Steps to Deliverance

by Mark Barber

  A horn blasted from the column of troops below her. The ranks of soldiers came to a halt and orders were bellowed out in the night as blocks of infantry and wedges of cavalry were wheeled in place to face the hill. More orders were issued from horns, and drums beat into life as three hundred Basilean soldiers reformed and prepared themselves for battle.

  A smile spread across Aestelle’s face as relief washed over her. The smile became a laugh and she threw the torch down to the ground, leaning forward to hold onto the banner pole with both hands as she dug it into the soft earth at her feet. She turned in place, knowing full well what awaited her.

  Twelve gray-skinned gargoyles stood in a loose semi-circle around her, sharp fangs protruding from beneath their cruel, blue lips. Their grotesque, feminine bodies stood poised for attack, their clawed hands ready, and their blood red eyes fixed on Aestelle. Standing in front of them was a taller, more powerful and familiar figure. The red-skinned, raven-haired temptress she had spoken to at the massacred fishing village of Peleura stood in front of her lesser Abyssal creatures, her toned arms folded at her chest and her wings spread behind her back.

  “Too late,” Aestelle flashed a smile and a wink, “it’s all for nothing now. You’ve failed.”

  “Too late?” the temptress narrowed her eyes and paced over dangerously, a coiled and barbed whip held in one hand and a curved sword held in the other. “You think that because you’ve alerted your pitiful little army that this is over? How many Abyssals do you think we have with us? Some token band, perhaps? We have an army, more than enough to crush your pathetic collection of barely trained soldiers! I did not come here to stop you signaling them, I welcome it! More souls for the fires!”

  “You’re lying!” Aestelle sang with a smile, unsheathing her sword from her back, forcing a false bravado to replace the terror clawing at her heart as she realized she was facing her final moments of life. “You haven’t chased me all the way out here for nothing.”

  “Believe what you will,” the temptress hissed, her tone sultry. “I am capable of mercy. Not much, but some small token. But for you? What was it you promised me? To maim me? Cripple me? I could have simply killed you. But you’ve annoyed me. So now I’m here to drag your soul to hell itself for an eternity of agony.”

  The temptress nodded to her hideous, gray winged minions. Aestelle charged forward to meet their attack, her greatsword held high.

  ***

  Any semblance of order in the defense of the portal stones was now gone. The top of the hill had descended into anarchy, a swirling and bloody melee of chaos and confusion. Isolated groups of paladins and militiamen fought back against the savage onslaught of Abyssal warriors as the scarlet-skinned demons continued to pour up over the edges of the hill from all directions.

  Valletto stood within the triangle of the portal stones themselves, momentarily defended by a semi-circle of ten militiamen to one side and a frenzied defense by Tancred, Xavier, and Jeneveve on the other. He stared ahead, frozen on the spot, somehow the safest individual on top of the hill for a brief moment; but still the closest to mortal danger he had ever been in his life. His previous campaigns had seen him playing a supporting role from the very periphery of battle; certainly never close enough to see men and monsters disembowel and decapitate each other. The shrieks of rage and cries of the wounded filled the air, punctuated only by the clash of metal on metal as blades slammed against each other in the damp, night sky.

  “Come on, man, do something!”

  He realized that the chastising voice was his own. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Valletto pushed the dread to one side and surveyed his surroundings. Abyssals continued to scramble up the slopes all around the defenders, threatening to envelop them at any moment. Valletto could do something about that.

  Clamping both hands on his staff and holding it out in front of him, Valletto summoned arcane energies from his very core, feeling the surge of power grow within him and then extend out to the tips of his fingers. Sparkling light danced across his hands, white lines of energy swirling and spiraling around his arms as the power built within him. Valletto closed his eyes and concentrated harder on his surroundings, sensing the push of the wind, the moisture of the rain, the low pressure of the air over the water to the east. Diverting every drop of moisture for a mile in every direction, Valletto utilized his powers to draw the drizzle and rain in toward him to congregate rapidly in the air above his head.

