Steps to Deliverance

by Mark Barber

  Turning to crawl back to his bedroll, Tancred stopped. A little more awake now, he was more focused, more aware that the dullness in his head was not from the humid environment. There was something close by, something malevolent. Tancred hauled his padded underarmor jacket on over his shoulders and crept out of his tent. Standing up in the cool night air, he glanced around at the woods at the foot of the plateau the force had made its camp atop. There was nothing. No rustle of movement, no indication of disturbance of any kind. Still uncomfortable, Tancred returned to his tent and pulled on his coat of mail and buckled his breastplate on top before securing his sword belt around his waist to give him a bare minimum of weaponry and protection. Spending a few minutes silently pacing around the camp perimeter, he again failed to see anything of concern. But the feeling, the sensation of peril closing in from all sides, would not leave him. Closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts, Tancred delved into the core of his control over the spiritual powers of divinity magic in an attempt to discern whether this was merely a bad feeling, or his senses alerting him to danger.

  His eyes shot open. Silently, his bare feet padding on the dry earth below, he dashed over to Jeneveve’s tent. Creeping inside, he found her asleep on her side in her bedroll. Clamping a hand over her mouth, he shook her awake. She opened her eyes and a dagger appeared at Tancred’s throat. Realizing who had awoken her, she lowered the weapon.

  “Jeneveve!” Tancred whispered desperately. “The camp is being surrounded! I need you to go and wake up two other knights and then come back here to get into your armor. Tell them all to do exactly the same. And prepare torches, too. But keep it down! We must not alert whatever is out there!”

  “W…what is going on?” Jeneveve whispered as Tancred removed his hand from her mouth.

  “Can you not sense it?” Tancred asked anxiously.

  The dark haired woman closed her eyes in concentration but shook her head.

  “No, Lord Paladin,” she admitted, “but surely better to exercise caution and prepare for the worst? I will wake the others and prepare for battle.”

  Tancred clumsily extricated himself from the tent and watched as Jeneveve darted off to wake up Brother Paladin Xavier in the next tent along. Tancred headed over to the two guards who were talking by the edge of the encampment. By the time he arrived, the feeling of darkness was overwhelming, threatening to envelop his senses and leaving him utterly convinced that an attack was imminent.

  “Guards,” he said in a low voice as he approached, “we are being surrounded by the forces of the Abyss. You – go and awake the Dictator-Prefect and tell him to prepare his men for battle, but do it silently. Do not make a single noise. You – stay here and keep your eyes fixed on the woods below. If you see or hear anything untoward, raise the alarm.”

  Both guards nodded, the first man sprinting off toward Hugh’s grand tent in the center of the encampment while the second soldier looked down at the dark trees fifty yards downslope at the foot of the hill, one hand clamped around the handle of his sword. Tancred rushed back to his own tent and silently awoke his squires to help him complete the process of putting on his armor.

  Tancred returned to the perimeter as soon as he was fully armored, arriving just ahead of Jeneveve and Xavier. The three paladins stood with the lone guard and looked out to the south.

  “I can sense it now,” Jeneveve said in a hushed tone, “not just from the south. All around us. Why are they attacking us here? They must know we can sense their presence? We have the advantage of high ground and a defendable position.”

  “We are tired and do not see well in the dark,” Tancred replied uneasily. “They feel no fatigue and see better in the darkness. I have ordered the squires to prepare torches to light this hilltop up like it is the Feast of the Life.”

  “Our supplies,” Xavier said, “we are also half crippled by having to defend our caravan and supplymen.”

  “I will tell them they need to take up arms tonight,” Jeneveve said. “All must carry swords if we are to hold our ground here.”

  Tancred watched as Jeneveve made her way over to the supply tents while the first few men-at-arms and mercenaries emerged from their own tents, fully armed and armored. Hugh was the next to arrive at the edge of the camp, his eyes red with weariness as he clipped his extravagant black cloak around his neck.

