Circuit World

by Daniel Pierce

  It was at the foot of the high hill that I realized with a sudden sense of horror what we were all seeing. It was no less than a man’s head nailed to the truck by a long, thick nail hammered in through the mouth left open by a slack jaw.

  “Elder Horgrim,” I heard Binari gasp at my side.

  I thought I recognized the man’s face—what I could see through the blood and lacerations. He had been a member of the Presence. I could not recall if he was one of those who protested me or not, but it all seemed so trivial then. We were all under threat from the Gray Favor. This image made that message ring out all too clearly.

  A glinting shone down from the man’s face. I first mistook it for the reflection of the sun in his lifeless eyes, but I discovered that it was instead two silver coins held in place under his eyelids.

  Binari, regarding the coins, said, “I have heard that is the calling card of Dukayne—to put coins in the eyes of his victim’s. It seems we are close.” She looked to me then, awaiting my response.

  “Oh, I know for sure that we’re close,” I told her, not taking my eyes from the gruesome visage taunting us from above. “Get ready. The fight’s going to happen here.”

  15

  I hurried back over to the rest of my men, most of them still waiting just within the forest’s perimeter.

  “Get ready!” I warned them. “The enemy is nearby, and we cannot let them through to the city!”

  “What will you have us do, sir?” asked one of the knights.

  “I want those of you who are in the trees to stay up there and shoot the enemy as they come within range. Faun, you join them. I want to see that bow finally put to use.”

  Faun nodded and promptly climbed up the nearest tree with the ease of a lemur.

  “The rest of you, come out here and form a barrier to the woods. Allow some of them through at your discretion, but only if you are sure they will not make it past the archers. Now, is everyone ready?”

  Cheers rang out from all over. The troops were shouting, pumping their fists high in the air.

  “Binari”—I turned to address her—“you take your mages and get behind the barrier that the knights and I form.”

  “Sir!” she responded with an exaggerated salute.

  “Safira, you join them.”

  “Yes, my dear,” the proud woman said, strolling over to join the ranks of the other magic users.

  Henrik and Horan came to my side, and the three of us stood at the head of the thickening line of knights and rogues. Every man and woman had a weapon their hands. We were about to see a great deal of blood—of that, I was sure.

  We had not prepared a moment too late. As soon as everyone was in position—as if the game were waiting for it to happen—a line of mounted soldiers appeared on the high hill.

  Even from where I stood, I immediately recognized the leader of the growing mass. Though I had never before laid eyes on him, I knew without a doubt that the handsome, self-assured man sitting at the center of the horde was the dark prince Dukayne.

  Like the coins in Elder Horgrim’s eyes, the silver of the prince’s armor flashed down at me in the brilliant light of the sun. The gold of his hair, further accentuated by the magnificent glow of the rays, wrapped around his neck in a long braid, coming to rest off to the side of his chest in front of his left arm. It gave him an oddly unisex look that I doubted would have been unappealing to men and women alike.

  “Great. A dickhead and a prettyboy. He’d probably do crossfit in my world,” I said to myself as I began to limber up for the fight.

  I watched as scores more heads appeared from over the hill. There were so many of them that I was beginning to doubt our team’s ability. All of these men were well-armored, color-coded in mostly darker attire than the members of my side. It at least would not be difficult to determine who was who when all hell broke loose.

  Minutes passed by. Long, silent minutes. I could feel the fear spread throughout my men. The humming and chanting had faded long ago and seemed to be no more than a distant memory. The boost of courage I felt earlier had left with the songs which inspired it.

  Seeing that the enemy was determined to delay its advance until its leader got whatever he needed to off his chest, I pushed the growing sense of dread to the back of my mind and strode forward, walking tall and proud.

  “You must be Dukayne!” I shouted up to the top of the hill.

  “That I am, boy,” said the handsome man who didn’t appear to be any older than me. “And am I to assume that you are Rixon—or rather, the one who goes by Si1ence?”

