A Blink of an Eye

by Troy A Hill

  “I’m sorry,” he said and glanced at the ground. “This is my fault.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said. “You’ve helped me more than I can ever repay.”

  He tilted his chin up, a little smile creasing his mouth.

  I gave him a reassuring nod. “Ready?”

  He raised his blade and nodded once, his face grim.

  “Watch my back, but give me room,” I said. With that, I flew into the closest Roman skeleton. With one swing, his head went flying over the battlefield like a ball in some child’s game. One down. Only a few hundred left to go. How many graves had Lecerf robbed to get an army this massive? Damn... This would take all night. I could see the two wizards ensconced in their army’s midst and realized I didn’t care how long it took. Lecerf would die tonight.

  The Sword of Light plunged through a rotted wooden shield. As skeletons collapsed, I stepped into the gap their fallen bodies created. Wherever the blade went, the undead fell.

  I debated using my undead abilities to leap over the skeletal army. With my demon’s strength I could soar past these Romans. But undead Britons clustered behind them. I didn’t want to land on their spears and swords. Besides the annoyance, it might give them enough time to pile on me and cause serious damage. Plus, I never knew which ones might have silvered weapons. It would be just like Lecerf, to have passed some out among his undead army.

  I reached out to Gwen with my mind. “Where is Fadog?” I asked. The last thing we needed right now was for Lecerf to gain reinforcements, even though I was no longer sure how Fadog felt about his once-loved wizards.

  “Sawyl and Gerallt are chasing Fadog. He ran north after his force broke,” Gwen sent.

  “How did Caerwyn’s men get here so fast?”

  “When we realized Enid was missing, Seren went to Meirionnydd,” Gwen sent. “She spent today tree walking to bring Lord and Lady Meirionnydd to Caer Penllyn.”

  “And she’s not collapsed from using all that magic?”

  “Dewi’s death ended her marriage,” Gwen sent. “The goddess was correct that Dewi was a burden. With his demise, Seren’s magical talents have blossomed.”

  By now, Caerwyn’s fighters had clashed with the undead. I picked out Emlyn, Afon, and a half dozen Penllyn guards amongst their numbers. The sight of them gave me heart.

  As the skeletons advanced, wave upon wave, I noticed that Lecerf’s human army was falling back. The wizards at their head, they ran through the low ground towards the next hill. They were in retreat. None of this had been Lecerf’s plan. Apparently he was ditching the present problem to try again another day. But how did he mean to escape? Surely not on foot. But there was no graveyard on that hill. Unless they knew of another, the closest was in the abbey yard.

  I glanced over the heads of the undead. They formed a swarming body between me and my target, and despite the piles of bones lying in my wake, I had barely made a dent. I needed an elite force.

  I looked towards Caerwyn’s army and immediately picked out the two fighters I needed at my side.

  “Emlyn! Afon!” I shouted and swooped my sword overhead. “To me!” Emlyn was already working his way toward where I fought. Afon blocked a spear thrust, then separated a skeletal head from its undead body. The bones collapsed and Afon raised his sword. “To the gates of Hell, Lady Mair,” he yelled.

  Half-a-dozen skeletons separated Emlyn and me. I spied Soul’s pommel above his shoulder. It was belted to his back for an over-the-shoulder draw—a technique we both knew was next to useless. But Emlyn wasn’t the one meant to draw Soul. He already had a blade in each hand.

  I swung hard to clear space and switched the Sword to a one-handed grip. Emlyn brought his blades into a defensive hold across his body and bent low. I rotated, with my off hand out, and pulled Soul from its sheath. The balance of the Sword of Light shifted as I willed it shorter, a match for Soul.

  At last. I had Emlyn. I had Afon. And I had both Soul and the Sword. Lecerf would regret the day he’d pissed me off.

  “Cross blades with me!” I held both my blades before me. Emlyn and Afon thrust their swords across mine. Together, they formed a five-sided star. I prayed for The Lady’s sword to share its magic with their blades.

  The Lady's white fire spread and danced across all five weapons.

  “Hell is that way?” Afon asked. His face split with a grin as he pointed up the hill.

  “I hope not, but that’s where I’m going,” I said.

