Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “I am but a nomad, I answer to no man. Must I answer to you?” he sang and held his fingers to his ears but to no avail. “You come any closer and I’ll answer true,” he sang louder and felt a reprieve from the desolation. The lyrics were fighting words sung for battle. He tried to remember the next verse and cursed loudly. What was it? Something about the hero slitting his jailer’s throat? He moved onto the next verse instead.

  “I am not done yet, not taken my last breath. I need no final meal.”

  “I fear no rope, no lead, or your steel,” sang one of the warriors, in a voice that had sung the tale many times before. He continued and sang as if he were sitting in the Sickle surrounded by many friends and even more empty goblets. A comrade to his right joined in and the next after that. As the song grew in volume, more and more warriors began to sing along. It was an ugly rendition of the song. The timing was terrible and for all their bravery few could hold many notes, but the wall of noise from every defender singing, drained the suffocating tones of the horns. Suddenly there was a spark of hope as a few beat their swords on wooden shields and drove the anthem far into the sky. The song reached its epic crescendo as the hero of the tale called all listeners to take up arms and strike out. They sang magnificently, until tragically all voices fell silent as the last lyric faded and the blaring horns returned to their ears.

  It had been a nice moment, but moments pass.

  Quig looked around at the dejected faces and started the first line again. Within moments, the wall of Keri had found one more wall of defence. They repeated the song over and over, taking great pleasure in the knowledge that their terrible voices reverberated down through the valley and right back towards the tree line. With a bit of luck, they were taking a little bit of the fight out of the attackers.

  Finally, after the gods could take no more of the unpleasant concert, the horns trailed off. A few breaths later, the accompanying chants from Keri ceased their own performance. There would be no encore. The battlefield became a serene valley of silence in the wastes once more. A few crows between both groups pecked at the ground for nourishment, a mere appetiser, for there was a fine feast in the air. They always knew.

  The brutes charged from the trees just like before in a sea of black leather, fur, and blade, surging up the slope. The ground shook as each boot charged forward and Erroh missed the horns a little bit. The crows took flight.

  Lea and her archers let loose and many fell as before but there was no cessation to the deluge. The first dozen reached the barricade and began climbing and the world trembled under their hatred and weight. A dozen more followed behind and a dozen behind them. All lined up, awaiting their turn to kill.

  The first attacker screamed in defiance and then anguish as Erroh delivered little mercy to him. His limp body fell and with its last act took a comrade down with him. It was not long before another attacker from the depthless well took his place and met the same demise.

  Each brave Warrior of Keri stood atop the mound striking down at the scurrying enemy a few feet below. All who climbed met doom before reaching the summit. It was fine brutality as bloody swords from simple farmers plunged deep into skin and bone beneath them. The wilier of the attackers attempted to stand up half way and engaged in swordplay but with gravity and unstable ground at their feet, they too met similar fates.

  Lea desperately tried to ignore the scurrying brutes vying for her mate’s blood and kept to task as he’d asked her to. The crossbow wielders were easily cut down before they moved into range, but the curs that took to attacking the first lines of spikes were a trickier task. As they hacked with axes and hammers, she and her boys fired volley after volley down expending expensive ammunition. Eventually with only the loss of two spikes, the last demolisher was struck down and her eyes fell back to the horrors along the wall.

  Erroh watched helplessly as the first of his warriors was pulled from the summit down into the moving masses below. The man screamed and tried desperately to get to his feet, striking out like a wounded animal not yet accepting its fate as prey. The impatient attackers still waiting their turn to scale the walls closed in around him stabbing and hacking. His screaming was soon ended and he stepped into the darkness, accepting a divine glass of wine from a familiar face.

  More enemy breached the line and attacked with terrifying ferocity. More blood was spilled on both sides as the warriors of Keri showed their measure. They fought valiantly but it was for nothing. To Erroh’s dismay, the swell of attackers leaving the forest trickled away to nothing, leaving many hundreds more still unused. Where there had been an ocean of black and hatred, now there were pockets of space appearing in the battleground below. Not enough to suggest they could hold this wall much longer. There was just enough to finish the sacking of the town.

  “There aren’t enough attackers,” he growled to himself as a fiend beside him slipped under a warrior’s strike and leapt upon his quarry, leaving a gap in the line. The turning of the battle was already at close hand. Erroh struck his brother’s killer with his sword and kicked him back over the mound where more were flooding in. He slashed out with both blades and desperately tried to stem the tide, killing and maiming viciously until another warrior leapt to his aid and helped knock the brutes back.

  “Hold this line,” he roared and dared not stare to his mate far above, lest she think it time.

  All along the edge, the line was struggling as more and more of the enemy reached the summit and grappled with defenders.

  Not yet, Lea.

  A part of the barricade collapsed a few feet down and two warriors slipped to their doom as battle hungry attackers tore them apart. The town would have fallen in that precise moment had an enraged Quig not torn into the surging brutes with battle scythe, swinging killing blows to all who met its fury. He swung his menace with thick powerful arms and caused delicious chaos among the attackers as they fled from his magnificent swipes. He was screaming numbers loudly.

