by D. M. Murray
*
Kalfinar stepped past the dying Solansian and risked a quick glance over the battlement. He ducked his head back in, avoiding the arrow that whistled past where his head had been. A huge number of Solansian forces massed on the other side. Alongside them thrashed the shimmering creatures of Balzath, using their strength to try and beat open the gate.
“Kal!” Broden’s voice rang out amidst the din of fighting and dying.
Kalfinar sought out his cousin amongst the chaos, spotting him on the lowest tier of the battlements. The fighting was harder down there with defenders pressed by creatures that had made their way into the city before the gates were shut.
Broden engaged another raider, batting away the weak attack and using the momentum of the enemy to turn himself, bringing his blade down in a backhanded stroke that took the legs from under the man. He jabbed his sword point down and gesticulated towards Kalfinar. “Your father!”
Kalfinar broke into a run, his eyes scanning for his father within the melee on the two lower tiers and the open space before the gate. There was no clear sight in the confusion of bodies.
The huge monsters shimmered in colour as they swung heavy limbs between knots of bodies, killing defender and raider without prejudice.
Kalfinar sprinted along the top tier of the battlement, his boots slapping down with hard claps. He dodged fellow defenders as they shoved ladders away or stabbed out at raiders clambering above the walls. He leapt over a raider sprawled before the steps, eyes wide and black, mouth hanging open in the silent protest of the dead. Kalfinar leapt down the stone stairs, almost losing his balance as he bounded them, his eyes searching the battling masses.
A raider stepped backwards into his path as he reached the bottom of the steps. The two collided and Kalfinar sent him crashing face-first into the battlement wall. The raider jabbed an elbow backwards, catching Kalfinar in the corner of his eye and bursting skin. Blood seeped from the wound and blinded his right eye. The raider shoved backwards, sending Kalfinar arse-first onto the lower steps.
Kalfinar saw the raider turn and leap at him with a short sword drawn. He grabbed the man’s wrist and shoved the sword point away from his face. Kalfinar slammed his forehead into the face of the raider, busting his nose. The man grunted and blood bubbled from the wound. He head-butted the raider again, and again. The raider’s resolve weakened and Kalfinar shoved him onto his back before jabbing his sword into his throat.
Kalfinar stood and wiped the blood from his face while scanning the fight below. The monsters were causing mayhem, sending men flying up into the air and crashing into knots of fighters. He spotted Harruld by steps of the first tier. He broke into a run as he noticed one of the Desverukan slaughtering its way in the direction of his father.
Kalfinar dodged a sword and dropped his shoulder into the back of the raider that stood before him, sending the man flying off the second tier. He slashed a wide backhanded blow at the next raider, taking the man’s sword arm from him. Kalfinar didn’t look back to see his companions finish the man, but he heard a squeak as a sword likely took him in the belly.
He was approaching the steps down to the first tier when he saw the beast clear a path to Harruld. “Father, behind you!” Kalfinar roared a warning.
The raider dropped to his knees before Harruld as the governor’s sword slid from him. He turned in the direction of Kalfinar’s shout and then back behind him.
The creature fixed hungry red eyes on Harruld and broke into an apelike run, obsidian claws scraping on the stone of the battlements.
Kalfinar saw a pair of raiders running up the steps to the second tier towards him. He ran beyond the steps to the area above where Harruld readied to meet the attack.
As the beast pulled back a huge arm, ready to swing its talons at Harruld, Kalfinar leapt from the second tier of the battlement and slashed his sword down onto the beasts arm, slicing the clawed hand clean from the limb and spraying the battlement with thick, black blood.
Harruld swung his sword to protect himself from a swipe of the beast’s other arm, catching the talons with an awful metallic screech against his blade’s edge.
Kalfinar leapt to support his father, but another raider jumped between them and onto the battlement. He met the raider’s attack with a distant, mechanical efficiency, his focus on his father as he engaged the iridescent monster.