  “I’ll have your back all the way.”

  He and Emlyn saluted with their blades. Then all three of us raised our blades and fell to. The magic in our swords ripped through the undead. Skeletons crumbled at a mere touch.

  Lecerf was nearing the top of the hill. I gritted my teeth. As long as he lived, I could become his damned slave again. He had to die tonight.

  With Afon on my right and Emlyn on my left, I wasn’t worried about my back. The path of destruction we wove through the skeletons lengthened. We closed, slowly, on the human band of fighters that guarded the wizards. Behind us, the Meirionnydd guards rotated in so each fighter got a break to catch their breath. Like a force of nature, like a storm at sea, Emlyn, Afon, and I fought on at the forefront. But I knew my two human companions would wear down eventually. Even Emlyn, for all of his talent and skill, was only human. He couldn’t fight all night.

  But my demon and I could keep going as long as darkness ruled the sky.

  I glimpsed the old wizard’s face. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t panicked, yet, either. He raised his staff with the Witch Hunter seal on top and pointed it toward our rear. His high, nasally voice rang out with syllables of nonsense. A dark wave rippled from the staff. Verpa Dei! Another spell. I didn’t like the look of this one.

  A clattering like a box full of children’s toys filled the air. The ground shook. I glanced behind me. The scattered bones of the undead we had destroyed slid across the hillside, reformed, and stood to fight again. Their bony hands retrieved their weapons and they filled in the path we had cleared.

  And now we were surrounded. Curse that wizard. I cast a glare at him. He smiled, eyes twinkling like a jolly old man who had pulled a funny joke.

  Emlyn and Afon fought to keep the reanimated skeletons off my back. I continued the push forward. But with my companions’ attention on the threat behind us, our pace slowed to a crawl.

  Bechard waved his hands through an intricate pattern. Great. What magic was next? Two fiery bolts shot from his hands and streaked down the hill.

  Crap! Damn it! Just like the arrows that had struck Ruadh at the cave where the shifter had disappeared into a grave.

  The arrows shot towards Caerwyn’s fighters as they fought to close in on the guild’s seeker. Two guardsmen fell to their knees then toppled over, clutching arrows in their chests and beating off flames that consumed their clothes.

  Damn those wizards. Gritting my teeth and screaming my frustration, I swung Soul and the Sword simultaneously, taking off three heads to my right and three to my left. Stepping over their fallen bones, I pushed that much closer to Bechard and Lecerf.

  The old wizard Lecerf barked orders at the living fighters on the hilltop. The guilders and their human guards veered towards the abbey. Crap! They were making for the graves.

  “Is there anyone on horseback,” I sent to Gwen, “who can ride between the wizards and the abbey? If they make the gate to the graveyard, they’ll grave-walk and we’ll never find them.”

  “Caerwyn, Cadoc, and I will ride,” she replied. “The wolves will come in to replace us on this flank. I doubt that Iolo has the monks free yet.”

  “I’m not sure what good they’d be against this horde and those two wizards.” I shook my head. We had been worried about one wizard, and it turns out we had two. Well, two and a half wizards until I killed Pedr.

  In the distance a single howl rose into the night, then became a chorus. The grey forms poured from the wood. A score or more wolves charged the skeletal force. Gwen
and her two companions broke away from the battle and made for the abbey.

  I sensed a familiar mind. Petram. He ran next to his new pack leader. I paused in the battle just long enough to share my vision of the re-animated force behind us, asking him to come to our aid.

  “We are pack,” a multitude of minds flashed at me as the wolves veered to attack those at our backs. “We hunt together.”

  “Don’t stop,” Emlyn shouted, misunderstanding why I had paused. “Finish it.”

  I pointed behind us. He turned and grinned at the sight of the large canines ripping into bones with obvious joy. I had felled two more skeletons when our eyes met again.

  “Friends of yours?” he shouted as his blades cut through two more undead.

  “We are pack,” I yelled back at him as I sent the thoughts to the wolves. “We fight together.”

  Emlyn pointed at the guilders. “They run away together.”

  “Then we run too,” I replied. I wanted Lecerf.

  But the wizards pushed their men in a full-out retreat, towards freedom for them—and the risk of slavery for me. If they escaped, my soul would never rest.