  Holding his staff up high, he released the energy in one powerful burst. The air rushed up above him, forming dark clouds directly above the northern slopes. Summoning a second wave of energy, Valletto rapidly dropped the temperature of the air above. With the moisture suddenly and violently increased and the air dropped to near freezing, the clouds above let out a rapid monsoon of torrential rain. Valletto directed it onto the northern assault, turning the side of the hill into an impassible swamp of thick, slippery mud within seconds. Every demon attempting to clamber up was instantly cast down in the mud, slipping and sliding through the treacherous quagmire to tumble back down to the base of the insurmountable hill.

  Satisfied that one of the four sides to the hill was now impossible to assail, Valletto turned his attentions to the east. Sweat pouring from his brow with the increased exertion of his efforts, Valletto summoned more moisture from miles in every direction, drying the air in the entire area to force the skies above him to utter saturation. Hisses of pain escaped through gritted teeth as Valletto forced the air down to its freezing point. Chilled to the bone, physically shattered by the toil of overpowering nature itself, Valletto held his staff high once more for the final ingredient. Drawing in wind from every direction, he sent a pillar of air shooting up into the soaked, frozen skies.

  The skies flashed white and deafening thunder drowned out all other noise. Forks of deadly lightning spat down from the heavens straight into the advancing Abyssal guards on the eastern slope. Lightning tore through their ranks to burn vicious holes directly through the hellish monsters, dropping them lifeless and smoking into the mud of the hilltop. Fighting to keep exhaustion at bay, Valletto dropped to one knee and continued the onslaught of nature’s elements for as long as he could, relentlessly assaulting the Abyssals as they drove headlong toward the peak.

  ***

  Orion battered the blade of his adversary aside, overpowering the Abyssal and casting its arm to one side. Seizing the opportunity presented by the opening, the paladin stepped forward and slammed his forehead down into the nose of the demonic warrior, snapping its head back and stunning it for long enough to drive his sword through its gut. The shrieking lower Abyssal writhed and clawed out at him as it stood impaled on Orion’s sword, its agonized cries drowned out by the thunder up above as rain continued to pelt the two opposing forces atop the hill. Orion withdrew his sword neatly and cut a clinical strike down against his foe, cleaving open its torso, and sending it down into the dirt.

  For the first time since the fight began, a felled Abyssal was not instantly replaced by another of the demonic horde, and Orion had a brief moment to assess his surroundings and how the battle was faring. Behind him, Valletto stood in the center of the portal stones, his magic having made one side of the hill unassailable while the deadly lightning he summoned from the heavens continued to wreak havoc and destruction on any creatures foolish enough to attempt to scale the eastern slope. With only half of the hill now open to the continued onslaught of Abyssals, the Basilean force was no longer surrounded and was able to rally.

  “To me,” Tancred yelled over the thunder and howling wind, “back to me!”

  Orion stepped back toward where Tancred stood, flanked by Xavier and Jeneveve, arriving by their side just as Reynaud and Silus fought their way over from the southern edge of the hilltop. Dorn continued to command the surviving militiamen; perhaps half of the original number remained alive and fit to fight. Orion let out a breath and muttered a brief and regretful prayer as he saw Tantus lying prone and still amidst the
carpet of corpses from both sides, his lifeless eyes staring unfocused up at the dark heavens above.

  “Get back in line!” Tancred bellowed. “Face south! Valletto, can you take out another slope?”

  The exhausted mage nodded and brought his staff up, but instantly sagged and dropped to one knee as his eyes lolled back in his head. Xavier broke ranks and dashed over to him, hauling him back to his feet and dragging him away from the next wave of Abyssals that cautiously advanced from the western slope. Orion turned to look down through the rain to the south, his eyes picking out the slope where Aestelle had run for. He had seen her a few minutes before, a speck stood atop the hill with a blazing torch in one hand and a fluttering blue banner in the other; he had even thought he had heard her crying out, but now all he could see was a flock of bats fluttering around where she had been. An instant later, his face dropped as he realized there was no way he could make out bats from this far away.