Harruld parried the thrusts of the beast’s clawed fist, but its power was intense and it battered him back against the stonework of the battlement wall. Kalfinar heard straining from Harruld as the older man struggled against the unnatural strength of his foe, slipping to one knee.
Kalfinar parried the sword of the raider. Panic flared in his gut and tightness coiled about his throat. He parried a wild blow from the raider and saw an opening. Kalfinar swung his hatchet into the man’s collarbone, sending him reeling to the ground with a shriek. Free of the raider, he burst forward to engage the beast as it hammered blows onto his father’s sword. Kalfinar screamed as he bore down on it.
Harruld moved his sword to meet another blow from the beast, but as Kalfinar was only a few more steps away, he saw the beast’s clawed hand change direction at the last opportunity, avoiding Harruld’s block.
“No!” Kalfinar roared as the claws ripped into his father’s chainmail, and sending an eruption of blood out of his mouth and nose.
The beast picked Harruld up and smashed him against the battlements before Kalfinar could fall on it with his sword and hatchet. The creature released his grip on Harruld and tried to engage Kalfinar, but he was too quick, his sword slicing deep into the beast’s side before he ducked under a blow and leapt behind it, slamming his hatchet into its back.
The demon reached behind with its one clawed fist, looking over its shoulder at the wounded spot as Kalfinar ran around its front stabbing his sword through the beast’s throat. He twisted the wound open and withdrew his sword with a gout of black, steaming blood before embedding his axe between its demonic eyes. Eyes he had seen before in his dreams.
The monster shivered and then collapsed onto the ground.
The ring of metal and the cries of pain, rage, and desperation were all around. The air stank of blood. Despite it all, Kalfinar heard nothing. He knelt by Harruld as he lay, head propped up against the battlement with the dead monster lying beside him. He had several ragged tears through his armour and mail shirt. Dark, thick blood oozed from the large rents where the beast’s talons had ripped through him. A large, purple bruise had formed around the split at the corner of his forehead and his skin paled quickly.
“Father.” Kalfinar held his hand in his, squeezing it. His father’s hand was loose.
“Kal,” Harruld coughed out flecks of blood as he weakly spoke. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Father, hold on. We can get help.”
Harruld coughed again, frothy blood bubbling from his wounds and mouth. “No help.” He smiled before coughing spots of blood onto his beard. His front teeth were smashed and stained red. “A good death, I think.”
“Aye,” Kalfinar whispered.
“Better than wasting in a chair.”
Kalfinar squeezed Harruld’s hand as his eyes fluttered shut. “Father?”
Harruld’s eyes opened and he focussed. “No more grief. It will consume you. Fight for the living—” Harruld’s voice cut off as his pupils dilated. His ragged breath rattled and wheezed to nothing as his chest ceased to rise.
Stunned, Kalfinar brushed the side of his father’s face and closed his eyes. He stood up, his hands gripping his weapons tight as he turned, fury brimming inside. Broden and Subath approached, blood dripping from their weapons as the two men gasped for breath.
“Damn it!” Subath roared, slashing his sword into the corpse of the demon before him.
“Kal,” Broden said in a low voice.
Kalfinar stared about as groups of defenders were ripped apart in short order. “This is our city.” He pointed his sword towards the ranks of men
being overrun by monsters below. “Let’s take the fight to them.” Kalfinar trembled with rage as he stalked across the battlement, his heart thundering.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Here they come.” Bergnon said, his eyes fixed on the remaining Solansian forces charging towards the breach.
The half-light of dawn glinted off the sparkling sea of armour and blades that bore down on the defenders, a last stand of soldier and citizen alike. Bergnon stood atop of the bulwark with Thaskil and Omree by his side and a small knot of fifty men waiting behind them on the street, lightly armed and without cuirass or mail. No further defenders of Apula were present within two city blocks of where they stood, save for the two archers standing above them on the battlements to either side of the breach. The hammer of heavy footfalls and the cry of warriors set their hair standing on end; their skin prickling.