  Hold longer, Lea.

  At the far end of the wall, the defenders were holding firm as the tall graceful figure of Aireys led the defence with sublime artistry. She sliced and tore as though attacking a fine canvas, her blade, like an artist’s brush creating a masterpiece. The only sign of wear was a stream of crimson running down her side from a rogue plunging strike. It was but a scratch for a female with armour sturdy enough to be granted first prize to the grand champion of Keri. She would bleed for now and worry about such things later.

  Erroh thought every warrior a hero as their great defiance was torn apart all around them. Their nerves were a steel worthy of Magnus, but inevitable defeat was closing in.

  They needed one more moment.

  They deserved one more moment.

  He decided to take matters into his own hands. If he had taken a few breaths to rethink his action he might never have been so hasty. In his defence, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Lea would have disagreed. He sprinted towards the edge and leapt.

  Falling.

  He cleared the line of attackers below and landed in the mud at the bottom of the barricade. His hands spread out painfully in front of him still grasping his weapons and he never felt more alone in the world. Time appeared to grind to a halt as the invading army took a collective breath and gazed disbelievingly at the lunatic who’d presented himself to them on a silver platter.

  Erroh raised both his swords and challenged an entire army to a fight.

  “That’s amazing,” shouted Quig to any around him who could hear. He thought it a fine way to kill himself. The attacker that he was busy decapitating wasn’t terribly moved by his words as he had other things on his mind. Aireys sprinted by him slashing at anything nasty that moved and stemmed the flow of invaders who’d breached the wall. Behind her, a few of the warriors began to strike back with renewed drive and belief buoyed on by the spectacle below them. The killers still climbing the barricade were now caught in two different minds: complete the climb or join their dying comrades below as
they failed spectacularly to kill one solitary fighter.

  His ankle was sore and he felt a headache coming on. On top of that, he was tired, a great tiredness he’d never felt before. There were also about a hundred brutes staring at him. That seemed like the bigger problem.

  The nearest to him woke from his daze and struck out only to meet the tip of Revenge piercing through his throat. Erroh struck another cur down before spinning towards the edge of the riverbank and his only chance of survival. He released himself from fear and restraint and let savagery overcome him in its entirety.

  With the spiked river’s edge at his back, he avoided attacks from behind. Moving freely along the edge he ground his teeth as blades glanced painfully against skin and drew blood. Not enough to injure for his defence was sound, just enough to enrage him further. He was a blur of motion and he killed mercilessly. He roared, screamed, and intimidated all who faced him but none faced him for very long. They flailed, swung, and tried to trap him in their net, but as if he were a god with an all seeing eye, he slipped from their grasp and cut them deeply as he fled. In truth, he rode his luck and was it not for the skill of his mate and her boys who rained down volley after volley of arrows; he would have fallen within moments. As it was, the enemy fell and they fell in great numbers and they feared this demon and wondered why The Woodin Man had not seen this and warned them.

  Perhaps he had.

  Blades filled his vision and he waited for the defining blow to take him from the fight. It would be a fine way to step into the darkness and Lea would take care of the next assault. The metal clashing pierced the world and he hoped Dia could hear it all the way in Samara. Would she even care the town had fallen?

  An awestruck female struck wildly at him and he blocked ferociously knocking her to the tinder covered ground. She held her hands up in fear and acceptance as his blades went to finish her life, but he held off the killing blow and swung wildly in a new direction instead. He didn’t know why he hesitated. Maybe there was a little humanity still left in him. Maybe in his last few breaths he didn’t want her death on his hands. He wondered would he ever regret the act of mercy as he lost sight of the blonde girl amid a group of venomous killers. He plunged his blade into the face of the nearest and felt a lot better about his decision. A few moments later, he had forgotten about her completely.

  Sweat dripped down his forehead, though it may have been blood. He had never been so tired, yet only moments had passed since his suicidal leap. His vision darkened but his swords kept swinging. His body moving independent of his will. He struck out at someone and his blade went deep. He struggled to pull it free and slipped in the ruined bloody grass. A shadow loomed in and he blinked his last moment away. It was an incredible shot from Lea that pierced the brute’s shoulder blade allowing Erroh a moment to roll away.

  It was time to retreat.

  Arrows struck the ground all around him and summoning the last of his strength; he climbed to his feet and scurried back through the spikes towards the battlements. It wasn’t far but each step was agony as he blocked attack after attack with reflexes he wasn’t aware he still possessed. The great loneliness he’d felt dissipated when he met the unexpected counter charge from Keri’s grand army. Suddenly he was no longer surrounded by murderous brutes, but his comrades attacking as one. Completely outnumbered, they sacrificed the higher ground for one desperate charge and led by the indomitable Quig and Aireys, they broke through the attackers’ unprepared line, decimating all who resisted.

  Renewed by the impossible thoughts of winning this battle, Erroh threw himself back into the fight with a frenzy worthy of outlandish Alphaline tales. He gored into the attackers with Quig at one side and Aireys on the other and he felt like Magnus in his prime.

