by T. H. Lain
Whitman nodded.
Tasca pulled out his bow.
A loud, skull-splitting, clanging sound echoed down the chamber. Regdar yanked his enchanted sword from its sheath and spun around.
Wrapped around a wooden wheel to the right of the chamber, a heavy chain was unwinding, and quickly. The portcullis thundered down to seal the entryway. Tasca took two quick steps toward the open door. Regdar flinched, knowing the elf would never make it through the gate in time.
As if the elf heard Regdar's thoughts, Tasca skidded to a stop. The portcullis hit the ground with a crash. Tiles cracked where the gate's sharp points slammed into them, and chips of stone were thrown in every direction.
"What have you done, elf?" shouted Whitman, his hammer already braced and ready for battle.
Tasca nocked an arrow to his bowstring, his eyes scanning every brick of the hall. "I followed your bumbling ass into a trap."
"Stop it," interrupted Regdar. "The disguises didn't work. Clemf, you're with me. Tasca and Whitman, stay together."
They nodded and paired off.
"And Whitman," said Regdar.
"Yeah?" replied the dwarf.
"Bust whatever you want."
"Right."
A grinding noise, sounding like stone on stone, echoed down the chamber. The wall at the far end parted. Regdar watched in amazement as the bricks slid back and disappeared into darkness. When the grinding stopped, the sound of heavy, marching boots filled the room.
Regdar looked to the other men. Whitman slapped his hammer against his hand with obvious impatience. Tasca sighted down his drawn arrow, watching the far wall. Clemf stood with his longsword held casually at his side, his eyes intently focused, his knees bent and ready to charge.
Regdar tested his grip on his greatsword and whispered a prayer under his breath. "Grant me the strength to vanquish my foes and carry my brethren through to safety," he said, stretching his neck to one side, then the other. "Woe be to those who oppose Pelor."
The darkness stirred, and from out of the newly formed portal in the wall poured a flood of black-clad soldiers.
Tasca let his arrow fly, and the first man to step into the flickering torchlight fell dead. Whipping his hand over his shoulder, he drew another arrow and fired again, dropping a second soldier.
The rushing enemy barely paused, however, and the room continued filling with black-armored warriors, like water gushing into a sinking boat. They marched uncaringly over their fallen comrades, flowing constantly forward.
"Whatever you do," shouted Regdar, "don't let them get behind
us."
The others only had time to nod before the wall of black-armored soldiers came crashing down.
Whitman's hammer sent a clang echoing off the stone walls, disrupting the metered sound of the soldiers' marching. Tasca stood just behind the stalwart dwarf, firing arrows over his shoulder into the crowd of enemies.
Regdar and Clemf raised their swords over their shoulders and simultaneously cut into the line of men before them. The sound of metal against metal was followed by metal tearing flesh. Blood drenched the floor, and the swarm pushed forward.
Regdar ducked under a swing to his head then jammed the tip of his greatsword into his attacker's gut. The man grunted once, dropped his sword, and grabbed for his wound. looking past the injured man, Regdar estimated the size of the small army he and his men faced. They were outnumbered easily four, maybe even five, to one.
Clemf slightly improved their odds when he connected with a two-handed swing. His blade plunged between the shoulder piece and helm of the man before him. The soldier's head slipped from his separated neck with a sickening pop. The headless body stood upright for a moment more, but Clemf never paused. His follow-through collided with another man’s sword arm, slicing it off at the elbow.
The amputated body parts rolled on the floor, being trampled underfoot. Regdar saw a soldier step on the head. Its helm collapsed under the weight, and the skull made a loud cracking sound. The soldier lost his balance as the head caved in, and his other foot slipped on the gory flagstones.
Regdar's reverie was cut short by a slash to his leg. A pair of soldiers lunged at him from the side. There were so many he was having a hard time keeping track of them. One blade clanged harmlessly off his armor. The other cut into his muscle. The wound burned and made Regdar angry.
The big fighter rolled his hands over, bringing his enchanted blade to bear on the offending soldier. The weapon opened a large slice across the man’s chest, cutting through metal, leather, and flesh alike.
