by BJ Hanlon
“These are just the advance party. In an hour, there will be hundreds, maybe thousands climbing those ropes,” Grent said.
“Who’s this guy?”
“My friend…” then he remembered the kid in the hamlet. “You force these people to get moving. I’m going back…”
“For the family?” Grent said.
Edin nodded.
“Gods bless it boy, get the horses.” Said Grent.
Arianne followed him outside and toward the back of Edin’s horse. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m not letting you run off like a banshee by yourself. I can fight.”
He wanted to say something but she shook her head.
“Shut your mouth, let’s go.”
The look said don’t argue. Heck, he was sick of arguing anyways.
They rode hard, Grent told them over the rushing wind that they were to secure the bridges and use the small towns as bases.
It took a quarter hour to get back there, the horses were exhausted when they reached the hamlet.
They stopped at a door where smoke was still rising.
Arianne hopped off and pushed inside. “Murderers are coming.”
Edin heard rustling and a gruff man’s voice, “let them come.” Edin dismounted and came near, he looked inside and saw a man, large and tanned. Muscles only seen on farmers. Beside him was his boy, maybe ten, and his wife, both much smaller but neither showing fear. “I ain’t letting no one take mine.”
“You need to get your family to safety...”
“I see them,” Grent called from outside, “and they see me. They’re running.”
“How many?” Edin called.
“Ten to fifteen.”
“We need to go now. Do you have any horses?”
The man grunted and looked toward the corner, a bow was there, with a greatsword and a staff.
“The staff is mine,” the woman said.
“Is it…” Arianne asked.
“Enchanted, yes.” She walked toward it and grabbed the weapon. Her husband took the bow and the huge sword. He strapped the sword on his back and grabbed the quiver.
“Let me try,” Arianne said.
“Girl you couldn’t pull this string…”
“Let her,” the wife said. “Stay inside son.” She marched out with her husband in toe followed by Arianne and Edin.
Grent was gone but the horses remained.
The woman raised her staff and Edin felt an immense surge of energy flowing through him. It was stronger than the wave that nearly crushed him in the river. Edin rocked on his feet as an arrow whipped past his head.
Edin only saw the blood spray from an attacker as he flew backwards.
“Nice, but mine is better,” Arianne said.
The attackers began to spread out. As one stepped, a pillar of stone flew up into the air with such speed that the man was launched at least thirty feet up. Edin summoned ethereal blades and threw them. They flew at an incredible speed, faster than normal knives. Two men were split apart.
“Blasted magi, don’t let me get any fun,” the husband said.
Attackers dove behind carts of hay, houses and small fences. They were disappearing, not making themselves an easy target.
The ground beyond a small cottage exploded, followed by a wild cry of pain.
Then there was movement, a man shuffling between a barrel and a wall before he disappeared out of sight.
“Down,” Arianne yelled.
Edin didn’t need to think, he ducked. The thump of a bowstring came from behind him followed by a painful bellow from atop a thatched roof. A door slammed as a soft rain began to wet the field.
“You take left, I go right,” the great-swordsman called to Edin and moved his behind his neighbor’s home.
Edin spotted an archer taking aim at him from next to a wall. Edin felt the rain and let it grow cold. Ice formed on the man.
He yelled, his shot went wide and he ducked back behind the wall.
Edin took a step to go after him, but a moment later, a piece of wood flew past his head at a vicious speed. It went out, around him, curving very unnaturally around the wall. There was a bonk and a yelp of pain.
He glanced back and saw Arianne behind a wagon with her arm outstretched. She grinned.
Then Edin ducked between two buildings. He could smell the reek of a pigsty from the other side of the planked wall. How many were down? How many left?
Edin slowed as he reached the blind corner. A man could be waiting on either side. He took a step and felt the small dampening of the talents. Edin held the blade in front of him and stepped out. Then he dropped and rolled to his side beneath a chopping sword. He lifted the weapon in front of him and watched the man’s eyes dart side to side.
Edin feinted to the right, then left but the sword had already done its job. The man’s eyes couldn’t track the movement and Edin cut through his hip and then brought it back around taking off the head at the shoulder.
Crunching leaves told him someone was at his back. The rain was turning to a slushy, wintery mix, the kind for heavy boots and not a lot of movement.
He heard the whistle of the blade humming through the air.
Edin was blind to the attack but continued the swing of his own blade down across his back in an arc. The force of the strike crashed into the side of his blade whopping it against his back like a father scolding a child with a ruler.
He stumbled forward and went blind from a burning slice under his arm. He twisted, falling to his back and looking up. Above him, stood a thin man shrouded in black robes, his gray eyes gleamed as he stepped forward to thrust his weapon into Edin’s chest.
Edin glanced around, his mouth went dry, he was alone. He made like he was going to roll right, the man’s blade wobbled that way and Edin felt a small bit of the talent in him. Just enough.
An ethereal light surrounded his foot as he slammed it into the man’s knee cap. The leg buckled and he fell forward, with his other foot Edin kicked at his face, another ethereal light, catching the jaw.
A crack sounded from the neck and his head torqued grotesquely to the left leaving him looking back over his shoulder.
