by D. P. Prior
Albert had seen enough. There was nothing he could do, and he couldn’t say he even cared. This wasn’t his fight, and his debt to Shadrak was more than repaid. As he slunk towards the edge of the tabletop mountain, he saw the man in the long coat charge to the aid of the hybrids with a handful of white knights in tow.
Good luck, my dears, Albert thought, as he started to climb down.
He could see the black demons spiralling away to the east, regrouping and preparing for another pass. At least they weren’t in his way.
He found some good handholds and clambered down to a broad ledge that tapered at one end and wound around the top of the Homestead. He took a step towards the edge—and hit his head. He fell on his backside, more stunned than hurt. There was nothing there! How could he have—?
And then he realized. It had to be the plane ship.
***
Rhiannon stepped away from Huntsman as lightning danced around his skin. The Dreamer’s hair stood on end like a crown of thorns as he discharged another bolt of sizzling energy into the sky. More black shapes fell smoking to the ground. The rest of the winged women rose higher and then swooped beyond the edges of the Homestead.
She strained to see Shader or Barek through the confusion of the battle. Swords rose and fell, blood spurted, and screams tore through the air. She saw the odd flash of white, the shimmer of steel, but could no longer tell if Shader was alive or dead. She saw no sign of Barek either, nor even Justin Salace.
General Starn’s infantry had forced an opening, and the rest of the combined forces spilled through the portal. General Binizo relayed orders through trumpets and drums, the Templum troops seeking order amidst the chaos. Hagalle rode a black destrier among his own soldiers, sword raised, yelling commands. Imperial archers formed disciplined lines and covered the skies, but so far the winged women stayed beyond their range.
Sammy held the portal open by himself, green light flaring from his fingertips. The last few soldiers stepped through and Sammy sagged, dropping his arms. The portal contracted, but just before it vanished a scruffy hunchback lumbered through flicking holy water from an aspergillum over the troops. He carried a bucket in his other hand, presumably containing water for his sprinkler.
Rhiannon caught Sammy before he fell, cradled him in her lap. The boy was ashen, a cold sweat beading his skin.
‘You did it Sammy. You held the portal by yourself.’ Pride swelled in the pit of her stomach. She gazed with raw affection at his begrimed face, stroking his matted hair, and losing all sense of the battle that surrounded them.
‘Ranny,’ he said. It was the first real acknowledgement he’d given her, the first indication that maybe he wasn’t lost to her entirely. Rhiannon’s eyes misted over.
‘Yes, Sammy.’ My sweet, sweet Sammy. ‘It’s me.’
‘Mum and Dad!’ Sammy’s eyes widened as if he’d awakened from a dream only to realize the nightmare was in the waking world. For an instant he was utterly lucid, totally present, but as quickly as it had come the clarity sank back beneath the mire of forgetfulness.
Rhiannon clutched him tight, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking into his hair. The roars of soldiers, the moans of the undead, retreated from her awareness like a haunting memory. Rhiannon rocked Sammy and cried. In that moment nothing else mattered.
Sammy started and sat bolt upright. ‘Eingana!’ he cried, looking out over the masses on the battlefield.
Rhiannon followed his gaze. On a ridge above a rocky outcrop on the far side of the Homestead, a trio of figures stood watching. It was impossible to make out features at this distance, but the one in the middle raised its arms to the sky and columns of amber flame spewed upwards. They met hundreds of feet above the battle and, where they touched, the sky began to part. Grey-blue light spilled through the rent, widening into a broad rupture through which thousands more dark shapes poured. At the same moment, another vast cloud of winged demons rose above the eastern ridge of the Homestead and soared towards the centre of the conflict.
‘Dreaming!’ Huntsman cried. ‘He brings more aid from Dreaming.’
Sammy stood and glared up at the cobalt heavens. ‘Look,’ he pointed.
Giant silver eggs were raining down in between the swarming demons. Rhiannon counted six of them plummeting towards the joined armies of the Templum and Sahul.
‘Sammy,’ Huntsman said. ‘Can you—?’
