by Plague Jack
“For the Wild Hunt!” echoed the crowd, and for the first time in ten years an elfkin army stood together, proud and united.
“Gets the juices flowing, don’t it?” said Kaevin. “I love a good speech.” He paused. “Let me correct myself. I love the good speech, because let’s be honest—there’s only one and it’s repeated over and over again. Just swap the variables around. This is my third speech. You?”
“First. It gets the common folk’s murder going,” said Calcifer, as the Wild Hunt split into two groups and headed south. The sound of their marching echoed throughout the realm of Norfield. Boots trampled farmland and tore up freshly planted soil as they passed farmhouses boarded up by the terrified farmers within. Three tiers of pestilent city lay before them, three tiers of filth from the former subhuman district all the way up to the many-buttressed Ribcage. Norfield was ripe for the taking.
Calcifer’s horse stopped at the foot of the bridge, and he tried his best not to think of the drop into the waters on either side. Bowmen stood along the top of the city gate, armed and ready to fire. The archers were supported by a pair of repeating ballistas perched upon the towers flanking the entrance to the city. Battering winds forced the sun-yellow flag of Norfield to flap wildly, the two-headed horse upon it dancing in the wind.
Why aren’t the doors opening? Pierah said her girls would get the doors open, thought Calcifer. No matter. Carefully he pulled out a red, glowing glass vial and kissed it. When this is over, I will find a way to bring you back, Monica—I swear it. A horn blared in the distance.
The men of Norfield released their bows and crossbows, sending a wall of arrows and bolts ripping through the air at the Wild Hunt. Calcifer raised his hands and the arrows sizzled and burned as they collided with a translucent blue wall of magic. They’re testing us, thought Calcifer as the horn blared again.
“You scared, boy?” asked Kaevin from behind Calcifer.
“No,” he replied, “I’m angry.”
Kaevin laughed. “Then what are you waiting for?” he asked.
Calcifer looked to the sky where a red cloud slowly glided over the moon. The white light was phased out by a blood red that coated everything in the color of death. “Pierah’s signal,” said Calcifer, turning his horse to face the crowd gathered behind him. “Archers!” he yelled. “Give them fire!”
From the back of the Hunt a volley of fire arrows rose into the night sky and peaked high above the river before crashing down into the city’s first tier. There was an explosion as the gate blasted open, sending chunks of wood and metal spewing over the sides of the bridge and crashing into the waters below. A wall of spearmen awaited them, and had their faces not been obscured by helmets, Calcifer would have seen the fear put into their bones by Pierah’s blood moon.
“For the Wild Hunt!” yelled Calcifer, facing Norfield and raising his fist high. The rest of the Hunt mimicked his cry once again as Calcifer kicked his horse, sending her running at the twisted wreckage of the gate. Behind him were twenty-four elven knights, each equipped with a lance, a shield, and, for when things got dirty, a sword. There was just enough room on the bridge for two Huntsmen to ride side by side, their lances outstretched, ready to embed themselves in a man’s chest. Another wave of arrows was fired from the wall, but Calcifer kept his mana shield up and they pinged harmlessly aside in puffs of flame.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, went the ballistas as they emptied their rounds at the knights. Calcifer’s shield failed as the ballista’s bolts, which were as long as a man, pierced the magical wall and found their mark. A bolt took off a horse’s head, forcing both rider and beast onto the stone, where they were quickly trampled. One particularly unlucky knight found himself impaled by two of the bolts. The one through his gut popped out of his back and lodged itself in the horse’s rump. The second struck his shoulder, shoving his armor into muscle and twisting his body back with such force his back broke. The horse screamed a high-pitched neigh of agony and fear as it reared up on its hind legs. There was no room or time for stopping as the Wild Hunt charged forward, and the horse and its pinned rider were shoved over the side of the bridge, spraying blood as they plunged to their doom.
Time seemed to move very slowly as Calcifer led the Wild Hunt across the bridge, doing everything he could to stop the hailstorm of arrows and ballista bolts that rained down upon them. With a flick of his hand he started a fire beneath the pikemen, not enough to cook or burn them, but just enough to start a panic that broke their formation.