  “What is it, Tancred? Where is the threat coming from?”

  “All around us,” Tancred replied, “we are surrounded. I can sense it. Our advantage now is that they are unaware we are expecting them. We need to keep the noise down for as long as possible. We should let them attack thinking they have us caught completely unaware.”

  Hugh nodded as he cast his eyes around the surrounding terrain.

  “We shall set up the mercenaries to the east to take advantage of the most open terrain. Captain Georgis can take the north and west. Can you charge down this slope to meet them from the south? This seems the most gentle slope for horses.”

  “If we rouse the horses, they will make a lot of noise,” Tancred replied.

  “Understood,” Hugh said, “tell your squires to get the horses prepared as soon as the fighting begins. Pick your best mounted warriors and tell them to fall back to the horses. The rest of your paladins must hold here. I will have a defensive position prepared in the center of camp, but you need to buy time for it to be constructed. Are you content?”

  “Yes, content,” Tancred nodded, feeling slightly better as another three of his paladins approached the southern slope, fully armored and prepared for battle.

  ***

  Moving swiftly along the line of prone crossbowmen, Constance arrived at the far end by Jaque. The thin man lay down by a small bush, staring out toward the plains to the east. He was the end of her line, marking the limits of her company’s area of responsibility; a few yards away to the left saw the beginning of the area held by the legion men-at-arms.

  “Anything?” Constance whispered as she crouched down next to her comrade.

  “Oh yeah,” Jaque nodded, his eyes fixed ahead, “I can’t see them yet, but if you listen you can hear the bastards chittering occasionally. They’re there, alright.”

  “Good,” Constance gave his bony shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “if anybody is going to remain hidden, it’s us. We’ve got heavy cavalry and infantry with us, we’re the only ones who ever do the scouting. None of these others have the first idea about staying hidden, so it’s down to us to hold this open plain until just the right moment. I’m trusting you to make that decision and start shooting if you think it’s necessary, alright?”

  “Got it, Constance,” Jaque whispered. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait until we can’t miss them.”

  Staying low and silent, cursing her mail armor for its chinking in the darkness, Constance dashed back to take her place in the center of the line. The last few of her soldiers to be awoken were now taking their places, accepting unlit torches from the paladins’ squires as they arrived. Twenty-two men and women remained in Constance’s company. Discounting the squires and supplymen, only about ninety soldiers lay in wait for whatever was approaching from the darkness. Constance hoped it would be enough.

  Then she saw them. Just a single figure at first, man-sized and hunched over as it sprinted low and fast across the open plain ahead of her. The light of the full moon reflected off its metal armor and bare skin, highlighting the silhouette of a muscular frame, bent over almost double as it ran. A second, then a third, came into view. Then it was a whole line.

  “Wait for my command to loose!” Constance whispered.

  The order was hurriedly passed along the line. Constance turned and frantically beckoned for one of the squires to run over to her from the pile of torches.

  “Go and tell the Dictator-Prefect that we are being attacked from the east,” she said quickly. “Get the horses ready for the cavalry and be ready to light the torches! Go!”

  When Constance turned back to face the east, the entire plain wa
s a living, writhing mass of advancing bodies. Lumbering, muscular figures with curved horns sprouting from their heads and spiked, battered armor glinting in the moonlight moved rapidly toward her position. Fear rose sharply in the form of bile rising to her throat. She feared death as much as any other, but that fear she had overcome many times. But this was not death. This was the threat of being dragged to hell itself for an eternity of torture unlike anything in the mortal world.

  The sea of burly bodies was within range now, but a few seconds more would guarantee accuracy from some of her weaker shooters. Constance drew herself up to one knee and brought her crossbow to her shoulder. Her action was mimicked along the line as her mercenaries clambered up to either side. They were close now, close enough to hear their animalistic huffing and grunting as they ran across the dry plain on their cloven hooves. Any closer and there would not be enough time to load for a second salvo. Now was the time.

