by C. J. Aaron
Their attack was imminent.
This would be the end.
The leader slowly, purposefully lowered his sword; pointing it toward Andr. The target of the jagged tip of the weathered blade traveled past him, stopping when it aimed squarely at Ryl. A surge of anger tore through the mercenary and he whipped his sword up, slapping the point of the rusted blade away. He shifted to his side, blocking his fevered companion with his body. The motion in the clearing ceased as the ring of the two swords reverberated through the night.
The sickening effect of what looked to be a smile broke across the face of the looming monster. It angled its body forward; the fire’s light glistening off the rotting moisture on his serrated teeth. The stench emanating from its mouth turned Andr’s stomach.
He could hear the sound begin from within its throat. The hiss grew in intensity and volume into a roar he felt ripple throughout his body. As the scream reached its crescendo, it was abruptly cut off.
The tip of an arrow exploded through its right temple with a shatter of bone and a shower of blood.
A second arrow struck just to the side of the first. Its barbed point demolished the remainder of the right side of the beast’s face as it tore through.
A sickening gurgle was all that remained of the roar of the behemoth. Its massive body crumpled forward onto the fire, plunging the clearing into darkness.
The darkness lasted but an instant.
Pure chaos followed.
Chapter 18
The startled eyes of the Horde turned skyward as an orb of light appeared in the night sky. What started the size of a star grew rapidly in size and brightness. The clearing was cast aglow with the orange light from above. Refusing to take his eyes off the mass of enemies at his front, Andr heard the hissing of the rolling ball of blazing orange fire as it plummeted out of the sky. A churning trail of smoke followed in its wake.
The compact ball of flame struck the ground in the center of the clearing amidst the middle of the Horde. He watched the silhouetted figures of the demons as they attempted to dive out of the way of the incoming projectile. As it crashed into the ground, the ball of fire detonated, exploding with a vicious force. The wave of heat and pressure rocked Andr from his feet, tumbling him backward onto Ryl’s prone body. Fragments of dirt, rock and body parts rained down upon them.
Most of the Horde were blown from their feet by the force of the explosion. The trees along the perimeter ignited into flame. The ringing in his ears drowned out all other sounds. It provided the chorus; the burning trees lit the stage for the unfolding turmoil within.
The Horde that stumbled to their feet were frantic, off-balance, heads pivoting from side to side as they struggled to sort out what was happening. Only half of the original force were staggering to their feet. The balance remained either unmoving where they lay, or had their bodies scattered throughout by the vicious force of the explosion.
Andr guessed that one hundred Horde remained in some semblance of fighting shape, though most bore injuries of various degrees of severity. Those closest to the blast had fared the worst, their bodies mangled beyond recognition.
Confusion reigned in the clearing. Andr was unsteady as he wobbled to his feet, his eyes watching the Horde, his sword in hand. Before their attack could refocus on him, the blackened warriors began dropping, one at a time, in rapid succession. Those who had only just regained their footing were wrenched from their feet from the force of the arrows that harried them from their right.
The disorganization of the Horde waned quickly and the remaining fighters turned to face the unseen archers on their flank. The rapid assault of the arrows ceased as the Horde regained order, forming a line facing into the attack.
A pair of shadows exploded out from the burning tree line at their heels. Eddies of flame, sparks and smoke trailed in their wakes. With their attention focused on the threat of arrows from the right, the newcomers caught the lanky fighters of the Horde woefully unprepared for the ferocity of their surprise assault.
Through the low light afforded by the fires, Andr struggled to make out the details of the action transpiring before him. The speed of the shadowed attackers was painfully fast and brutally efficient. The details blurred as they moved from one target to the next.
He struggled to follow their vastly differing fighting styles although the damage was telling. The severed appendages and heads that followed the strikes of one of the warriors bore the telltale sign of a blade. The second hefted a warhammer the likes of which he'd never witnessed. Inside its arc of destruction, bodies were crushed and tossed aside with apparent ease.
Confusion and fear again erupted among the Horde. Their attention had now fully redirected to the new adversaries wreaking havoc at their heels. Of the one hundred that had survived the detonation, half were now down. The others pushed back as they stumbled over the dead attempting to mount a cohesive resistance.
A lone figure from the right darted into the fray. Precision strikes felled the Horde with lightning speed. The bladed assault incapacitated the enemies, as tendons in their legs were severed, throats slashed and organs punctured.
It was only moments before the very last member of the Horde was cut down. Its slender body was crushed under a vertical strike from the massive warhammer. Andr's hearing had returned enough to distinguish the sickening crunch of bone under brunt the devastating weapon.
As the rapid fight took place around them, Andr had worked his way in front of Ryl. He stood with his sword ready should any of the Horde redirect their attack toward them. While he was not conceited, he knew he was an excellent swordsman. It wouldn't be a stretch to place his blade in the highest echelons of skill in the entirety of the guard service. The median quality of the skill in the guards, however, was acceptable at best. After witnessing the prowess of the three warriors he realized he was drastically outclassed. In no time at all they had laid waste to a force of over one hundred.