  42

  Dance with the Dead

  I cleared a way through the undead towards Lecerf’s inner ring of human guards. Emlyn, Afon, and I had made it down to the gully between the hills. The Sword of Light and Soul blazed with The Lady’s divine light. As I swept a path of death, the Witch Hunters glanced left and right for an escape and tried to step back. But those behind them only pushed them forward again, unwilling to be the ones to meet my blades and my fury. In a few moments, Emlyn, Afon, and I would be positioned between Lecerf and the graveyard. He’d have to get through us to make good his escape.

  “Kill the Witch!” Lecerf bellowed. He jabbed his staff at me. “A bag of silver to the one who strikes her down.”

  None of his men looked like they wanted to collect the offer. They held their blades and shields in defensive stances, merely maintaining their position between me and the wizards.

  I cleared the last skeleton out of the way and fell upon the human guards. My blades ripped through three. The rest backed away. They were moments from death—and I was steps from Lecerf.

  Two snarling, hairy shapes barrelled through the mass of Witch Hunters, sending us all scattering. I stumbled backwards as Ruadh and Bjørulf, in half-bear forms, rolled between me and my opponents. The shifters skidded to a halt several paces away from me, kicking up a cloud of dust, sprinkled with blood. Rising on hind legs, they grappled, claws digging into each other’s shoulders, paws sliding in the mud as they braced and shoved. Bjørulf snarled and sunk his fangs into Ruadh’s neck. The shapeshifting monk unleashed a sound that was half roar, half yelp. Ruadh tore himself loose from the other shifter’s grasp. Half-man, half-bear, he took a step back and shook his head as blood matted the thick hair on his torso.

  Out of nowhere, Emlyn slid between them and thrust Corff into Bjørulf’s chest, under his arm. Bjørulf release Ruadh and grabbed at the blade. The shifter dropped to his knees and gasped for breath. A red froth appeared on his muzzle.

  “That is for my brother,” Emlyn said and jerked Corff free. He spun and swung it around again. His magic-infused blade opened a gash across the werebear’s belly. Then he struck Corff hard into the side of Bjørulf’s neck. Infused with magic, the blade slid through like a hot knife through butter. The werebear’s head fell into the mud. A second later the creature’s dead body slumped down beside it.

  “And that is for Rhys,” Emlyn said, he face devoid of emotion. But I saw the gleam in his eyes. Ruadh shook his head, as if to cast off the sensation of Bjørulf’s teeth in his ruff. He raised a fisted paw at Emlyn. “Damn you, laddie, I had him!”

  “You’re welcome,” Emlyn replied. “You can bring me a jug of mead later.”

  At the mention of mead, Ruadh smiled a bear-toothed grin and laughed.

  Behind us, the wolves ran through the skeletons. They had discovered that if they toppled one, grabbed it in their jaws, and ran, they could topple even more. Then other wolves would join in and pull the fallen ones apart. Ruadh joined them and tore into the skeletons. That left the humans for us.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, two brave Witch Hunter guards swung at me. But I was faster. They both fell before they could complete their strokes. Finding an opening, Emlyn made a lunge towards the wizards—then cursed.

  There were now half-a-dozen Bechards. It was as though the seeker had stepped into a mirror and his reflection had multiplied itself. I couldn’t tell which of them was the real one. Emlyn closed with one and pierced it with one of his glowing blades. That Bechard winked out of existence. Emlyn sliced another, which also disappeared. A guild fighter swung at Emlyn. Emlyn shifted targets, and slid Medwyll into the man’s chest.

  Up the hill towards the abbey, Cadoc and Caerwyn, along with more men from the two cantrefi, positioned themselves to block Lecerf’s escape. A thrill rushed through my body. The wizard was mine.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me, then raised his staff in both hands. The dark wood drew in the darkness of the night. Waves of blackness flowed into it. He held it aloft for a second, then slammed it point-down into the land.