  “That I am.”

  He chortled. “How clever of a name. Did you think of it when you were but five years of age?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did, much like your hairstyle. What’s it to you?”

  “Oh, it is nothing. Nothing at all aside from a minor point of amusement. So, tell me, Si1ence, why are you here? Why have you come to the aid of these hopeless people?”

  “It just seemed like the right thing to do,” I retorted, knowing full well that for the most part I was just traveling in the direction the game had been leading me the whole time. If I had been presented with other options up to that point, I may very well have taken them just to fulfill my gamer’s sense of adventure.

  “Would you rather not pick the winning side?” he asked. “You could always join me, you know.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m already in pretty deep with these guys. It’d feel kind of shitty to turn my back on them now. Plus, it seems like a sausage fest up there with you.” I scanned the mass of troops lining either side of him, seeing only the roughest of masculine faces.

  “Suit yourself, boy. You will be in the middle of a blood bath soon enough.”

  “Oh, I’m a hundred percent sure of that,” I agreed. “But whose blood will it be?”

  He laughed, raising an arm to his troops, and said to me before turning away, “We shall see soon enough.”

  Before his arm had even dropped all the way, they were descending upon me. I made a full turn and hauled ass at top speed back over to the protective embrace of my small army. I had always considered myself brave, but I wasn’t stupid. There were times when a man needed to run for cover, and getting chased down by an army a thousand strong was one of those times.

  I had just cleared the allied line when hordes of arrows flew out overhead. I turned in time to see over half of them strike gold, embedding themselves deep into several handfuls of my pursuers. Dukayne, I noticed, had not set out with the rest of them. He was still mounted atop the hill, out of range of the arrows, watching the fight take place. Videogame bosses, much like the head honchos in action flicks, rarely got in the middle of the action so as not to risk getting offed before their forces had dwindled.

  My team’s front line erupted into action, charging forth with weapons drawn. I watched open-mouthed as several allied spears were thrust into the stomachs of half a dozen enemies. Their armor was not as protective as I had at first assumed. There were places, apparently less-protected places, where the plate of the armor ended to reveal a fabric of chainmail underneath. It was in these places that my men’s spears and swords sought refuge, cutting beyond the presumed gaps in the enemy armor and sinking deep into flesh and tissue.

  Those without sharp implements took their maces and cleaved for enemy heads and the upper half of their torsos. Many times, I watched this happen, vicariously feeling the blunt impact of each swing, wincing each time I saw a mace make contact.

  They fell to the ground one by one. Still, Dukayne sat on high, watching the fight unfold. I suddenly became embarrassingly aware of my own lack of contribution and sprang into action, eager to help thin the enemy numbers. When in doubt, use your blade. If that doesn’t work, use two.

  I chose to use two.

  Immediately, I was approached by two dark knights, one wielding a mace and the other carrying an axe. The mace-wielder brought his heavy weapon down, and I sidestepped to avoid the blow. H
e lurched forward uselessly, coming between the other man and me, and his mace sank an inch or so into the grass.

  I lurched forward myself, but in a more intentional, controlled fashion. My knee went into his shoulder and caused him to stumble away. He rolled over at the feet of his partner and had no time to get up before I plunged my decorative blade into his exposed throat—a killing stroke that yielded a stunning spray of arterial blood.

  I had to leave that weapon in place, and the axe-wielder took a mighty swing at me. The sharpened edge of his weapon cleaved high enough for me to duck under it, and I felt the air parting in its wake brush against my face. From my position lower to the ground, I kicked myself upward, rebounding in opposition to my descent, and brought my primary blade up and into the space between his plate armor and his chainmail, as I had seen my allies do to his comrades many times already. The blade slid home in the vulnerable crease, grating againt ribs and sternum in a chattering squeal as I twisted the point to open him up. I was learning.