  “Here they come!” Dorn yelled to his militiamen. “Up and at ‘em!”

  Orion followed Tancred as the handful of remaining paladins charged across the muddy hilltop toward the advancing creatures, their own lines made up of the ubiquitous lower Abyssals and the more dangerous Abyssal guards. The ragged militiamen crashed against the wave of demons, their halberds and spears jutting out to slash and stab at the unworldly warriors as they met. Perhaps two or three-dozen Abyssal monsters adorned in armor of spiked plates and armed with crude swords and axes threw themselves into the fragile Basilean line. Orion remained shoulder to shoulder between Tancred and Silus, rushing out to meet the charge of a line of black armored Abyssal guards.

  The first monster met him head on, lashing out at his head with a double-headed axe. Orion leaned back to avoid the blow and brought his sword up to defend himself from a savagely linked series of strikes aimed at his chest and head. The attacks stopped as suddenly as they had started when Silus leaned across to exploit the briefest of gaps in the fighting, thrusting his sword through the side of the Abyssal guard’s head. Orion was quick to seize the opportunity created and lunged forward to strike down the next Abyssal guard in line, now that its flank was left exposed and unprotected. He brought his heavy blade hacking down again and again, butchering the shorter creature and cutting great welts open in its flesh before it collapsed to the ground and was trampled underfoot as the fight continued to surge back and forth. Of the relief force sent to save them, there was still no sign.

  ***

  Twisting in place, Aestelle slashed her sword out at a third gargoyle that flapped viciously down to attack her, its inhuman claws tearing toward her back as she frantically batted it away with her blade. Mere moments seemed to drag on like hours as she stood her ground at the top of the hill, her discarded torch at her feet providing the only source of light in the night as the sea of bat-winged devils continued their tireless assault on her from every direction and angle. Every opening she thought she could take advantage of saw her rapidly being forced to switch back to the defensive as another of the gargoyles swooped down to attack with an ear piercing shriek. Every time Aestelle managed to link a flurry of precise strikes against one of her foes, enough to force it back and threaten to overwhelm its defenses, it simply flew away to be replaced by a fresh gargoyle, waiting for its turn to fight in the flock swarming above her head. All the while, the dark-haired temptress stood her ground several feet away, watching in silence as her vile minions continued to wear down their solitary prey.

  Finally one of the foul, fang toothed gray demons fluttered in too close, close enough for Aestelle to strike. She swept up her great sword and sliced a vicious wound across the gargoyle’s chest and was rewarded with an agonized shriek of pain and rage. Quick to capitalize, Aestelle grabbed one of the pair of throwing knives from the small of her back and flung it into the gut of a second gargoyle – the repulsive creature clutched at the blade buried in its bowels with both hands and dropped to the ground. Aestelle took a long step toward the felled monster, and with a single sweep, removed its head from its shoulders in a fountain of viscous, black blood.

  Before she could return to a defensive stance, she found herself letting out a howl of pain as a clawed hand dragged razor sharp talons across her back, easily tearing through her leather armor and flesh alike. Angered, desperate in her realization that her time was running out, Aestelle grabbed her pistol from her side. She had wanted to save her single shot, her one definite opportunity to hit the temptress as there would be no time to reload, but her options were gone. Aestelle spun on the spot and brought her pistol up to aim at the gargoyle who had torn at her back – she leveled the gun at its head and pulled the trigger. The wooden handled pistol barked a staccato report and issued a great plume of white smoke, and the gargoyle’s face disintegrated into a shower of black blood and bone as the lead shot ploughed through its skull and dropped it to the ground.

  Shocked, perhaps even scared by the firearm, the swarm of gargoyles spread out away from Aestelle for a precious moment, long enough for her to concentrate on her divinity magic and press one palm awkwardly against her bloodied back and heal the worst of the wound. She doubted she would get another opportunity to use her magic again. As if reading her thoughts, the ten remaining gargoyles swarmed toward her again. Aestelle raised her sword and slashed out at them as they approached, forcing two of them back for a few moments before she felt simultaneous and agonizing tears at her left arm and right leg as the talons tore at her again. Her leg gave way and she dropped to one knee, helpless in front of the grinning, winged devils. Then the temptress attacked.