  I sensed a disturbance. Something in my connection to the goddess, to the land, screamed in pain. Black energy pulsed from the staff. The darkness the staff had swallowed a moment ago now flowed out towards the palisades around the graveyard. As it reached the wooden wall, the palisade cracked and groaned then split wide open. Log by log, even more of the wall dropped onto the ground—then vanished as if swallowed. A pit of blackness, darker than the night, gaped open in the ground. Alongside the logs of the palisade, a few long-buried skeletons peeled loose from the dirt and toppled down the edge of the chasm.

  Verpa Dei! All the penises of all the gods. There had been ancient graves right under the wall. The wizard was mere steps away from freedom.

  The shock and tumult of the landslide tossed Caerwyn’s men about. Caerwyn himself teetered on the edge. Cadoc grasped Lord Meirionnydd’s arm and pulled him forward before he tumbled into the blackness. While chaos still reined, Witch Hunter guards engaged the first rank of Caerwyn’s men.

  Emlyn was still busy trying to get to the various Bechards. I turned my eye once again to Lecerf. Only one final circle of guards separated him from me. I stabbed and slashed with Soul and the Sword of Light, only to find my blows parried and blocked. The guild's best fighters had stayed close to the wizards—including Dead Osbert himself.

  Afon found an opening and whirled to attack the guild’s dead sword captain. Before I could stop him, he and Osbert had crossed blades. Under normal circumstances, I would have rated Afon as Osbert’s equal in skill. But not after the ceremony the wizard had performed with me and Osbert’s corpse in the catacombs. Afon didn’t have my skill set, nor my centuries of training under Aemi, the best swordsman in the world. Dead Osbert did. And Dead Osbert had two blades.

  My friend swung his sword, but Osbert’s blade redirected it just enough to miss him. On the follow through, Osbert slid his blade down Afon’s and stabbed him in the upper arm. Surprise and pain battled on Afon’s face. I was encumbered with two of Lecerf’s guards at once, one armed with an axe and the other with a sword. I went defensive and tried to move to Afon’s side.

  My friend was still on his feet and blocking Osbert’s blows, but his face had moved from surprise to concern. His sword arm was bleeding. Dead Osbert had sliced Afon’s leather armour. Afon launched another strike, which dead Osbert easily parried. As if in slow motion, I watched Osbert align for his next attack. The set up was tricky. The defender had to leave himself open, but not look like it was a feint and draw an attack in the lower outside quadrant. If his opponent took the bait, he had to fast block and reverse both weapons down, but block with the weapon your opponent didn’t expect. Afon made exactly the wrong move, and took the bait Dead Osbert had set up.

  I saw exactly where Osbert’s b
lades would go, and I couldn’t get there in time to stop it. Afon’s catch phrase rolled through my mind, along with a fleeting thought of Llinos. Those who live by the sword…

  A crazy idea entered my head. It was my only hope.

  I sliced across the belly of the guard with the axe, and carried through the pivot with a slashing cut that caught the other guard in the neck. With those two annoyances out of the way, I pointed my sword at the dead sword captain.

  “Osbert, HOLD!” I bellowed.

  Maybe my inclusion in the spell that raised Dead Osbert would give me power over the undead fighter.

  To both my surprise and joy, Dead Osbert froze, blades halted in mid-swing. Wasting no time, Afon plunged in and cleaved the dead man’s head off. Osbert’s body crumpled to the ground. Dead again.

  I hoped that was the end of Osbert.

  But it still wasn’t the end of our fight.

  Emlyn was down to only three copies of the Seeker. I faced only a handful of guards between me and the wizard. But Lecerf was mere steps from the hole in the wall.

  Afon’s breath was heavy as he fought to stay with my pace. He was wearing. Everyone was. But I couldn’t slow down now, and with my demon’s energy, I had no reason to. Only a few more guards to get through and I’d have him. I dodged a blow from a Witch Hunter and dropped him with the Sword of Light.

  Lecerf pointed his staff at Caerwyn and Cadoc, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the gate. I refused to let him get another spell in and tried to reach the Sword of Light close enough to knock the staff from his hands. But more guild fighters filled in between the wizard and me.

  Lecerf muttered a command. The ground in the graveyard heaved. Mounds of earth flew into the air. As if a blanket had been peeled back from their beds, the dead inside the abbey’s graveyard erupted from their resting places and stumbled towards the two lords and Gwen.