by A. C. Cobble
“They’re good,” remarked Prem.
Ben looked to the girl. She wore no armor and was dressed in simple clothing that wouldn’t have been out of place on youngster from Farview, but he’d seen her use those long knives before. He suspected she could hold her own against any of the blademasters.
“How’s your father doing?” asked Ben.
“Figuring out how to pee,” she answered.
Ben blinked.
“Didn’t think of that, did you?”
“I-I, ah…” Ben stammered, searching for a response.
Rhys placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder and assured him, “There are things the leader doesn’t need to solve. Adrick Morgan is a grown man. Really grown. He’s literally hundreds of years old. He can figure out how to take a leak on his own.”
“There are other things for you to worry about,” agreed Prem. “Like that.”
She pointed, and Ben’s heart sank. Far to the north, a dark wave covered the green grass. Scattered clumps of individual demons and small swarms had turned into an unending mass a quarter-league wide and no end in sight.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” asked Rhys.
“I’m sure I do want one,” responded Ben. He drew his sword. “I don’t think we’ve got time to properly enjoy it.”
He took a step, heading down toward the line where he saw another point of stress.
“Let someone else take that,” advised Rhys. “You stay here and direct the men. We have a few moments at least until the fog of war descends. Use it and maintain organization while you can.”
“I’ll go,” said Prem.
She turned and gestured to a few guardians who stood near them. They trotted down the slope. Ben watched as they reached the line and paused at the rear of the rangers. A man stumbled back, opening a gap, and Prem shot through.
Her knives held low, the small guardian whirled like a dervish, razor-sharp steel flashing in and out of the black bodies of the demons. Her companions followed her, taking her flanks and spreading out. Within moments, two dozen paces of space were cleared in front of the rangers. A score of demons lay dead on the grass and the ones behind them veered away from Prem and her men. Their job accomplished, they retreated, slipping back through the reformed line.
Ben directed another small group to the other side of the hill as Prem returned.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t join the line?” one of her men asked.
Ben shook his head. “When the arch-demons get here, some of them are likely to be intelligent enough to see the strong points in our defense. If our best blades are all engaged, then there is nothing to stop them from bursting through the weak points and making a charge toward the mages. Without the mages…”
The man nodded. “It hurts to watch from the back, but I understand.”
Ben turned, and to keep himself from breaking his own advice and charging down the hill, he started orchestrating the flying companies. The pressure against the line was still light, but there was little risk early of them getting caught in an engagement they couldn’t break away from. He used the flexible force as best he was able, trying to conserve lives on the line for when the battle really started. He was so focused on watching the line that he nearly missed the growing scream behind him.
“The tower!” cried a panicked voice.
Ben spun and immediately saw the watchtower wasn’t the issue. It was the demon that swooped by, clearing the stones by two paces and then dropping directly toward Ben and the other members of the flying companies.
Against regular soldiers, the demon’s momentum may have scored it a kill. Against a group of blademasters and guardians, the thing was eviscerated mid-air. Its body, trailing a fan of purple blood and sickeningly white entrails, crashed into the grass and skidded to a stop.
“Damnit,” muttered Ben. He glanced at a man beside him. “From now on, you’re in charge of watching the sky. When you get tired of it, make sure someone else takes over for you.”
The man wordlessly pointed behind Ben.
Cursing, Ben turned and raised his blade. A trio of demons had flown over the ranger’s line and were headed right for Ben and his friends. Beside Ben, Rhys drew his blade and let the runes flare to life.
“Let’s hope they’re not smart enough to realize you’re commanding this band,” said Rhys. “There have to be a hundred of those flying bastards, and I don’t want to spend all day chopping ‘em out of the sky.”
“Better us than the rangers on the line,” remarked Prem.
She flung a long knife at one of the incoming demons, and Rhys leapt at another. The third came straight at Ben. He waited patiently until it was almost on top of him. Then, he stepped calmly to the side and angled his longsword into the creature’s ribcage. The demon’s momentum embedded his sword deep into it, piercing its heart. Ben turned, letting the creature fly past, and he yanked his weapon clear. The three demons crashed down together, all dead.
Rhys shook his sword to fling the purple blood off and remarked to Prem, “If you’d missed, you’d be down to one long knife. Not a smart move in the midst of a battle.”
“I don’t miss,” claimed the girl, scampering over to draw her weapon out of the dead demon’s throat, “and I always carry backup.”
Rhys opened his mouth, but Ben cut him off. “Save it for the demons.”
“A little humor, remember?” asked Rhys.
Ben rolled his eyes and then pointed with his sword. “Take a couple of men down and meet that arch-demon. I don’t know if the rangers have faced many of them, and I’m certain the Kirksbane watch hasn’t. I don’t want the first one to knock a hole in the line. Show them how to kill one of those things.”
Grumbling, Rhys pointed at three guardians and waved for them to follow.
“He’s incorrigible, isn’t he?” asked Prem.
“He is,” admitted Ben.
“What was he doing before he came to travel with you?” she asked.
Ben coughed and then glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. He saw her question was entirely earnest.