The three converged near the center of the clearing, stepping down into the crater formed by the explosion. Outside the charred depression, the ground was thick with the bodies of the Horde. The hard, dried earth now saturated and soggy from blood. With the battle over, the movement of the three returned to a speed that Andr’s eyes were accustomed to.
He now managed to get his first real look at their saviors. Engaged in a brief conversation, each of the three wore an eerily familiar long cloak. The hood was pulled over their heads, stretching the high neck upward, hiding their faces in shadow. A single arm had been removed from each of the cloaks, highlighting the intricate tattoos on the exposed skin.
Their meeting broke after few words. The three separated as they went about their tasks. The largest of the group, carrying the warhammer, melted back into the darkness of the grove to the left. The one with the sword took to the gruesome task of dispatching any Horde that remained living. The last of the group turned toward he and Ryl, advancing with purpose, sheathing a pair of slender blades.
Andr lowered the point of his sword as the stranger approached. The incoming cloaked individual was the shortest of the three that had converged in the center of the clearing. It carried a longbow and quiver slung over the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Andr said as the figure came into earshot.
“We need to leave this place now,” came the response.
The voice that issued from beneath the shadow of the hood surprised Andr. The words were spoken with authority, though the voice was soft and kind. Its sweet, musical quality juxtaposed the lethality hidden within.
“How long has he been like this?” She asked as she stepped past Andr, kneeling at Ryl’s side.
“Almost two days now,” Andr replied as he slid his sword back into the sheath.
A long whistle came from the woods, followed by another short burst; the stranger lifted her head at the sound. The second who'd remained in the clearing abandoned his task of dispatching the wounded, hurrying to her side.
“We're out of time
,” he said. His voice was agitated.
“Can you carry him?” she asked, rising to her feet turning her head toward Andr.
He could make out little of her face in the low light of the burning clearing. The flickering glow from the flames failed to penetrate the darkness under her hood.
“Yes,” Andr replied confidently.
“Good,” she responded. “Pick him up. We make for the forest.”
Another set of whistles sounded through the night, this time from a greater distance.
“They'll be on us if we don't leave now,” the second shadowed man announced. Andr could hear the distress growing in his voice.
Andr bent down, collected the devastating sticks from Ryl’s hands and tucked them carefully into his pack before turning to Ryl. The second warrior helped hoist and position his unconscious companion on his back. The first gathered his pack before tossing it to her companion. He nodded to her as he shouldered the pack whilst moving silently across the clearing toward the north.
“Stay quiet and follow us,” she ordered as she moved to follow her departing companion. “Once we leave this glade, it's a little more or less than a mile to the forest. No matter what happens, do not stop until you're under her limbs.”
Andr was exhausted. The toll of the last several days weighed heavy on him, yet the surge of adrenaline from the battle pumped new life into his weakened body.
“My sword could be of use in a fight,” Andr pleaded his case as he followed in her wake.
“Now's not the time to argue,” she snapped, turning her head back toward him. “Your blade will be worthless against the harriers in this light and in the open. You worry about getting him safely into the woods.”
“Harrier?” Andr questioned.
He heard the frustrated sigh escaped through her lips.
“The lanky Horde that assailed you,” her tone was short. “We call those, harriers.”
Their hushed conversation was cut short by the howl that tore through the silence of the night from their rear. Their pace hastened as a second blood-curdling scream answered the first, this time to their right.
His nameless guide pulled the bow from her shoulder, nocking an arrow as they sped through the trees. Andr and Ryl reached the edge of the grove, struggling to maintain her rapid pace. Three shadows stepped out from behind the trees bordering the edge of the copse and the open expanse between them and the forest.
“Two groups, closing fast. South and east,” whispered the fourth, a man who to this point Andr had yet to see. “Gonna be close.”
No words were needed to relay the instructions as the party surged forward into the open terrain. The four cloaked warriors split off forming a diamond with Andr and Ryl in the center. The one with the bow, the only one to have addressed them directly, positioned herself at their front, leading them forward, while the newcomer took the right flank. Carrying the gigantic warhammer with ease, the massive warrior took position at their rear. The final, sword wielding warrior flanked the party to their left. As one, the party made for the forest ahead with all haste.
The burning in Andr’s legs increased with every step and his chest heaved from the exertion. Ahead he could see the black shadow of the forest stretching into the sky. The cries from the groups of pursuing Horde converged on the grove they’d just abandoned. The night erupted with a thunder of frenzied wails and screams as they stumbled upon the ruin of their companions.
“Vox, give us some light, now,” the woman in the lead hissed with a penetrating sense of urgency. She fell back to the rear of the party.
“Ramm, get them to the forest,” she ordered. The massive warrior grunted in response, moving to the side of Andr and Ryl. “Deyalou, with me.”
Vox paused for a moment, closing his eyes—concentrating—before thrusting his bared left arm into the sky. Elaborate tattoos covered his arm from where his skin met the cloth of his cloak to his wrist. The designs seemed to pulse with a glowing, orange light that flowed from his shoulder to his hand. His arm was angled toward the sky at their rear, his palm held out flat. His hand pulsed for an instant and the air in front of his palm shimmered. The light began as a dim yellow, brightening rapidly into a blinding white. He thrust his arm forward—the orb of light screamed from his hand with a high-pitched wail and a trail of smoke as it raced into the night sky.