Thaskil stared ahead as the forces bore down, negotiating their way around the burned-out pit. “Do you still feel like doing the right thing?” he asked Bergnon, who stood beside him, unflinching.
Bergnon didn’t utter a sound. He kept his eyes fixed on the buckler as he tightened it on his forearm before drawing his sword.
Thaskil nodded and withdrew his battle-hatchet. “Is it time yet?” he asked Bergnon.
“Aye, it’s about time, lad.” Bergnon turned and began walking down the bulwark, followed by Thaskil and Omree. They approached the knot of soldiers at the bottom of the bulwark, Bergnon meeting them first. “Remember, let them see you. Let them get close enough to smell you and then run. Run like the beasts of the hells are on your heels.”
Thaskil looked at the faces of the nervous young men. May as well be.
“You were chosen for your speed,” Bergnon continued. “Make it count this morning. Make it count.” He clapped the nearest soldier on the shoulder and set off, breaking into a run.
“We’ll see you in the square, brother.” Thaskil shook several hands of city men as he walked past them. “Run swift and sound.”
Thaskil and Omree set off following Bergnon as he advanced up the dimly lit boulevard. He ran past heavy iron urns placed alongside the streets, thin lines of black powder linking them. Piled on top of and around the urns were fist-sized lumps of masonry, metals, and whatever caltrops could be recovered from around the breach.
“Hope this plan of yours works,” Thaskil said mid-breath as he caught up and ran alongside Bergnon. The sound of the advancing raiders still sounded clear in the night air behind them.
“We’ll soon find out, I suppose,” Bergnon replied.
Thaskil peered down the unlit side streets where he knew hidden archers waited. “It has to work,” he mumbled to himself, his words lacking conviction.
They pounded through the streets, eventually emerging into the large market square to meet a gathered mass of defenders standing in broad ranks, weapons held tight in their grips and chins set firm in the face of death. Thaskil scanned the buildings around the massive square lit in an amber glow by the many oil lamps and braziers burning around them. Groups of archers held the rooftops and balconies surrounding the square, their blood-stained arrows ready to kill once more.
“Ready!” roared Thaskil as they crossed the square, his cry answered by the grim determination before him in a wall of defiance.
His skin tingled as they raised their weapons, beat their fists against their hearts, and their swords against their shields. He released a ragged war cry, joined by Omree to his side, and amplified by a roar from Bergnon.
The ferocity of the major’s cry caught Thaskil by surprise. What is love if it drives you to madness?
*
The archer on top of the battlements fled across the walls as his flamed arrows crashed into the lines of high-piled, oil-soaked bodies. The raiders turned in surprise, tripping each other as flames spread like wildfire along their ranks, splitting the forces on the outer edges of the advance and causing them to backtrack. A massive explosion sounded from one of the piles of bodies.
The screams of raiders sounded and the archer saw scores of dead and injured in front of the walls of Apula. Another explosion sounded as the flames spread further. Drums of fire-powder and stones hidden amongst the outer edges of the piles of corpses erupted in random order, tearing through attackers without prejudice.
The spreading flames funnelled the raiders who had avoided the blasts towards the breach and, as they climbed the bulwark, their cries grew louder, shrieking with an intense and ravenous bloodlust. They scrambled up the masonry, their eyes lit with fiery fury, ready to cut their way into the heart of the city.
The group of defenders appeared to shake with nerves as raiders burst over the bulwark. The soldiers, selected for their speed, turned upon seeing the flood of raiders and ran for all they were worth.
*
The archer waited in the dark of the side street. He heard the roar advancing from the area of the breach. It wouldn’t be long.
The first of the defenders ran past the opening to the side street, followed by another, and then more. The full body of Apulan troops made their way past the archer’s street, followed a short time later by a flood of clattering, shrieking raiders; a sea of black-clad death. His heart hammered and felt like it was beating all the way out of this throat.