“He, ah… You don’t want to know.”
Another screeching of incoming demons drew their attention, and Ben watched as a pair of blademasters jumped in the air, spinning and slashing wicked wounds into the flying creatures. Below them on the slope, the demons began to pile up, pressuring the line from all sides. A league away, the mass of the creatures was advancing. Thousands of them, Ben guessed.
“Take over here,” Ben barked to a nearby blademaster.
He trotted over to the mages. They were standing or sitting, calmly watching the battle unfold around them.
“How much closer before you can hit them?” asked Ben, gesturing to the demon front.
“Another half bell,” said Hadra. “The Sanctuary will strike first, seeking to blast some holes in that grouping. If we can spread them out a little, they’ll put less pressure on the swordsmen. Then, when they regroup, we’ll hit them again.”
One of Jasper’s mages spoke up. “We have some surprises planned for when they get close. We spent all morning laying traps out in that field. Beyond that, we’ll start targeting any arch-demons foolish enough to draw near.”
“Good,” said Ben. He eyed the solid wall of demons again. “The rangers cannot hold up for more than a moment against that full force. The sheer weight of the creatures alone could roll right over them.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll thin them out before they get to the line,” promised Amelie.
Ben met her eyes and saw her determination. “It sounds like you’ve all got it in order. I’d better get back to the swordsmen.”
“No sign of the king,” called Jasper as Ben turned.
Ben paused. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing good,” answered the mage.
He was holding the wyvern fire staff. Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
“Don’t worry,” said Jasper. “I’ll act when you tell me to.”
Ben nodded and turned to go back to the flying company. He paused. The day was still sparkling bright, afternoon sun shining down across their formations with only wisps of clouds and the black bodies of the demons filling the expansive, deep blue sky. Strangely, though, a fog was forming on the river.
“What is that?” he wondered. He turned back to the mages. “Are you doing something?”
Several of the mages stood and began cursing, staring at the river in confusion. Jasper and his companions huddled together, speaking quickly in a language Ben didn’t understand and shooting concerned glances at the fog.
“What is it?” asked Ben, looking around the group for anyone who could answer.
“The river is boiling,” explained Lady Towaal somberly.
“Boiling?” queried Ben. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?
“Exactly,” said Towaal grimly. “How is that possible, and who could do it?”
Jasper looked up, a well of uncertainty evident in his eyes. “The heat it would take to boil an entire river…”
Ben had a limited amount of knowledge about magic, but knew an awfully lot about boiling water. It had been his job before he’d become an adventurer. “The heat it would take to boil that river would be equivalent to, I don’t know, ten thousand campfires. Twenty thousand?”
Jasper studied the river. The steam was coming off in clouds now, obscuring the water below. The entire length, from several leagues north to behind the watchtower, was engulfed in a roiling boil.
“If the wind blows west, the battlefield will be obscured,” remarked one of Jasper’s mages. “Maybe they plan to blunt our magic by stealing our visibility?”
“Demons hate water,” responded the elderly mage. “I can’t imagine they like steam much better. They wouldn’t purposefully engulf their force in it, I don’t think.”
“Did you say you’d planted traps in the field?” asked Ben. “Just in the field and nowhere else?”
“We did,” answered another of the mages.
“If the water boils off, the riverbed would be an unprotected road that avoids everything we laid out,” whispered Jasper.
“We counted on the water to protect our backside,” added Ben. “In fact, I think we only stationed one man back there, just in case.”
“If he still lives,” remarked Towaal. “Those flying demons…”
“Damn!” cried Ben. He started running toward the flying company. At the rate the steam was rising, he guessed it would only be half a bell before the riverbed was as dry as an oven-warmed pan. He made it back to the flying company and yelled for one of the guardians to run around behind the watchtower and report anything unusual.
“Like what?” asked the man.
Ben pointed to the cloud of steam rising off the river.
“Oh, damn,” mumbled the guardian before turning and dashing off.
Ben looked back to the battle below. The demons were constantly hitting the line now, but the rangers and the blademasters were holding up. Beyond them, the field was filled with black shapes.
“Have they stopped?” asked a voice from behind.
Ben frowned, studying the field. In the distance, the army of demons had never advanced closer than half a league. They were still there, bunched up, waiting.
“No,” Ben answered, realization stabbing into him. “They’re going to turn and come a different way.”
Suddenly, a man called a warning, and a storm of demons descended upon them. Nearly every one of the flying creatures seemed to drop from the sky in a direct line to Ben and the men standing around him. Blademasters and guardians, all incredible fighters, but none of them were prepared to be inundated with a hundred demons all at once.
The flying variety were not as strong as some of their shorter, denser brethren, but they were tall, and the sharp claws at the tips of their long arms were just as lethal. One smacked into Ben’s back, and he stumbled forward, putting a hand on the grass to stop himself from falling face first. The stumble saved his life as a second demon swept a hand right where his neck would have been.
Shifting his weight, Ben turned and rammed his shoulder into the first demon’s mid-section. Its claws clutched his back, and he felt his skin pierced in half a dozen places, but none of the wounds were serious. He could still fight. He used his momentum to shove the creature away from him, launching it like a small child.