  The battle suddenly turned and the brutes fell back from the wrath of a handful of brave warriors. Far too late in the battle, the sounds of horns rang out once more but this time for retreat. The warriors gave chase and cut them all down as they fled back towards the forest. They leapt over the bodies of hundreds until they reached the first line of spikes where they halted, wary of a crossbow’s bolt.

  Only Erroh kept up the pursuit. Overcome with adrenaline, aggression, and a grand desire to instil more fear in their enemy, he caught one last brute and dragged him to the ground a few feet from the treeline where hundreds still waited.

  He could see them in the trees. He was terrified but that didn’t matter at all. What mattered was sending them a final message.

  “Come on,” he roared challenging the army once again before sliding Mercy’s blade across his victim’s throat casually. The blood erupted in a spray and though repulsed by his own actions Erroh roared laughter and held the dying man by the head as he squirmed his last few moments.

  “Come on you cowards,” he roared desperately trying to entice them to fight, and if they all came out to play, well that would be a fine thing indeed.

  They did not rise to his challenge.

  He let the corpse fall to the ground before disdainfully turning his back on them all and walking back up the slope, all the while laughing at their cowardice. Better to laugh than sob for his misery.

  Lea wiped the sweat from her brow and discovered the remnants of tears along her cheeks. When had that happened? There were very few arrows left to call upon. There were fewer defenders as well. Twelve brave Warriors still breathing and two looked like they would never hold a blade again. It was a glorious victory but the cost was severe. They would not survive another attack. It was time to light an arrow. In the meantime, she was going to throttle the son of Magnus.

  “How many did you fell?” asked Quig, cradling the head of the dying man. Erik tried to talk but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He coughed painfully and spat out some blood. That was a little better. He could feel himself slipping away but not quick enough. The pain was terrible but he would not scream out. He had fought bravely by the side of so many and now he would die bravely for them. He had enjoyed the singing.

  “I got eleven or twelve,” he whispered. He tried to move but his body wouldn’t obey such an underrated task. The pain he could feel was ebbing away though.

  “A fine number Erik,” said Aireys kindly, stroking his head gently “More than me,” she whispered and he liked that.

  “Where is Artur?” he said suddenly, his eyes widening with the faintest memory of his fellow Regulator, standing beside him atop the wall. He recalled a scream as both men charged back over the wall with the rest in their great counter attack. He hoped the scream hadn’t been from his closest friend. Both had made an oath to be brave as the darkness called. Someone passed him a flask and he sipped it. The sine never tasted sweeter. He summoned his strength and drank deeply and then they told him Artur had died bravely.

  “He’ll be dead by tonight,” whispered Quig to Aireys. She nodded sadly and leaned over him. The wounds were horrible and his breathing was that of a drowning man. Not even Emir could have saved his life. She took Erik’s head in her hand and kissed him gently on the lips. She thought him heroic. With her remaining free hand, she placed the sharp dagger across his throat. She knew where to cut. It was over in a couple of breaths. He didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t struggle. He simply let go. She would have been eternally grateful to her own gods for such a blessing. Quig placed the peaceful man back on the grass and embraced Aireys. He held her tightly until he was sure she was not going to break.

  Returning the bodies back over the barricade was a heartrending task and for once Erroh allowed his emotions to show. He wanted them to know he shared their grief. That he felt each one of their passing. He knew the name of each man they lay to rest and he offered up a prayer to the absent gods he wanted to believe in. It was the first time in days he felt anywhere near normal. After the last warrior was returned, he faced his trickiest manoeuvre of the day and climbed the valley wall to face his mate.

  He dismissed the archers so he could receive his reprimand in privacy and she glared a
t him. They were hers to command, not his.

  “How are you?” she said coldly when they disappeared from the top. If there was another attack, they would not be missed.

  “I’m worn out,” he said sheepishly. “How are you?”

  “My arm hurts,” she said. Erroh could see the strain on her face.

  “Can I do anything to help my beo?” he offered.

  “I’m sure one of my boys can massage it later,” she said. Aye, she was angry with him for his little wander.

  “I’m sorry Lea,” he said.

  Silence and a shrug.

  She turned and watched the slope of doom. Things were afoot. She watched them all gather in the trees. Apparently, it was time to put down this brave little defence. It was an entire army against just over a dozen.

  The odds were hardly fair.

  The ground began to shake under the sudden charge of hundreds. They came as one massive tidal wave back up the slope and swiftly the land became a massing swell of rage. The air was filled with high piercing cries of war and Erroh looked down helplessly at his comrades.

  “Clear the wall,” he yelled. The order was unnecessary. They had all been waiting this moment. They had cleared the wall when the first attacker had emerged from the green.

  The brutes kept running forward, oblivious as to why no Warrior waited for them on top of the barricade. Pride assured them that the defenders had fled. The first of many reached the barricade and began to climb, roaring triumphantly. Footholds from old wooden barrels, finely crafted furniture, and overturned carts made the climb easy enough when not having to face arrows, scythes, and sword wielding maniacs. They made good time as they neared the top.