The man hissed at the cut but stood his ground. His sword pulled back for another strike. Regdar stepped into the opening. He jabbed his elbow into the cut on the man’s chest, scraping his jagged armor against the wound. The soldier shouted and fell to his knees, releasing his sword.
Regdar, smashed his knee into the man’s face. The kneeling man reeled backward, swayed momentarily like a hypnotized snake, then collapsed.
Another man stepped in to take his place, rushing Regdar with his shoulder down. The soldier crashed into Regdar's chest and grabbed him in a bear hug. Regdar had leaped into the air when he saw the man coming, so the force of the impact carried both men backward several feet and out of the immediate fray. Regdar's weight was too much for the man to bear, however, and the attacker had to let him drop to the floor.
Regdar landed on his feet and took two long steps back to steady himself. His opponent was still off balance, so Regdar slammed his sword down with all his might against the top of the man's helmet. The blade struck with such force that it knocked him flat on his stomach. Regdar quickly stabbed the point through the gap below the man's helmet, cutting through his spine. Though the wound didn't kill him outright, the man lay on the floor unmoving, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Regdar was now separated from Clemf, and the tattooed human was surrounded. A black-clad soldier stepped behind him and jabbed a dagger at Clemf's unprotected flank. The dagger sank into Clemf's soft, fleshy backside, making him jump straight into the air.
Regdar charged back into the melee, zeroing in on the soldier stabbing at Clemf's rear. He took two steps before the sound of a bowstring filled his ears. He cringed, bracing himself for the impact.
The arrow wasn't aimed at Regdar. Green fletching sprouted in the ear of the man ahead. His knees went weak, and he spun around just in time to see Regdar before the greatsword knocked him to the floor with a blow to the chest. To his right, Tasca winked as he nocked another arrow and loosed it into the dwindling crowd.
Glad he's on my side, thought Regdar. He took a second to check on Whitman. The dwarf was flinging his hammer around in a figure eight pattern, bashing away blades and moving the soldiers back with his unorthodox style. Regdar had encountered men who had fought that way before. They had come from the far east, but they fought with small, finely crafted blades and trained for years in the ancient arts of swordplay. Somehow, seeing the dwarf use his hammer in the same fashion seemed comical—and effective.
Clemf stepped next to Regdar, rubbing his behind.
Another rumble echoed through the great hall—the sound of more marching soldiers.
The remaining fighters before Regdar and his men suddenly disengaged, falling back and forming a defensive line.
Tasca continued firing arrows into their midst, but now many of them were bashed away by blades or shields.
As they waited, the darkness at the far end of the room stretched and grew, widening along the edges, rolling out into the open and snuffing what light dared enter. Bits of that growing shadow broke off and separated into individual, man-sized chunks.
Regdar shook his head. It wasn't a shadow at all. It was an even bigger unit of black-clad soldiers.
"This doesn't look good," said Regdar.
"Not good at all," agreed Whitman.
The soldiers filled the room, forming ranks behind the defensive line. They stood for a moment, completely still. Only the so
und of Tasca's arrows clanking off splint mail or sinking into flesh broke the silence.
As a group, the soldiers raised their swords.
Regdar stepped up beside Clemf. Tasca and Whitman did the same, forming a short line of their own.
The big fighter took a deep breath. He'd faced a lot of men in battle. Some were scared, some cool and confident. Then there were those who didn't care whether they lived to fight another day. It was those sorts who were the most dangerous.
Regdar looked at the eyes of the men standing before him—cultists of the god Hextor. They glared back, hard and cold. These men had no fear of death. They would come and come and come until they either won or all were dead. Regdar was sure of that.
They came.
Metal clanged on metal. Feet shuffled, and in the first few seconds, as soldiers clashed, men died.
Regdar and Clemf killed the first two, each with one swing.
Whitman slew two more on his own, and Tasca dropped one to his knees with an arrow to the gut. But for every one they removed from the line, another took his place. Rank upon rank moved forward. They filled the whole room, pushing away the light as a storm cloud blots out the sun. Regdar and his men were surrounded, fighting back to back.