Without pause, he spun and swung his sword as if he was swinging a bat in a game of yard ball. The second demon was caught mid-attack, and Ben’s steel sheered through its torso, crunching bone, slicing through organs, and sending a blast of blood and gore flying into the air.
Around him, chaos ruled.
Men, surprised by the attack, had gone down, but others who hadn’t been caught in the initial surge were on their feet and fighting back. Blademasters whirled and slashed. Guardians nearby had formed a six-man circle. Back to back, they kept the demons away.
Ben, on the other hand, was in the center of a different type of circle. Around him, five of the creatures advanced. Standing still and waiting for them to close was a death sentence. Instead, he charged. Howling a wordless battle cry, Ben ran straight at one of the creatures. Its mouth opened as the demon let out its own battle cry. Ben kept going.
He used the extended reach of his sword to thrust at it and caught the thing in the face. The tip of his longsword punched into the demon’s eye and gouged out a good chunk of its skull. Viscera sprayed freely, and Ben continued his charge, running over the body before spinning to face his pursuers.
One down, four to go. Now, though, he’d broken out of the circle, and the four of them tangled trying to advance on him. There was a limit to how well demons could coordinate an attack. Ben took advantage and jumped closer, flicking his longsword and grinning as the tip of the blade caught one of them in the neck, slicing a finger-length into the flesh.
A clawed hand grasped at him, and Ben turned his blade, cutting a laceration along the creature’s arm. He danced back, setting his feet for another attack.
Then, Lloyd was beside him, and together, they rushed at the two remaining demons, the blademaster’s weapon moving like a buzzing dragonfly. Faster than Ben was able to follow, the silvered steel whipped back and forth. In two blinks of the eye, the demons were dead.
“Looks like you do know a bit about what you’re doing,” remarked Lloyd.
“You’re even faster than your brother,” muttered Ben.
Lloyd winked at him and then charged back into the battle, falling on the backs of a swarm of the creatures who’d been pressing the circle of guardians.
“Ben,” shouted Rhys.
The rogue was pointing to the side of the watchtower where a man was standing, mouth agape. The man who’d been sent to check the backside of the watchtower, realized Ben.
“Go,” instructed Rhys. “We’ll get this under control.”
The rogue casually lopped the head off a nearby demon and went stalking into the crowd, looking for more.
Ben saw the initial shock of the attack was wearing off, and the incredible skill of the blademasters and guardians was rapidly turning the tide against the demon’s superior numbers. Half a dozen men lay dead on the grass, though, and several more sported painful-looking injuries. It took a hundred demons and a surprise attack to do it, but these were Ben’s elite warriors, the ones he couldn’t afford to lose.
He ran to the man by the watchtower and called, “What did you find?”
The man shook his head, confused. “The water is down, my lord. It’s boiling off like it’s my mamma’s kettle left too long on the fire. I don’t understand, sir. What is happening?”
Grim-faced, Ben glanced back at the field of demons. He was certain that it wasn’t just his imagination. They were moving toward the riverbank now. His forces were going to get flanked by a few thousand demons.
“Go get the mages,” Ben commanded. “Tell them what you saw.”
The man nodded and
started to trot off, when suddenly, a grey-clad figure stepped out of the shadows of the watchtower and slid a dagger into his side. The blade sank deep, plunging between the man’s ribs.
Cursing, Ben raised his sword and barely ducked in time as another figure swung at him from behind. Skipping away, Ben spun to face the two attackers. His heart sank. They both carried long knives, held low and steady. Experienced, skilled assassins. The Veil was making her move.
“Assassins!” yelled Ben at the top of his lungs, knowing the guardians were nearby, but they would be busy cleaning up the remainder of the flying demons. They wouldn’t be able to hear him over the din of battle. The assassins had picked their time carefully.
“Where is it?” hissed one of them.
“Where is what?”
“The staff,” barked the other assassin. “Tell us, and we’ll let you live.”
“He’s got it,” said Ben, looking over the first man’s shoulder.
Both assassins turned, but quickly caught themselves, and snapped their heads back to Ben. It was enough and gave him the opportunity he needed. These men were professionals, and given time, Ben was sure they’d find an opening in his defense. He had to even the odds. The moment the first man’s head had started to turn, Ben lunged, his sword springing up like a bolt off a ballista.
The assassin was shockingly fast, but Ben’s blade was already a hand-length from his chest when he got a knife up to deflect it. The shorter weapon didn’t have the leverage to push aside the sword, and Ben rammed his steel into the man’s body, the blade punching through clothing with ease.
The second assassin sprang at Ben, but Ben was ready. He took a risk and let go of his longsword. He stepped into the man’s attack. Ben brushed the man’s two knives to either side and, borrowing a page from Milo’s book, swung his head forward, the crown of his skull smashing against the assassin’s nose.
A flash of blinding pain was worth it when Ben heard a sickening crunch and strangled gasp from the man. Without thought, Ben dropped down and spun into one of the Ohm’s positions, sweeping his leg forward and smacking the assassin’s feet out from under him.