by David Combs
The archers began to release volley after volley, steadily driving the vampires towards the flames. With their numbers being cut down by the encroaching blaze, and the unexpected tenacity of the city guard, the vampires had decided enough was enough. With their link to their dark master inexplicably severed, and the growing likelihood of a looming defeat becoming reality, Kellen’s minions broke off their attack and retreated into the shadows.
Knarya’s soldiers gave an exultant whoop of victory and charged ahead with renewed vigor. They quickly sorted fleeing citizens from the undead, pulling the frightened townsfolk behind their lines. The captain ordered up a fire brigade and was surprised at the number of able-bodied men and women who volunteered to face the flames while still exposed to the threat of Kellen’s minions. It was a true testament to the will and determination of the people of the city.
As the remaining vampires steadily fell back, desperation overcame them. They were monsters, but not unthinking ones. They drew their ragtag numbers together until all of the remaining unholy force was gathered together, numbering some fifty strong. Behind them, the auralesea flames burned hot at their backs. Ahead lay the fiery arrows that hammered their ranks. These creatures were once citizens of the port city, though, and they too were possessed the same tenacity and courage as those men and women who stood arrayed against them.
In a show of defiance, the snarling vampire horde stormed the lines of the city watch with a terrible battle lust. Glittering fangs and rending claws ripped into the city defenders with the ferocity of those who had nothing else to lose. Soldiers and citizens fell before them as they joined together for the brutal common purpose of survival.
The undead army of Kellen Ambrose had already tasted death once. They were reluctant to do so again.
***
Tyrell’s ears were ringing as he slowly regained consciousness. His head throbbed, his body ached, and he could feel burns all along his backside. As he looked around, he sighed in relief as he saw Nestor and Galen lying nearby, the slow rise and fall of their chests allaying his fears, although they were yet a long way from safety. All around them, flames hotter than a blacksmith’s furnace decimated buildings, spreading out like a living thing in search of prey.
The wizard choked on the thick black smoke that blanketed the area. He had to get his friends out of here. As quickly as his body would allow, Tyrell crawled over to Galen and shook the young thief. Slowly, he opened one eye, then groaned. “Are we dead yet?” Tyrell could barely hear the thief’s words over the roaring fires, but he had to laugh at his friend’s ability to find a moment of levity even in the direst of circumstances.
“We aren’t that lucky,” replied the mage. “But that could very well change if we don’t get moving. Can you walk?”
Galen nodded and painfully got to his feet. He swayed a moment, and put a hand to the back of his head, rubbing a knot that he had received from some piece of flying debris. Tyrell knelt beside the warrior. Nestor’s pulse was faint, but present. Muttering a quick prayer of thanks, Tyrell dragged the big man away from the fires.
“We may need this,” said Galen as he examined a pile of burning rubble. With a heave, the thief rolled aside a blackened timber, lifting forth the glittering rainbow of metal, Shadow Reaver. “It’s not even warm,” he commented as he slid the blade into an empty sheath. “Let’s see if we can get clear of this, and pick up that bastard’s trail.” Tyrell nodded, and Galen began to pick his way through the wreckage in a direction that he hoped led to the nearest edge of the fire.
They made slow progress since Tyrell had to carry Nestor, let alone the fact that they were simply exhausted. Galen scouted ahead, seeking the easiest and safest routes for his friends to follow behind. Many times, burning buildings and debris forced them to backtrack, and the heat from the auralesea flames was beginning to take its toll on them.
“Look out,” cried Tyrell the creaking of a nearby building gave him just enough warning of the structures impending collapse. He shoved Galen back far enough so that the thief only got singed rather than crushed. “We’ve got to get off these streets,” the mage shouted. “We’re not going to last much longer like this.”
“Even the sewers would be preferable to this,” said Galen. Tyrell started to respond when Nestor, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, coughed and sputtered.
“Why am I face to face with your ass,” growled the barbarian. Tyrell lowered his friend to the ground, steadying the warrior as the blood rushed out of his head. Nestor looked at the bruised and bloody faces of his friends. “Hell, this view isn’t any better.” He looked around and rubbed his temples. “So where are we?”