  He dropped his weapon in surprise and fell to his knees on top of his fallen brother. He gasped as blood trickled out from the sides of his mouth. His eyes were watching the sky as if seeing something waiting for him there, or perhaps only out of a desire to see something beautiful for one last time before leaving the world of the living.

  He fell forward, planting his face in the ground, as I withdrew my blade and then went to reclaim its sibling from the first man who I had sank my teeth into. That was two down. I was working under the assumption that we were outnumbered two to one. That being the case, I had already killed my fair share of enemies, but I was not about to let that notion slow me down. The fun was only just beginning, and I found my taste for killing was growing sharper with each fatal thrust.

  An endless barrage of arrows hailed down on the enemy, and I was struck that there didn’t appear to be any ranged warriors among the enemy’s ranks. There were not even any wizards present as there had been in the desert. Interesting, I thought. It was a relief, as enemy wizards would no doubt have added many more variables to the battle, providing the opponent with surprise attacks that we likely wouldn’t expect or know how to prepare for.

  I looked to our modest group of mages and saw that they were slaying the enemy horde with merciless efficiency. Binari was braced with her legs wide in a fearsome battle pose, her staff held out in one hand and her massive tome open in the other. She looked as if she was ready to bite a man’s face off if he came too close. In the meantime, she settled for lashing out into the attacking crowd with whips of fire extending from her bejeweled pole. Her victims screamed in agony as they were licked by the vicious flames.

  Several of them tried to cut or block the attacks, but there was nothing they could do to defend against something so immaterial. Again and again, Binari flogged the helpless attackers, her lines of flame appearing almost sentient in their seemingly conscious ability to snake around allies, navigating their course through the onslaught to find their master’s objects of derision. The metal of a plate or chainmail offered no resistance to the tongue of a flame, as many of these enemy men were soon to discover while roasting alive in the ovens that were their armor. On one occasion, I saw a fiery cord wind its way into a screaming man’s mouth, charring the flesh it touched. I made a note to myself then to never get on Binari’s bad side.

  Safira was no less formidable, but her attacks were of a different nature. I saw her raise and lower her hands in response to enemy actions far off from her. Many yards away, in the direction she was looking, our allied soldiers were fighting a growing number of enemies. They may have been outmatched were it not for the aid of the numerous magical forcefields that appeared just long enough to intercept enemy blows. One dark knight charged forward and made to stab a ranger in the chest, only to be stopped short by such a barrier. He thrust the tip of his sword into it as if he were stabbing a transparent circular wall. The field would have been entirely invisible if not for its shimmering electric edge and the fading gradient that trailed off the closer it went to the center. The wall disappeared a moment later, leaving a wide-open space for the rogue to swoop in and deliver a fatal blow to his surprised adversary’s neck, exposing bone and gristle in a gruesome channel that spurted silky fluids.

  The more I watched, the more of this I saw. Safira was not using her magic to outright attack our enemy, but instead to defend our own men, providing them with the support they needed to follow through and bring each enemy soldier to his knees. Their synergy was harmonious, and I was tempted to see that seemingly effortless cooperation as magic in itself.

  A howl of rage erupted just outside of my periphery, and my eyes flickered to assess to threat.

  There was another guy charging my way, longsword held high. He didn’t stop when he came close enough to strike. Instead, he rammed into me in a full-on collision, knocking me prone. It was then that he brought his weapon down. In reaction, I left my decorative sword in the grass where it lay and used both of my hands to brace my scimitar, still dripping from the previous victim’s throat, in a perpendicular line to his attack.

  His strike was almost too much, proving that mass can be a problem in battle no matter how skilled you are. He pressed the entire weight of his body into me, not giving any slack even after I met his blade with mine. His talon stopped only inches short of my face. I used every ounce of leverage I had to lift both legs high and kick him away. He staggered back, and I jumped to my feet, grabbing my decorated blade in the process.