‘Yes,’ Sammy answered, raising his hands to the heavens.
Streaks of green light shot from his fingers and struck the aperture. Its edges shimmered and then the opening began to collapse in on itself. Sammy was shaking and dripping with sweat. His eyes rolled back into his head, and froth spilled from his mouth. As the tear began to knit, the silver eggs halted in their descent, altered course, and sped towards Sammy.
‘Huntsman!’ Rhiannon screamed, putting herself between Sammy and the eggs.
They thudded to the ground in quick succession, each bigger than a man. The Dreamer turned to face them, lightning rippling from the tips of his fingers. One by one, the eggs peeled open like metal flowers and enormous silver men pounded forth, creatures of living armour a head above the tallest men on the battlefield. Each had a single roving red eye with which they scanned the combatants until they picked out Sammy. In unison, they raised gleaming metal arms that terminated in wide barrels.
Rhiannon glimpsed the white robes of Ipsissimus Theodore amongst a unit of Elect foot soldiers. The Ipsissimus had seen the threat to Sammy and gesticulated wildly. A dozen men raced towards the metal beings, one of which broke away to face them. Smoke poured from its tubular arms and the ground exploded, flinging soldiers into the air.
The other five ran straight at Sammy, heavy feet sending up shards of rock where they struck. Huntsman unleashed a barrage of lightning, great forks that leapt from one to the other and sent them shuddering and crashing down. The remaining metal man spun round and fired— straight at Sammy. Huntsman screamed something and leapt in front, his body instantly swelling and changing into a gigantic spider. Rhiannon pulled Sammy down and covered his ears against the concussive blast.
Blood and flesh rained down upon them amidst a shower of fine ash.
‘Huntsman!’ Sammy cried.
Rhiannon dragged him to his feet and pulled him along as the metal man swung its arms towards them, its terrible red eye running back and forth across its face. A storm of arrows clattered from its armour, forcing it to turn to face the new threat. Fire erupted through the ranks of Templum archers, and the metal man took a lumbering step towards the white-robed form of the Ipsissimus.
***
Shader and the surviving knights of the White Order slammed into the left flank of the Lost, shattering skeletal steeds and hacking down their riders.
Their horses crunched across a carpet of bones, all still rolling and clattering together as if some invisible model maker were reassembling his toys. A huge black man with a snake’s head—it was the being who’d rescued Sammy from the Lacunae—powered into the undead, pulverising them with hammer blows from his fists. A smaller creature with the head of a toad leapt from horse to horse snaring knights with its tongue or breaking their necks. Another lay prone on the ground, trampled beneath the hooves of undead steeds.
No sooner had they cut the death-knights down, though, than they began to re-form. The handful of white knights was quickly surrounded and they backed their horses into a circle defending for all they were worth. The snake-headed man took a sword through the shoulder and blood gushed from the wound to mingle with the scores of other cuts he had sustained.
Shader parried a rusty blade and drove his longsword through the visor of a helm to exit at the back amidst a shower of skull fragments. Barek was flailing around blindly, his blows lacking strength, his sword arm clearly numb. Justin’s horse reared and crashed its hooves into the head of a skeletal steed. Solomon was hard pressed by a couple of death-knights, parrying for dear life and being battered into submission. Elgin dis
patched his own attacker and swung to help Solomon, but fell from his horse with a sword in his side. Shader blocked another slash and took the rider’s arm off at the elbow. On the ground below, limbs were still re forming and grabbing at the legs of their horses. Solomon screamed and slumped in the saddle, blood gushing from a neck wound. Justin turned a blow meant for Barek’s head and then groaned as a sword thrust into this back and exited through his chest.
Shader dropped from the saddle and drew his gladius, drawing energy from the Archon’s blade. He struck a re-forming knight with the longsword and impaled another with the gladius.
The clamour of hundreds of hooves beating against the rock momentarily arrested the combatants. The death-knights looked about and then howled in rage—or perhaps it was shame—as a tidal wave of Templum Elect crashed into them.