  “Loose!” Constance shouted, picking out a target in the shadowy demonic mass rushing at the encampment.

  The twang of crossbow strings reverberated down the line as twenty-two bolts shot out and whistled through the cool night air, thudding into the advancing wall of hellish flesh. Snarls of pain and rage emanated from the demonic line as Abyssals dropped to the earth, dead or grievously wounded, trampled underfoot by the continuing surge of their remorseless fellow demons.

  Hurriedly drawing the string of her weapon back, Constance let out a breath as the night sky was lit up by dozens of torches on a command from the center of the camp. The closest of the devils were visible in the light now; red-skinned, muscular, near naked with only isolated clumps of armor strapped to their powerful bodies, the horned lower Abyssals continued to run up the gentle slope with their viciously serrated swords and curved axes held high above their horned heads. Constance reckoned there were perhaps fifty or sixty of them on the east slope, let alone whatever was charging up the other sides of the hill. They had time for one more shot before the demonic horde would be on them. Constance realized then they did not stand a chance. Loading her bolt onto the crossbow, she prepared to face her end with courage.

  ***

  The wall of demons surged up the slope, weapons brandished high above their heads and snarling, animalistic cries echoing through the night. Standing front and center of the twenty paladins, Tancred tightened his grip around the handle of his greatsword and held it ready to one side. He could make out the details of his opponents now – three ranks of lower Abyssals numbering at least fifty; ornate, brass trimmed armor over their red skin marking them out as elite Abyssal guards; the very best and bloodiest warriors of their circle of the pit.

  “Wait for my command!” Tancred yelled as he looked to either side at the line of paladins who stood steady behind the wall of lit torches. “Make every strike count!”

  The lines of Abyssal guards lumbered closer, the plates of their armor clanking and the darkness emanating from their core surrounding and enveloping Tancred like a black shroud.

  “Charge!” Tancred yelled, sprinting out at the head of his ranks of warriors.

  Timed to perfection, Tancred had just enough space to accelerate to a full sprint before he brought his sword up high and hacked down with all of his might as the two opposing ranks of warriors clashed together. His first strike cleaved through an Abyssal guard on the front row, tearing open a great rent in the demon from shoulder across to midriff. Trying to capitalize on his momentum, Tancred surged forward into the second rank and swiped out at the next monstrosity he faced, but his attack was batted aside with a well-executed block from the horned devil he faced.

  The two opposing warriors stood facing each other, their weapons locked together as they stared into each other’s eyes with gritted teeth. The Abyssal guard hauled its axe back and swung it around in a rapid strike aimed at Tancred’s neck; the paladin ducked beneath and twisted in place to thrust his sword toward the demon’s face, but this too was batted aside by the skillful warrior. Tancred was forced to take two steps back as the Abyssal advanced on him with a flurry of blows executed with precision and inhuman speed; then, out of nowhere, Jeneveve appeared at his side and decapitated the horned demon with one fluid blow.

  Less than a second later, another Abyssal guard leapt forward and smashed a warhammer into Jeneveve’s head, sending her sprawling down into the dirt with blood leaking out from a great rend torn in her helmet. With a cry of rage, Tancred hurled himself forward and barged his shoulder into Jeneveve’s victor, knocking the demon to the ground. Tancred planted an armored foot onto the demon’s chest to pin it in place and then brought his own sword hacking down again and again, butchering the Abyssal until little remained intact.

  A blow thundered into Tancred and he was smashed down to the ground, locked in a fierce grapple against another of the red-skinned horde as the two rolled over each other amidst the growing sea of dead and dying that covered the earth around them. The horned Abyssal overpowered Tancred and rolled on top of him, fixing him with a black-eyed stare of hatred before sinking its razor sharp fangs into Tancred’s neck. Tancred let out a howl of pain and smashed an elbow into the side of the monster’s head, dislodging the demonic creature for long enough to grab his sword and bring the hilt thudding down into the Abyssal’s face to obliterate its nose. Yelling, Tancred brought the handle down again and again, changing his aiming point from the face to the side of the head until the creature’s skull gave way and brain matter was exposed.