Tasca dropped his bow and whipped out his rapier. He stood back to back with Whitman, slapping away blades with a zigzagging pattern. Whitman twirled his hammer, doing the same from the front.
Clemf spun around to protect Regdar's flank. Regdar smiled to himself at the thought of Clemf being stabbed twice in the ass in the same combat. There was no time for amusement, though. Swords flashed so quickly Redgar could barely track them. The attackers were so numerous that they interfered with each other. He and his companions, on the other hand, could attack almost anything that moved. Ferocity was their best protection, and they used it to its fullest advantage. They slashed and stabbed in all directions, heedless of the risks, trusting in raw aggression and each other to protect their backs.
As he bashed a blade into the air, stars burst across Regdar's field of vision, and he fell to one knee. A soldier stood over him with a mace raised for another shot at his head.
The mace swept down just as Regdar twisted his head away. It connected with the side of the helmet. The impact and the ringing clatter rattled the fighter. Pain shot through his skull, as if his brain were swelling and pressing on the back of his eyeballs, forcing them out of his head.
Focusing his eyes as best he could, Regdar tried to get back on his feet. The soldier hovering over him wound up for another blow. Regdar pulled back and tried to dodge. Silver flashed in front of his face, and the mace, still gripped by the man's gauntleted hand, dropped to the ground.
Behind the stunned, maimed cultist stood Clemf. Another quick stab with his sword killed the soldier whose fist he'd just amputated. Clemf then grabbed Regdar by the scruff of his neck and lifted him to his feet.
Desperate for anything that could buy them time, Regdar shouted at the top of his lungs, "Surrender! Surrender!"
The fighting ceased almost immediately. All of the attackers took a step back, but they didn't reform ranks. They just stood silently, surrounding Regdar and his men.
Regdar stood up tall, breathing hard, and adjusted his armor.
Whitman had a cut along his forehead. Clemf had dozens of small wounds across his arms and chest. None of them appeared serious, but he was covered in blood. Tasca, on the other hand, was completely untouched. It's good to be quick, Regdar thought.
Over the noise of shuffling soldiers and creaking armor came the sound of a set of heavy boots. The soldiers parted, creating a pathway from the far wall all the way to Regdar and his men. A single figure approached out of the darkness.
Tall, thick, and heavily armored, whoever it was obviously wore full plate mail. Black spikes jutted from the figure's shoulders, knees, and forearms. The mysterious person stepped out of the shadows into the light.
"We meet again," said a deep, gravelly voice.
Regdar narrowed his eyes. There before him, whole and unscathed, stood the blackguard whom he had battled in the City of Fire—the last person he'd seen standing beside NaulL
The big fighter snapped. Roaring his pain and fury, he charged at the blackguard, arms pumping, legs straining with every ounce of strength he had.
The soldiers moved to intercept him. Regdar cut them down. His blade carved a path through the wall of bodies before him. He was two steps beyond the slain before their bodies hit the floor.
Black-clad warriors converged on the enraged fighter, packing themselves against him so tightly that he couldn't move. His forward momentum came to a lurching stop, and Regdar could only push against the surging mass. The soldiers held their ground.
"It's nice to see you again, too," said the blackguard. She laughed. "It's almost flattering. He shows so much rage, yet he doesn't even know my name."
"No," replied Regdar, "but I know how long you have left to live."
The blackguard lifted her hands in the air to indicate the darkened chamber where they stood. "We're in the grand entrance hall." She smiled. "This is the perfect place for introductions." She bowed. "I am Lindroos, Blackguard of Hextor."
Regdar leaned back, then lunged forward. The press of bodies was so tight he couldn't swing his sword, but he could jab with it like a spear. He used the weapon to fell several more soldiers between himself and Lindroos before she halted him with her voice.
"Regdar," she said, "stop killing for a moment and hear me."
Regdar stepped back, glaring at the woman. "How do you know my name?"
The blackguard smiled. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." She spun sideways and lifted her arm in the air, revealing the dark passageway behind her.