Shader threw himself from the path of the charge, rolled and came up as the last of the Elect thundered past sweeping the dead before them. More fallen death-knights rose from the ground behind Barek’s horse even as the lad sighed with relief at their salvation. Before Shader could react, a hunched shape was among them sprinkling water from an aspergillum.
‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…’ Dave chanted one of the oldest passages from the Liber, and where his water fell, the dead became dust.
The snake-man bashed his way to Shader’s side as the death-knights crumbled all around them.
‘Thank you—’ he said, but then saw something at the edge of the main battle. ‘That man in white…’
‘The Ipsissimus,’ Shader said.
‘He holdsss the last piece of Eingana and one of Sssektisss Gandaw’sss metal men advancesss on him.’
Shader grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle. Barek turned his mount to follow him.
‘No, Barek, you’ve done enough. Stay with the Elect.’
Shader sped back towards the main melee, knowing he’d never make it in time. The silver man stalked towards the frail figure of the Ipsissimus, blasting aside seasoned troops by the dozen. Shader rode like the wind, his heart sinking with the realization all was lost. Something bounced over him and, with a speed that should have been impossible, leapt from head to head of the combatants, gaining ground on the metal man.
***
Ipsissimus Theodore watched in horror as the silver colossus pounded towards him, bashing aside his surviving archers as if they were annoying insects. The Ipsissimal Guard swarmed around it, shoving with their shields and striking useless blows with swords that may as well have been twigs. It pivoted, discharging two more missiles into their ranks. Smoke and flame gushed into the sky along with bits of bodies and the cries of the injured. Ignatius Grymm stepped in front of Theodore, shield held high, sword extended.
‘Flee, Divinity!’ he cried.
It was the first time Theodore had seen him panicked. Nevertheless, Ignatius stood rooted to the spot. Theodore looked all around—there was nowhere to flee to. There was fierce fighting everywhere, legions of walking dead wearing down the combined might of Aeterna and Sahul. Oh, Ignatius, my old friend. My stalwart protector.
The metal man swung its arms towards the Grand Master, but before it could fire, Ignatius sprang forward and rammed his shield into it. There was a concussive roar that shot Ignatius back over twenty yards until he struck boulders in a spray of blood. The metal man tottered away, desperately trying to right itself. Theodore wanted to pray, but couldn’t take his eyes from the monster. He fingered the Monas on its chain and stared wide-eyed as the metal man steadied itself and came straight at him.
A squat shape bounded above the heads of the surviving Ipsissimal Guards who were regrouping and running towards Theodore. They would be too late, and even if they reached him in time, what could they do?
Long-barrelled arms took aim at his chest and Theodore experienced an almost disinterested calm. He even found himself wondering whether the blast would destroy the Monas. At least that would constitute some kind of victory. He became aware of a low whirring sound rising in cadence and snapped back to the moment, paralysed by the realization of imminent death.
But then the squat shape bounded one last time and struck the metal man on the head with its feet before springing away. It was enough to topple the monster, which fell to its back discharging both barrels into the sky. The squat creature landed before Theodore, bulbous eyes rolling atop a toad-like head, its tongue flicking and retracting.
A dozen Ipsissimal Guards reached the metal man and began to pound it with their swords and shields. It thrashed about and then emitted a pulsing beep that began to accelerate.
Toad-head grabbed Theodore and leapt, carrying him over thirty feet and then covering him with its own body. A colossal explosion threw the Ipsissimal Guard hundreds of feet into the air amidst a billowing black cloud shaped like a mushroom.
‘Ain!’ Theodore gasped as he struggled to his feet.
As the cloud started to disperse, he saw a lone shape winging its way towards him from the far side of the Homestead, and a shadow drifted through the combat with eyes like burning coals.
Toad-head lifted Theodore again and jumped further from the fray, but still the shadow came on as relentless as time. Its eyes flared and it drew a great black sword that was wreathed with dark flames. A woman and a boy ran from the cover of some rocks. The boy stumbled and fell, but the woman raced on towards Theodore, a white robe flapping in the breeze. The woman who’d been with Huntsman…
The Toad-head turned to face the approaching shadow, but suddenly arched his back and screeched as a barb punched through his chest.