Edin tried lifting the sword, his arm were weak. He examined it and saw the pool of blood already soaking his tunic at the ribs. He grimaced and pushed himself to his knees and tried to catch his breath.
Blades clashed, men howled. He ripped the wan stone from the Por Fen’s necklace. He noticed the badge, a Justicar. He gripped the necklace in his off hand and pushed himself to his feet.
The pain ripped through him and he felt like a dam teetering on the edge of cracking. Edin heard war cries from somewhere to the left. He glanced that way and saw men, another platoon, charging down the grassy and wet hill.
A deep breath and he flung the necklace toward them leaving his hand extended. The suppression lifted.
With a deep, concentrating and calming breath, he forced the slush to grow deeper, icier. He aimed it toward the grass in their path. They began staggering, one got trapped in ice. He couldn’t stop and Edin heard the snap of his leg brake. Others slipped and stumbled and they crashed down into ice hard. It was actually funny…
He felt a hand grab his bicep firmly shoulder, Edin tried turning and felt woozy.
Grent looked around, he was fearful but determined. He then looked at Edin. “We gotta regroup,” he said and pulled Edin back.
Edin nearly stumbled but Grent threw his arm around his shoulder and began dragging him back down the small path between two farm buildings.
They emerged in the quiet main road, their horses were gone and they headed to the families’ home. As soon as he was in, Grent slammed the door behind him. Edin’s legs gave out as he felt the sticky bits of his shirt pulled from his side.
“That’s deep,” a male voice said. It was the homeowner, his wife and child were gone… and no sign of Arianne. But there were others, a pair of younger men, both tanned and muscled.
&
nbsp; “That is cold rain…” one of them said shivering.
An older woman, middle fifties maybe, sat in front of a fire trying to stoke it. Throughout the small cottage, he heard shutters being slammed shut.
“Where…”
“Arianne went for help.”
Another man came in the room, dressed in a guard’s uniform with a blade strapped to his waist and another on his back.
“Secure, for now,” he said.
Grent stripped a white cloth and began tying it around Edin while keeping pressure on the wound. His eyes teared from pain as he began to hear muffled voices from outside the door.
“How many we get?”
“All of the first batch… I just saw a second.”
“Gods,” the great-swordsman said between heaving breaths. “I thought those fellas were tough when I was fresh.”
“I got one,” one of the younger men said, “so did pa…” The two boys looked like the guard. They all must’ve been from a different cottage.
“You only got that guy ‘cause he was focused on me,” the brother replied.
Edin noticed small daggers strapped to both of their hips. He remembered the family on the plains of Dunbilston.
“Do you think they’re coming back for us?” one of the young men said, he had to be older than Edin but his voice seemed far from mature.
“Quiet,” the father said pointing at Edin. “And get that boy some water.”
They got him a glass and Grent helped pour it down his throat. The liquid was near freezing and he felt the chills he hadn’t experienced since the bitter mountains.
“Any of you know healing?” He grunted.
The great-swordsman spoke up, “Only the wife, she’s a mage… I know a beginner spell, just clots the blood.” He leaned over Edin and said ‘eletanto.’ A warm spot appeared on his ribs for about a minute. “That’s the best I can do.”
“It’ll have to do,” Edin said trying to sit and Grent helped him up off the floor and to a small wooden chair and wrapped even more bandages tightly around his body.
“We’re trapped,” one of the sons said. He was peering out of a small break in the shutters. “I can see a few… they don’t look happy…”
“Did ya think they would?”
“They’ll
probably try and come in sooner rather than later.” Grent said. “They have a quick timetable.”
Edin thought about the groups, at least what Grent knew. Twelve per group. Eight groups… three were dead. What about those who came from the north side of the islands? Did any get past the Corrinbomon? Did it still live? He hoped so.
He sighed. Looking around, Edin saw he
was the only mage. And he felt weak, his sword arm could barely squeeze the table in front of him. No way could he hold a weapon and fighting against the power of the wan stones would be difficult...
He felt a shot glass nudged against his open hand. “Drink this for the pain,” the great-swordsman said. “I’m Haethan the Ox by the way. They call me that cause I’m big.”
“I guessed.” Edin said.
“Thanks for savin’ the family.”
Edin took a drink, a smooth whiskey. It felt warm. Better than the water.
Haethan then glanced at Grent. “Haven’t seen you around here, the way you fight, I’d say you’re a terrin right?”
“I just arrived,” Grent said with a sardonic smile.
He hitched a ride with the men outside trying to kill us, Edin thought.
“What brought you to the isles? You hear about our troubles?”
“You could say that.”
The logs chipped in the hearth and everyone sat around the table just listening. Sounds came from outside, people shuffling, unknowable whispers. It began to feel almost like a funeral, their funeral.
Edin drank from the glass and glanced around at the people. The younger of the sons looked a bit nervous, the others were stoic, resigned as if there were no hope. Edin took a breath. His head was swirling and he wasn’t sure if it sagged or not. But something caught his attention.
A creak outside followed by
a chorus of grunts. Then a shout and suddenly a thud that rocked the frame and shook the thatched roof like a dying tree.