Tyrell could see the pain on the warrior’s face. Through the night, Nestor had taken the worst of everything that Kellen had thrown at them, but the warrior stoically refused to submit to his injuries. “This isn’t the best place to talk right now. Let’s keep moving, and I’ll fill you in as we go.”
Nestor nodded, aware of how his unconsciousness had slowed his friends down. “Lead on. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I hear yelling in that direction,” said Galen as he pointed past a tattered jumble of burned out shops. The thief dashed forward to find the easiest way through the mess. Tyrell came next, pausing when needed to lend Nestor his silent support. Just as silently, the warrior accepted his friend’s assistance. He was too pragmatic, and too exhausted to let pride come in the way of survival.
“I found the way through,” said Galen as he reappeared through the smoke. “It’s this way. Follow me quickly.” The three men moved through a burning archway, crawling on their bellies through a narrow space that was so hot that they could scarcely draw a breath. Tyrell worried that Nestor might pass out, but the stubborn warrior forced himself to stay alert.
The cries of battle and the clash of steel rang out in the night. “Look,” called Tyrell, as he pointed at two members of the city watch fighting a desperate battle against one of Kellen’s minions. One of the soldiers made a ferocious swing at the vampire’s head with his ax, but the creature caught the haft in his hand and wrenched it from the man’s grasp. With a savage backhand swing, the soldier’s head was removed from his body with his own weapon. Snarling with glee, the monster turned on the remaining soldier.
“We’ve got to help,” said the mage, as he quickly opened his mind to the forces of magic. The sudden flow of power staggered him, and he realized that he was hardly ready for another fight, but there was no time to rest. He could only hope that his friends were in better shape than he was.
“The only one of them I give a damn about is Ambrose,” growled Galen. The ferocity with which he spoke was so alien to the young thief’s demeanor that Tyrell was shaken from his magical trance. The mage knew the words stemmed from the young thief’s grief and rage over Lorelei’s death, but Galen’s tone frightened him nonetheless.
“We will get him,” swore Tyrell, “but right now there are others we have to help or else they might share her fate. Let’s move.”
The thief nodded and drew Shadow Reaver from the scabbard at his side. To everyone’s surprise, Nestor snatched it from the younger man’s hand and stumbled off to fight. “Strong as a horse,” muttered the mage. As Nestor, sank the glittering elvensteel blade into the back of the vampire, Tyrell noticed more fighters, both vampire and human, had come closer.
The main group of vampires stood in front of a burning building that teetered on the verge of collapse. Losing himself again in his magic, the mage felt the fire’s intensity as it ate through the supports of the building. The mage drew on his powers to make those flames burn even hotter. Timbers creaked and groaned as Tyrell’s magic ravaged the already doomed building.
Galen caught a glimpse of lone vampire creeping through the shadows towards Tyrell. Quickly, the thief blended into the flickering shadows created by the nearby flames. As the vampire leaped from its hiding spot to attack the concentrating wizard, Galen bashed it in the face with a burni
ng piece of lumber, driving it to the ground.
“Don’t try that again,” snarled the thief. The monster replied with a savage grin of its own and swept Galen’s feet from under him with a sudden kick. Galen fell flat on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs and embers burning his back like tiny needles. He tried to sit up but was slammed back to the ground as the vampire jumped on him. Gasping for air, and aching from so many battles, Galen fought on to keep the beast’s fangs away from the flesh of his throat.
Captain Knarya stood over the body of a young soldier. With dismay, he recognized the lad who had suggested that the watch try to push the vampires into the flames. Tears of pain and grief streamed down the captain’s face as he fought. With his torch, he bashed the vampire who had killed the brave youth, sending the murderous beast staggering back, trying to pat flames out of its scraggly hair. Knarya pressed his attack, but the night’s toils made him too slow for the vampire’s uncanny speed. The monster easily ducked, and grabbed Knarya by the throat, lifting the man from the ground in one crushing hand.