Theodore fell back, gasping as the winged creature he’d seen in the sky whipped its tail back out and Toad crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood.
***
‘Hold tight!’ Starn yelled, his voice muffled within the testudo.
The Heavy Foot bunched closer together, those in the middle of the square holding shields overhead to ward off the dive-bombing demons, and those on the edges guarding against the pounding undead. They shuffled blindly in what Starn hoped was the direction of the ridge where they’d seen the skeletal figure with the amber flames. The battle might be lost, but if they could get a crack at him—
The shield roof buckled as dozens of the demon-women hit. Starn thrust through a gap with his sword, but found only air. Someone screamed to his right and the shield wall parted. It was only a momentary breach as a soldier skewered the invading corpse and plugged the gap.
They walked over a carpet of the dead, many of them in Nousian white. With the uneven ground and the relentless pounding, Starn knew it was only a matter of time before the testudo collapsed, and that would be the end of them.
Where were the reinforcements? Surely the Emperor was still alive? The hoplites had stood back from the melee, held in reserve. And where were the Templum’s vaunted pike?
The testudo rocked again and Starn tripped on a corpse. He looked down to find secure footing and saw the body he’d struck wore a red jacket and white breeches. General Binizo. Poor old peacock.
‘Steady!’ Starn shouted. He knew the men were already doing everything they could, everything he’d trained them for, but it wasn’t going to be enough. It struck him as rather an apposite epitaph for his military career.
Demons struck the shield ceiling with a succession of thuds and a number of men dropped beneath the weight. More screams came from the perimeter and then a cheer went up. The demon-women were screeching and flapping furiously, and blood was showering down through the gaps in the shields. Starn made another thrust with his sword and then shifted his shield to peer out.
Massive pole arms were ripping into the demons from beyond the edges of the testudo whilst squads of hoplites surrounded the undead on three sides, thrusting with murderous precision. Hagalle circled the fray on his destrier, sword waving in the air as he barked commands in a voice hoarse from shouting. The dead fell away from all but one side, but even there they wer
e turning to assault the pike men.
‘Testudo!’ Starn bellowed, confident his unit would obey with absolute precision. ‘Phalanx to the left.’
Shields were brought down, admitting the glare of the sun. With practised discipline the soldiers pivoted until they faced the left in a square eight ranks deep.
‘Heave!’ Starn shouted, and the phalanx slammed into the backs of the dead, driving them onto the blades of the guisarmes.
***
Shader saw the shadow advancing on the Ipsissimus and bent low over the mare’s neck as the wind flared his coat out behind him. One hand held the reins, the other gripped the hilt of the gladius, the only chance he’d have against Callixus. Soldiers threw themselves from his path and undead were trampled underfoot as he closed the gap. Something swooped from the sky towards the Ipsissimus, and for a moment Shader took his eye off the wraith. The horse whinnied and reared and Shader flew from its back, pitching heavily to the ground. Callixus must have turned and spooked the horse. He loomed over Shader with his black blade raised and red eyes glaring as the mare galloped away.
Shader shook his head and tried to clear it. Panic ensued when he realized he’d dropped the gladius. He tried to rise but his legs were jelly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the glint of the shortsword, scrabbled about for its hilt, but when his fingers closed around it, Callixus had turned from him and was rushing towards the Ipsissimus.
A surge of energy from the sword drove away the fug from his mind. He rolled to his feet, new vitality coursing through his veins. The sword was purring as if it knew what was at stake.
Shader broke into a run, but something barged into his side. He lashed out with the gladius, striking rotting flesh. More cadavers lurched at him and soon he was fighting for his life. Drawing his longsword, he fought with both weapons, weaving and cutting, thrusting and hacking, forcing a path. When he broke through, he was still fifty yards away. A grey creature with the wings of a bat and a tail like a scorpion’s had cornered the Ipsissimus. And—Ain!—Rhiannon was tearing towards them like a crazy martyr willing to give her life for the Templum. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not with so much left unspoken.