A moment later another thud. The door creaked and Edin saw the hint of daylight on the upper portion. The chairs screeched on the ground, the men drew their swords, except for Edin. He looked at his weakened hand. It was whiter than he’d seen in a long time, his ribs ached.
He tried to pull the blade with his offhand but couldn’t reach it. The pain was too great.
Then the crash. Ripping wood. The door flickered inwards a few inches. Small splinters of wood flew across the room landing at his feet. The defenders moved in a circle toward it. The old woman was holding a broom like she was going to swat a pesky bug.
There was a quiet outside, Edin reached out with his off hand and waited. Someone was talking, more hushed tones.
Wheels squealed on the ground then another strike at the door. The top half burst inwards, crashing against the ground. Somehow, it left the bottom shut like a horse door. Edin summoned everything he had and let a torrent of electricity flow through his palm into the gray world outside.
He heard a roar as Grent moved first. he leapt the half-door and disappeared.
Haethan the Ox, kicked at the bottom half of the door and it flew out, throwing the cart and everyone behind it back.
The guard was out, then the boys as Edin slumped in his chair. He wanted to keep his mind, see the end of this fight. He blinked as the darkness tried to come in. It wanted so badly to take him in.
Then it was in front of him, standing like a demented demon.
A demon, with a dark cloak rippling in the wind, entered the cottage, the rest of the world faded out. All but the boot steps clomping the wooden floor. Thump, thump, thump.
Edin glared at the demon, under the hood, was a bald head with mean blue eyes that felt like a blacksmith’s fire burning hotter than ever.
“Magus…” he said and drew a small dagger.
There was a scream and soft feet tapped over the ground. The whoosh of the bristles flashed through the air. The Por Fen reacted too slow and took it in the chest. But he moved with the hit, twisting, grabbing the stick just above the bristles and smashing down on his forearm.
A snap and then a choking, blood filled rattle.
Edin saw the woman slump, blood draining from her neck as her eyes stared off toward the hearth as if she were in want of warmth.
Something rolled toward and then stopped at his side. The broom handle. Snapped with a single sharp point at the edge. Edin bent over to pick it up. His weak hand gripped it and he pointed the sharp end at the Por Fen monk.
His hand shook as the man glared down, then realization came over him. “You’re Edin de Yaultan,” he snorted. “It will be a boon for me to take your head back to the Inquisitor.” He twirled a knife in his hand launching an arterial mist over the room. “You seem out of sorts.”
Edin glared up at him. He had no words, he couldn’t even hold the handle solidly. He wanted to say something clever, he couldn’t. His mouth was as sere as a desert in the dry season.
In his mind, words fluttered by,
Flow with the Spirit
The Wind and Flame
Earth, Bolt, and Water
Ecta Mastrino must tame
Edin coughed, his brain fuzzy. He saw the man looking down at him curiously. Blood trailed down the front of his shirt as he reached for the fang on his neck. Somewhere, he thought he heard Arianne, in his head most likely.
Then a shocked look flowed over the man’s face. A red protrusion appeared in his chest. The man’s head turned slightly.
A great slurping sound came from the man as the large blade was pulled out. His knife clanked to the ground.
Behind him stood Flack, his dark skin shinning with sweat. He grinned down at Edin, “You don’t look too good.”
; Edin opened his mouth but words wouldn’t come out, Flack grabbed a glass, the one with whiskey and poured it in Edin’s mouth.
“Better?”
“Help me up,” he coughed and raised his good hand.
Flack grabbed it and Edin still felt a strong pull on the wound.
Edin noticed the boy had filled out a bit. He looked stronger, bulkier. He was about to ask where he’d been when Grent appeared in the doorway. He wore a blood covered tunic, his helm was missing but he held his sword.
“Come, more will be on their way.”
Edin took a step, he felt weak but didn’t waver. A few more and he was out the door in the midst of a battlefield. Four men lay next to the door spread out like a fan someone would use on a hot day. There was no blood, if their eyes weren’t wide open and unblinking, he’d have thought they were sleeping.
The guard appeared with a pair of horses. “My wife?”
Grent shook his head and fire raged in the old man’s eyes.
Edin noticed a few others he’d seen around the tavern. Men and boys built for working the farms and fields. Some were bending over comrades, others clutching wounds and leaning against walls and carts.
In his brown cloak, Dorset was bent over one of the farmhouse boys and whispering. He groaned as his brother held his hand.
“These cratmongers are gonna pay.” Whispered Edin.
“The rest of the refugees from the tavern are evacuated. Runners have been sent to all the hamlets and cottages on the isle.” It was Placisus speaking, blood splatter covered his uniform, a head guardsman uniform. Thankfully, none of the blood looked to be his.
“Hike if you can, if you can’t use the wagons or horses.” Placisus was in command now, everyone moved.
It was a flat, two-wheeled cart barely wide enough for three bodies. They put Edin on and he leaned back.
Haethan’s tunic had a red slash at an angle across his chest and his breath was shallow. They laid him on the cart.
Placisus told him Arianne went to the city for assistance and they crossed paths.
“Why’s Flack here?” Edin glanced around and saw the young thief was gone. “I mean... where’d he go?”