“All for nothing,” hissed the vampire as his clawed forefinger tapped teasingly at the vein in Knarya’s throat. “You will die no better than the rest of these.” Knarya’s vision started to dim from lack of oxygen, and spots danced before his eyes. A sudden rainbow of light whistled through the air near his head, and in the next moment, he felt himself falling.
He realized that he hadn’t died and looked up to see a familiar red-bearded face, though covered in soot and battered like a man who had been through hell and back. Knarya shook his head and cleared his vision, fully recognizing Nestor as the one who now helped him to his feet.
“Thank the gods,” Knarya said. “If you had been a moment later, Redbeard, I’d be . . .” The captain’s words died off in exhaustion and fear. Nestor thrust Knarya’s torch back into the captain’s grasp.
“Your men need their leader. Show them victory.” The barbarian clapped Knarya on the back and turned to find another vampire to cut down.
Knarya felt a rush of hope and strength flood back into him at the sight of the warrior. He had no idea what horrors Nestor Canaith had seen this night, but he recognized instantly the man‘s adamant refusal to surrender. He slapped the torch into the palm of his hand. “Come on, lads,” he cried. “We’ve got them on the run. Let them taste your flames!”
Tyrell felt the last of the support timbers burn through, and not a moment too soon. The vampires had scattered many of the disarmed and battered guardsmen who frantically raced off to find safety. As the remaining group of vampires began to pursue, the building fell with a mighty groan into their midst, sending a great column of fire and embers high into the night sky. Screams of fear and agony of the trapped vampires filled the night air as they were incinerated. To the watchmen that he had saved, such salvation was nothing greater than sheer coincidence, but Tyrell smiled to himself as the brave men quickly regrouped and moved off to find more undead.
Galen wrestled with his vampire, rolling around on the ground as he struggled to keep away from the monster’s teeth and claws. The undead’s breath was hot and foul against his cheek, and Galen gagged on the stench of old blood, and who knew what else.
“We’ll destroy you all,” the vampire taunted. “We’ll kill every last one of you. All of your men, women, and children. Everything that you ever loved. Do you hear me? Everything that you ever loved!” As the vampire threw its head back and cackled into the night, Galen grabbed the end of the timber he had first struck the vampire with. The vampire’s words triggered in the young thief’s mind thoughts of Lorelei and his brief time with her. With a surge of strength, the thief hammered the vampire with the splintered timber, rolling the beast into the dirt beside him. In a flash, Galen found himself sitting on the vampire’s chest with the stake in his hands.
“Your master already took the only thing I ever loved from me, and I intend to pay him back,” growled Galen. With a battle cry inspired by pure hate and rage, Galen slammed the stake home into the vampire’s chest. The creature bucked Galen off as it screamed in agony, and writhed around on the ground. The thief walked over to the thrashing vampire and pulled the beast to its feet. With a bitter smile on his face, Galen Thale shoved the monster back into the flaming rubble of the building Tyrell had brought down.
Nestor hacked and slashed in a wide circle as the vampires diminishing numbers tried to close in on him. The undead could feel the power of the weapon in the barbarian’s hands, and they knew that the warrior was the greatest threat to them all. Exhausted beyond reason, Nestor fought on instinct, and never once felt a pounding blow or rending claw as he spun Shadow Reaver in a glittering rainbow of death. Undead flesh, although proof against normal iron and steel, was no match for barbarian savagery and the magical elvensteel sword wielded. It was only a matter of time before Nestor found himself looking for new foes to bring the blade against.
Tyrell and Galen moved around the battlefield, giving whatever support they could. They quenched fires, put vampires to the torch, and eased the suffering of the men and women too wounded to survive the night. Every such instance made Tyrell swear a silent oath to make Kellen Ambrose pay for the torment that he had created. Galen’s own hatred for the vampire lord was matchless. Even though he pitied the poor citizens of Tarnath, his mind burned with the image of Lorelei’s bloodless face as she lie on her sacrificial altar.