He knew the count. Let them come. Count it down and let them come. More and more of the raiders flashed past his street, a constant flow of merciless sharp edges and spikes. Let them come. Keep to the count.
*
Runners crashed into the square, appearing to be expelled from the city streets by the building pressure of raiders. The cries of coming violence flooded towards where Thaskil stood. His knees trembled. Dajda, I hope no one can see my fear.
“Ready yourselves!” Thaskil roared. “Hope this works,” he mumbled to Bergnon once more, but the traitor said nothing. Thaskil stole a quick glance and saw mania in his former mentor’s face. A lust for redemption or a lust for death?
The runners were halfway across the square when the swarm of raiders burst from the entrance of the square, fanning outward, their screams rising at the sight of the gathered defenders and coming fight.
Thaskil let fly a roar, echoed all around him by his companions. Better make whatever time I’ve left count.
*
The archer finished his count and swallowed a deep, shuddering breath. His hands trembled as he notched the arrow and fumbled with the lid of his hot coal brazier. It held one small, glowing ember.
With a practiced care, he touched his oil-soaked arrowhead to the coal and released his breath as the flame burst into life. With a measured effort, he pulled the arrow fletching back to his cheek and took aim as the flood of raiders continued past his street entrance.
He released the arrow. The flame arched in the night sky whilst the archer repeated the action with another arrow, being careful to ensure he hit his mark at least once and, finally, the arrow dropped from its climb, heading towards the ground.
*
The raider’s heart thundered in his chest as he was carried along on a sea of fury. His companions around him were whipped into a frenzy, hungering for fight. He wanted no fight; he had never fought in his life.
He looked at the half-blunt and notched blade in his hand. What use is this, especially in the hands of a farmer? All he wanted was to be home, working his small plots, and being with his wife and children. Be hard for them, on their own at this time of year–
A flash to his right caught his eye as he ran. He glanced across and saw a streak of light, a flamed arrow falling from the sky towards him. His blood turned to ice before the arrow landed in front of him in a pile of rubble and spluttered out. Another flaming arrow appeared in the sky.
“Hey, Manix,” the raider asked the man next to him, “what’re all those mounds with the black lines between them?”
Fire sparked and spread from the mounds of masonry.
“What the—”
The mounds exploded. Blasts fr
om the left and right, in front and behind. Death flew all around, fire and edge.
*
The first explosion ripped through the roars and battle cries, sending a bright orange flash into the night sky behind the raiders as they advanced towards the square. One explosion was followed by another and another, until the dawn sky was full of flame and deafening thunder.
Thaskil was caught by surprise as Bergnon exploded through the raiders, a possession taking him to levels of ferocity he had never before seen. Can a man find redemption at the end of a blade?
“The Free Provinces!” Thaskil roared, leaping into the fray, his battle-hatchet meeting the first blade and diverting it at the same time as his sword punched through a raider’s ribs. His hand was hot and wet from blood. No, there’s only sorrow and sin at the end of a blade.
*
Bergnon crashed into the raiders, his buckler smashing into the face of the first man he met. His sword swept to the side, meeting flesh and bone. He swung the blade, every breath fuelling rage and hate as if sin could be washed away in blood. Nothing washes clean in blood.
A sword appeared from the side, sweeping just past his face. Bergnon stepped backwards and saw the Ravenmayne advance. A shoulder barged into him from behind, sending him reeling towards the advancing enemy.
Bergnon raised his buckler in time to divert the sword stroke, but the force of the blow carried through, sending a flare of pain into his arm. He corrected his stumble and sprung up with the buckler, smashing the Ravenmayne under the chin and tearing free his mask. A stream of blood flowed from his mouth and a dazed look appeared on the Ravenmayne’s face as Bergnon’s sword took him under the armpit and up into his body. A spurt of dark blood gouted from his mouth when Bergnon pulled free his sword.