Naull stepped quietly out of the gloom.
Regdar's knees went momentarily weak, but then his blood boiled. "Let her go," he bellowed.
Naull walked slowly across the tiles, stopping beside the blackguard. She placed her slender hand on Lindroos's shoulder, then wrapped her arms around the woman completely.
Lindroos put her hand on the back of Naull's head, leaned down, and pressed her hps to the wizard's in a passionate kiss. When they finished, the blackguard ran her finger across Naull's cheek. Both women smiled.
"To answer your question, Regdar—" Lindroos squeezed Naull closer to her with one arm—"I know your name because we have a mutual friend."
The two women smiled at each other, then turned and walked together back down the darkened corridor.
An arrow clanged from the pauldron of the blackguard's armor as she and Naull disappeared into the shadows, then they were gone.
Regdar's heart was gripped by a terrible, icy hand. His skin tingled, and a shiver ran up his spine. He rotated his wrists, feeling the finely wrapped hilt of his enchanted blade.
It felt good.
Dropping his shoulder, Regdar crashed headlong into the line of black-clad warriors. Three of them flew backward, tumbling others to the floor with them. Blades glanced off Regdar's armor, but he ignored them. Only moving forward mattered.
Tasca's arrows sailed overhead, striking sparks from metal armor and spurts of blood from exposed flesh. Regdar grabbed the shaft of an arrow that was stuck in a man's throat and yanked. The barbed arrowhead came out with a huge chunk of flesh attached. The man's eye's rolled back in his head, and he tried to staunch the rush of blood with his hands as he slid to the ground.
A cacophony rose through the room, rebounding from the black stones and doubling over on itself, gaining volume as it did. Metal clanged on metal. Boots trooped across stone, and the involuntary groans of men fighting and dying filled the air.
Clemf fought with both hands, cutting down soldiers with his blade and punching with his fist. Surrounded, he cut and slashed with the blinding speed of a hungry jungle cat, astoundingly fast for such a big man.
Whitman had tumbled backward, knocking the men flanking him to the ground. With a shout to activate his mag
ical boots of speed, the stout dwarf got to his feet and finished the job, denting helms and pounding skulls into pulp. He'd been wounded severely across the face and chest. His breathing was labored and his fighting seemed to slow. Still, he fought on with ferocious might.
Tasca finally had to relinquish his bow when the soldiers pressed in too close. He switched to his rapier, dancing and weaving with what little space he had. Though he was quick, the limited room hindered him, and now he too was bleeding from many small cuts.
Bodies littered the floor. Regdar found himself balancing atop a dead man. Though the soldier's body provided little stability, the extra few inches of height were an advantage. Bashing aside one blade after another, Regdar leaped from the dead man and brought his sword down in a heavy chop. Two swords hit the floor in a tangle, their wielders' hands still gripping the hilts.
The soldiers stepped back, gripping the bleeding stumps where their wrists used to be. Regdar kicked out to his right and lunged forward with his greatsword to the left, like a dancer performing for the duke. Both men fell to the floor, where Regdar quickly finished them off.
At that moment, the room fell silent.
Breathing hard, Regdar looked up toward the far wall of the chamber. Not a single black-clad soldier remained in his way. He glanced back at the closed portcullis. Clemf was pulling his longsword from the body of a fallen soldier, Whitman was down on one knee, having a hard time breathing, and Tasca was seated on top of a bleeding but still-living soldier.
"Where have they gone?" quizzed the elf. He held the tip of a dagger at the soldier's throat.
The man shook his head.
"I said," repeated the elf, pushing his blade deeper into the warrior's skin, "where have they gone?"
The man reached up, obviously in pain, and grabbed Tasca's wrist. The elf realized the man's intent too late. Before he could wrest the dagger away, the soldier plunged it into his own neck up to its hilt. Blood frothed out of the wound and the man's mouth, then the soldier's head slumped to the side.
Whitman had watched the suicide with calm exhaustion. "It's all your fault, elf," he said, almost coughing on the words. "If you'd been a better shot, she wouldn't have gotten away."