As it reached its apex, the ball of light hovered over the edge of the grove, slowly falling down to earth like a feather floating carefree on the air. Vox staggered for a few steps before regaining his composure. For a moment, the large copse of trees was still.
Only for a moment.
The movement that followed was akin to that of ants swarming from their hills when disturbed by a stick. A mass of the Horde, their bodies illuminated by the unnaturally white light, flowed out from between the trees in an uncoordinated surge. The writhing tidal wave of hatred rushed toward them at a frantic pace.
“Run,” the archer screamed before launching her remaining arrows at a dizzying pace. Cries of pain echoed through the night, peaking over the screams of fury that rapidly approached from their rear.
Andr had turned his head for an instant to survey the scene behind them. His foot caught on a rock, sending he and Ryl sprawling to the ground. He scrambled to collect the boy only to feel his body lifted to the ground by the back of his shirt.
“Up you go,” came the deep voice of Ramm.
The mountain of a man, still holding his massive warhammer in one hand, had Andr’s body completely off the ground with the other, yet showed no sign of strain. He released the mercenary and bent his hulking frame down, effortlessly scooping Ryl up from the ground.
In unison the group broke for the trees. Andr, running at a full sprint, struggled to keep up. Even Ramm, with Ryl and the warhammer in tow, outpaced him. Every step they took, the roar from behind grew in volume; he could feel the thunder of their feet on the ground.
The trees were only a few hundred meters away when Deyalou, Vox and the archer surged ahead, holding a meager line half the distance between them and the forest. The excitement from the approaching wave of death grew as they sensed their kill nearly within reach.
The three, weapons at the ready, backpedaled in retreat as Andr, Ramm and Ryl crossed their line. The Horde would be on them in moments.
They wouldn’t reach the woods in time.
“Down,” the archer screamed as she turned, tackling Andr to the ground.
The others crouched low.
From his position on the ground, he heard the telltale whistle of arrows as they streamed over his head. His hair stood on end as a deafening peal of thunder drowned out the sound of the Horde as it tore through the sky. Blinding white lightning streaked over his head.
The approaching line of the Horde wailed in pain as they tried desperately to avoid the bolts that sliced through them like daggers. The lightning exploded as it struck the ground sending showers of burning sparks in all directions.
The line faltered and slowed; the arrows continued to stream forward picking off any that pulled ahead. Andr wasted no time regaining his feet, crouching as he followed the retreating heels of the others.
The excited howl of their pursuers turned to a frenzied chorus of anguish, frustration and pain as their prey slipped into the darkness of the forest.
Chapter 19
Their frantic sprint slowed to a run as they entered the forest. None spoke a word as they plunged deeper into its depths. It wasn’t long before they stumbled into a moonlit clearing. The four with him were merely breathing heavily while Andr gasped for air. His lungs heaved from the exertion, his legs burned, and he collapsed to his knees at Ryl’s side. Ramm towered over the pair, having deposited Ryl carefully on the ground.
Out of all gathered in the clearing, Ryl’s breathing remained slow and steady. Although the young man was suffering more than any could imagine, for the moment, he rested peacefully. Andr felt his forehead, gladdened to note that the fever had broken.
Though the darkness of the night remained thick, the forest they entered was brighter than he’d anticipated. The light from the moon and stars appeared more vivid than in the desolate red expanse they’d just fled. Initially they'd raced between the thick trunks and hanging bows, though the forest thinned after a short distance. Grass, ferns and low broad-leafed plants covered the ground beneath the trees with a soft carpet of vegetation. Andr knelt on the cushioned earth that spread throughout the clearing.
A profound feeling of serenity filled the air inside the forest. They were still in close proximity to the Outlands—where the atmosphere had been oppressive and unsettling from the start. The ever-present feeling of being watched had grated on their nerves as they traveled through the withered and dead expanse from the sea. Whether it was the forest itself that felt calm and serene or purely the absence of the suffocating weight from the Outlands, Andr was thankful for the reprieve.
He looked up to find the nameless archer standing beside Ramm, hands on her hips, watching them.
“Thank you again,” Andr said gratefully. “How did you find us?”
“You can thank him for that when he wakes,” she said softly, gesturing toward Ryl. “He led us to you. What happened before we arrived in the clearing?”
She knelt down beside Ryl, studying his still form as Andr recounted the tale.
“I don’t rightly understand what happened,” Andr admitted, running his hand through his hair, buying a moment's time to catch his breath. As the rush of adrenaline had subsided, exhaustion began to take its toll.
“He lost consciousness the day before last,” Andr explained. “We were being stalked at night. There was no rest through the screams and howls. When I could carry him no further, I made a crude cart to drag him the rest of the way.”
Deyalou, the swordsman, slid up beside Ramm, listening intently to Andr's tale of the happenings of the last several days.