  Two, perhaps three of the wailing gargoyles continued to flutter around her and slash out at her as the shapely, horned temptress leapt forward. The barbed whip cracked out and connected with Aestelle’s face, tearing open the skin below one eye. She staggered to her feet and instinctively took a step away as she felt a slash across her back, reopening her semi-healed wounds. Dripping in sweat from her exertions, bleeding from multiple injuries, Aestelle forced herself back to the fight with a roar of rage and turned to strike at a gargoyle to her right, lopping off one of its legs at the knee and sending it whooshing away with a squeal of agony. The whip cracked again and the temptress struck Aestelle across one shoulder, tearing open a new wound.

  “Who in hell did you think you were to tough talk me!” the temptress laughed as she took a step back. “You are done! Finished! I could have shown a shred, a sliver of mercy and killed you quickly! But now, all that remains is for me to drag you down to the Abyss for an eternity, an endless eternity of pain and suffering you cannot even begin to comprehend!”

  Aestelle took her last knife from her belt and flung it at the temptress’ face. With lightning fast reflexes, the demon woman turned her head but not quite quickly enough. The knife slashed against the side of the temptress’ face, spinning her head and drawing an arc of blood as it swept past. The temptress let out a howl and turned to face Aestelle again, her right eye cut in two within its socket and leaking a trail of black liquid down her face.

  “You talk too much, bitch,” Aestelle forced a blood soaked grin across her face.

  Yelling in fury, the temptress ran at Aestelle, who wearily brought her blade up to defend herself; but was instantly forced back under a furious onslaught of strikes by both whip and sword. She felt a slash across her midriff and the whip strike at her thigh but fought through the pain to smash the pommel of her greatsword into the temptress’ face, breaking the demonic woman’s nose. Then came the inevitable end.

  The temptress thrust her sword into Aestelle’s stomach, plunging the blade effortlessly through her body to emerge out of her back. Leaning in to press its face against hers, the temptress laughed maliciously as she lifted Aestelle’s broken body off the ground. Aestelle used every last shred of her fortitude to will her limbs into life, to aim one last defiant strike, but her sword fell from her numb fingertips and her limbs refused to respond to her commands as blood flowed from the corners of her m
outh. The temptress threw her to one side, pressing a booted foot against her chest and kicking her off the curved blade.

  Her vision fading to a blur, Aestelle lay helplessly on the hilltop as the temptress stood victoriously over her, her surviving gargoyle minions gleefully flying around her after the unfair fight came to a close. She had fought countless battles in her short life and suffered a multitude of injuries, but never had the pain been so unbearable and never had it faded away to a numbness that she knew could only be the onset of death. Her eyes drifted closed as she prepared herself for an eternity of torment, never to see the mortal world again.

  Then, behind her, three loud thuds in quick succession shook the entire hillside. Her world swimming, Aestelle forced her eyes back open and tried unsuccessfully to drag her broken body back up to her knees. The sky lit up, a blinding but soothing white sweeping through the night and casting long shadows across the hill. The temptress and the gargoyles looked up into the sky above Aestelle, their faces distorted in fear and panic as they stepped back away, clawed hands brought up to red eyes to shield themselves from the bright light.

  Three towering figures, twice the height of a man, stepped over her and advanced a few paces toward the winged demons. The figures wore armor of shining silver that encased their bodies, save for wings of snow white feathers emerging from their backs. Each carried a colossal sword bathed in fire. Elohi. Angels of the Shining Ones, sent from the heavens themselves. The first of the trio of heavenly warriors swept his sword out in a great arc, catching one of the gargoyles and instantly incinerating it in an explosion of holy flames. The second Elohi surged forward in a burst of inhuman speed, thrusting her blazing sword forth to cut down a second gargoyle in a similarly spectacular display of fire.