The night winds were filled with the howls of furious combatants, cries of the wounded and dying, and the roaring of the auralesea flames. The vampire horde, now only a mere dozen, drew together into a tight circle. Although escape would be difficult at best, the monsters knew that every living person they killed was one less to oppose them. They hissed and growled as the city defenders surrounded their evil throng. Both sides studied each other with contempt and malice evident on every soot-stained face. The ranks of the soldiers broke as Nestor came to the front of the ring. He raised Shadow Reaver to his brow in the traditional salute to those who were about to die.
The vampires were creatures of fury and hate, and so it was with these same emotions that the valiant people of Tarnath fell upon them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Knarya went among his surviving soldiers, assessing their losses, and comforting those who needed it. The final charge had still cost many brave men their lives before the last vampire fell. They had won the night, but the cost had been staggering. As he looked around at the still burning city, the captain knew he still had a great deal more to do. He sighed in weary relief as he saw three figures shamble out of the smoke. Tyrell, Galen, and Nestor looked haggard and spent, but each man’s face bore its own expression of dogged determination.
“Captain Knarya,” said Tyrell, “these flames are caused by auralesea dust, and will be very difficult to put out. We need to get every able-bodied man, woman, and child on a fire brigade line. I will do everything I can to extinguish the flames with my magic, but my powers are not that great, and . . .” Tyrell looked around at the devastation and shrugged. “It has been a long night.”
Knarya nodded. “You’re telling me. If the cutpurse and Redbeard here will lend their backs to the bucket lines, it would be greatly appreciated. I know already the debt that the city owes you for tonight. For what it’s worth, I promise I won’t forget it.” The captain shook hands with both Galen and Nestor, who then ran off to find a place in the forming water lines. Knarya looked back to Tyrell and grinned. “I never thought we’d see the end of this night. You probably didn’t either, from the looks of you.”
“Thank you, Captain,” replied the mage. “You look like hell also.” Tyrell wiped his brow as Knarya gave a short, barking laugh. The mage could see that the dock ward was virtually destroyed, and the flames had spread into the city’s marketplaces and residential sections. “Well, shall we finish this,” the mage asked. Knarya clapped the man on the shoulder, hurrying off and shouting orders to anyone within earshot.
Tyrell found a position ne
ar the front of the nearest bucket line and lowered himself into a deep meditative trance. On many occasions, the wizard had needed his magic to enhance the power of flame. Now he needed to do the opposite. His body groaned with aching muscles as he drew in the power around him. While far too weary to outright quench the auralesea flames, the mage knew that he had strength enough to bring the heat down to normal levels. Even with that small help though, the fires were now so far spread throughout the city that the fire brigades would be working until dawn.
As Tyrell felt the flow of power through him, he could sense the presence of his friends in the brigade lines. Nestor was nearly unconscious on his feet, but the big warrior wasn’t one to complain or fall when he knew so many lives depended on his assistance. It was a trait that Tyrell had come to admire most about this man he had once fought so bitterly. Nestor was someone who could always be counted on, regardless of the situation. Tyrell realized at that moment that Nestor Canaith would always be there to assist him if he was sorely needed.
When Tyrell’s mind found Galen though, the wizard nearly recoiled. The young man’s thoughts were awash with sorrow and anger. Gone was the boyish prankster. Galen had faced a terrible trial by fire, and now bore the scars of the experience. The mage could only hope that time would heal the thief enough to rekindle Galen’s zest for life. He would miss the cutpurse’s impish grin and perfectly ill-timed wit whenever situations were at their worst.
The mage briefly touched the minds of other people in the lines as well. Awe and shock prevailed in the citizens' thoughts. Here was a man whose life had been spared by the timely arrow of a city guard. Here was a woman whose only son had given his life so that she and her daughter could escape their besieged home. Here was a shopkeeper whose entire livelihood had been gutted by vampires and flames. Everywhere Tyrell looked, he sensed loss and despair, but with each touch, he still sensed hope in the thoughts of the forlorn townspeople. Homes and shops could be rebuilt. The fallen would be mourned.