto one knee and the man slid by, unable to arrest his momentum in the slippery mud.
The next man followed on the heels of the first, apparently believing his companion would barrel over Ben. He caught Ben’s longsword in his gut before he could react. Ben surged off his knee and yanked the blade clear, a spray of bright red blood illuminated by a blast of lightning.
A body crashed into his side and Ben stumbled, nearly flopping down. One of the black-armored men was furiously defending an attack from the other direction, his back facing Ben. Ben smashed the hilt of his longsword down on top of the man’s head, crunching his helmet and his skull.
Steel split the curtain of rain and a sword punched toward Ben’s chest. He twisted at the last moment and scrambled away from the fallen man he’d just brained. He ignored the sting on his ribcage where the tip of the new assailant’s sword scored him.
The black-armored warrior fell back, more competent and cautious than Ben’s earlier foes.
Ben advanced, probing at the man with a high thrust.
The man stepped back again in time to avoid a fatal blow, but Ben’s sword caught his intricate insect-shaped helmet, knocking it askew. The man’s head snapped to the side and his free hand immediately shot up to adjust his helmet so he could see.
Ben didn’t wait for him to recover. He punched his longsword into the man’s breast plate and shoved it through, piercing his heart. The armor was thick, but not as strong as steel. Rhys had called it lacquer. Ben wondered briefly at what it was made of, but he didn’t have time to examine it.
He turned and saw the back of a warrior threatening Amelie. She was defending competently but would have trouble scoring a killing blow through the man’s armor.