  Staggering back to his feet, Tancred brought up his sword and launched himself back into the attack with renewed vigor.

  ***

  A barricade had been hastily assembled in the center of the camp, predominantly made up of a circle of overturned wagons. The quartermaster remained within with his supplymen, alongside Hugh and his two aides. A few bows had been distributed to the quartermaster’s stevedores, but Orion knew these would be useless given how long it took to teach a man to use a bow effectively. Seeing the seven paladins approaching, one of the wagons was quickly pushed to one side to allow a small opening in the defenses for the men to dash through. Hugh ran over to intercept them as the defenses were shut behind them.

  “Where’s the rest of you?” he demanded breathlessly, raising his voice over the panicked shouts around them.

  “Tancred attacked with all of the others,” Orion replied. “We are all that remains. Are the horses ready?”

  “Yes, ten of them,” the Dictator-Prefect said. “Go and support Tancred to the south. Captain Georgis is holding at the north and west. I fear the mercenaries are about to fall to the east, and seven horsemen won’t stop that.”

  Orion nodded, immediately forcing the painful thoughts of the inevitable demise of his friends within the mercenary company to the back of his mind. The din of battle echoed from all around, drawing ever closer with each passing moment.

  “Come on!” he urged the six paladins accompanying him. “Mount up, get a lance!”

  Orion was met in the very middle of the final defensive position by Kell. The boy walked to him, his shaking hands wrapped around the reins of Orion’s warhorse. Six similarly armored warhorses were dragged over by other squires as alarmed shouts increased in intensity from the other side of the wagon barricade. Orion tore the reins of the horse from his squire and put his foot into one of the stirrups to drag himself up into the saddle.

  “Lance, boy! Go and fetch me a lance!”

  Within seconds, Kell had returned with a lance and a shield. He handed both up to Orion and then took a step back, panic wrinkling his freckled, youthful features as the screams of the dying and wounded drew closer from the other side of the barricade. Orion looked down at him as he buckled his shield to his arm.

  “Arm yourself, boy!” he growled. “Remember everything I have taught you! Give them hell!”

  The youth nodded mutely, tears forming in his eyes. Orion stopped. The world seemed to pause for the briefest of moments. He stared down at the boy who had faithfully
served him for two years, always with the greatest of effort and always without a single complaint. Kell was not a born fighter. He did not stand a chance. Orion saw something of himself in the frail youth who stood loyally by his side, shaking in the terror of the inevitable. Orion cursed himself for his failure. He had been a poor master and mentor. He had never taken the time to talk to Kell, to get to know him, to get the best out of him and bring him on as a potential knight. It was too late for all of that now. Orion felt his head loll forward in shame at his failure.

  “This will be over soon,” he forced a smile for the young squire. “You will either live through it or you will be with the Elohi in the afterlife. Either way, you will be fine.”

  “Y… yes, sir,” Kell nodded.

  His shaking hand drew the short sword from his belt and immediately dropped it. Orion’s mind was instantly cast back over a decade, to the moment he dropped his sword on the mountainside when his uncle needed his help.

  “Kell!” he shouted down to the boy as he scrabbled in the dirt for his weapon.

  The squire stood up again with his sword, looking timidly up at his master.

  “I am so proud of the man you have become,” Orion said sincerely, “and I am so, so sorry I have let you down. Please forgive me.”

  Murmuring a prayer for Kell, Orion spurred his horse forward to the edge of the barricade as the quartermaster’s men dragged a wagon around to create an opening. Glancing over his shoulders, Orion confirmed that the other knights were ready. He held his lance high to attract their attention.