  We stared each other down for flash. Clearly, he had intended for that attack to do me in. I was interested to see how well he could hold up in a fight where he no longer had the advantage of surprise.

  Not wanting to give my opponent any more time to think, I charged in to take him on. I swung, and he blocked my attack much as I had defended against his. Only this time I had a secondary weapon to follow up with. I brought my decorative blade up and sliced a deep gash in his exposed neck. He yelped and staggered backward even further, now more concerned with the new wound than he was with me.

  He stared at his feet in shock as he lifted a hand to the oozing cut. Blood caked his fingers and he panted soundlessly, eventually falling to his knees and looking back up to me with a the fierce dismay of a dying man. His eyes told me that he accepted his fate, however begrudgingly, and they pleaded with me to end it. Swiftly, I brought my scimitar into the clean side of his neck, sending him all the way to the ground where the life promptly drained from his eyes like the blood from his veins.

  Another had come to take his place before I had the time to catch a breath. This man was by far the biggest enemy I had seen on the battlefield yet, rivaling both Henrik and Horan in size. He had a long dark beard that was fading with age, making him look like an overgrown dwarf in conjunction with his stout, hardy figure.

  We locked eyes but did not charge in to fight each other immediately. Instead, he watched me with a burning intensity—not born of hatred, but of focus and eagerness to do battle with a worthy foe. He extended a tree-trunk arm and pointed at me with a meaty finger. I nodded in response, and we both went for each other. It was a bit of dick-wagging that had no place in the real world, but here in the game, it seemed to fit.

  He pulled the enormous hammer hanging from his thick leather belt—a weapon befitting of a man his size—and unleashed a mighty swing for my head. I reeled back and slid below the strike, skidding all the way under his legs, not coming to a full stop until I was all the way behind him.

  I leapt past the raging bull of a man, then kicked out instantly, bringing both of my feet into his lower back in savage impact. My attack did nothing, and I immediately regretted not simply moving in to stab him instead. I bounced off his rump as if I had just failed to scale a wall. He swirled around and struck at me a second time before I had even managed to plant my feet firmly back on the ground.

  I reeled back in response to this strike as well but not with the same grace as before. The metal of his hamm
er grazed the tip of my nose, but it only touched me there, not causing any actual damage. Unable to catch my balance, I fell all the way back and met the ground again.

  His hammer came down, intent on smashing my torso flat. I rolled to the side and heard the echoes of his metal planting itself into the dirt. I reached out with my scimitar and sliced his wrist. He grunted at the minor wound and pulled his hammer up to try again.

  For a second time, it came driving downward. This time, I rolled in the opposite direction, ending up in the indention in the ground where his weapon had nested a moment ago. Again, I felt the powerful vibrations as his metal met dirt, but this time I was not going to lay there and allow him to direct me where to go.

  I pressed an arm into the indention and used both of my legs to kick myself back up. Before he was able to right himself from the previous failed assault, I jabbed my scimitar deep into his side, punching through his kidney with a tearing sensation as the blade bit deep. He groaned in pain, not all-out screaming as the other men had. I was sure that was the end of him, but I thought too soon.

  He closed his arm around my blade, which was still rammed into his side. I had little option but to let the handle go as he took my weapon with him, leaving me with only one. My attack appeared to only strengthen his resolve, giving him the muscle to lift his massive hammer with a single hand and swipe at me from the side. I was too stunned to get out of the way, so I just stood there like an idiot until his weapon collided with my upper arm and shoulder, sending me flying two yards away from the point of impact.

  Luckily, he didn’t have the leverage he needed to deal a full blow. Though it still hurt, I was back on my feet in seconds and charging back in to finish him off. His hammer swiped again, but I paused my approach for the second I needed to allow it to clear past me, then I ran forward, stabbing my remaining talon into his dominant arm. My strike carved the thick muscle like a steak, and his fight was ended when the tendons parted under my blade. He grunted again, this time dropping the hammer. He was done.