Calcifer’s horse slammed into the spearmen, knocking them aside. A man threw his spear down and hacked a short sword at Calcifer’s back. His attempts to kill the Bottler were thwarted by Kaevin, who struck the soldier in the head with his war hammer. He was hit with such force that the soldier’s helmet bent inwards and blood shot out of the eye slots. “Don’t worry, boy, Kaevin’s got your back!” shouted Kaevin, the burned half of his face contorted horribly from the effort.
Elven knights poured through the city’s gate, and the flood of metal and horse surrounded Calcifer. Lances thrust forward and impaled the broken ranks of spearmen as they fled. Those who weren’t impaled were trampled underfoot. The Hunt’s foot soldiers followed, led by a group of gilnoids. Towering in full plate, they carried shields the size of dinner tables. They marched forward, stabbing at any humans crawling for their lives. Elves and dwarfs stormed the walls towers and slaughtered the Norfieldian archers, who were ill-equipped to defend against the surge. After the last of the humans was tossed out of the towers, the bastillas were taken and turned around to face inward, towards the Ribcage high atop the city’s hill.
Fires were erupting onto the streets. A human husband and wife had left the safety of their home to pour buckets of water onto the flames devouring their storefront. A pair of elves had seized this opportunity to terrorize and held both at sword point. “Ugly wife you’ve got,” they taunted, “but she’ll do for now, won’t she?”
The elves’ blades were ripped from their hands by an invisible force. “This won’t do at all,” said Calcifer as the sword blades levitated by his head. “I don’t think the pair of you deserve these,” he said, pointing the blades at the elves.
“You fools were warned against pillaging. Pierah will hear of this,” said Kaevin angrily. “Keep their swords.”
“No,” said Calcifer, raising his index finger as the swords floating beside him turned gently. “I think I'll return them.” He twirled his finger and the flying swords shot forward fast as an arrow. The merchant’s wife screamed in shock as her attempted rapists fell to the ground gurgling, three feet of red steel protruding from the back of their necks. That’s two and three. Gone to their graves just like Bertrand.
“Was that necessary?” asked Kaevin. “We need all the men we can get. You could have just had them punished later.”
Calcifer ignored him. “Get to someplace that’s not on fire and hide. Don’t come out,” he ordered the humans. They didn’t need to be told twice.
The Wild Hunt spread throughout the first district in a wave of iron and fury. They poured through every street and every alley, bludgeoning and slashing. The Norfieldians who fought, fought bravely before being overwhelmed. Crumpled bodies piled in the streets, their bright yellow tabards stained red and brown.
Those who fled and lived retreated up the stone stairs to the human district, its gate closing shut before all could make it. The trapped guards surrendered when they found themselves surrounded on all sides. The captives were dragged, hands tied, to the front of the Bleeding Hearts brothel, where Pierah was gathering the new prisoners. She held her staff to her throat, which projected her voice into the ears of every remaining civilian and soldier. “Citizens of Norfield,” she began. “You are now occupied by the Wild Hunt. We do not wish to hurt you, but we will if you put up a fight. Stay in your homes or you will be killed,” she said. “My men are currently scurrying to put out as many fires as they can. Again, we do not want to hurt you, so please, do not m
ake their jobs difficult. Thank you.”
“She’s cursed us,” moaned one of the captives as Calcifer approached the brothel. “That fucking witch cursed us and corrupted the sky with her sorcery. We should have left the city when we saw that goddamned blood moon. Cambrian has forsaken us.”
“Shut up,” said a faeling who was guarding the captives, silencing the sputtering guardsmen with a kick to the gut. There must have been forty Norfieldians in total, all gathered and bound together.
Kaevin dismounted as he saw Pierah, nearly falling over as his bad leg bore his weight. “Dammit, Kaevin, why are you here?” asked the witch. “I ordered you to stay at the camp.”
“Yes, you did,” said Kaevin. “But I didn’t like your order, so I ignored it. Killer here let me share his horse.”
“A good idea in hindsight,” said Calcifer. “Kaevin here saved my life.”
“Pity,” said Pierah with a smile.
It had been meant as a joke, but the Bottler was not in the mood. He turned his gaze towards the walls of the second tier, which towered above them on a fortified hill. “That was far too easy,” said Calcifer. “They let us have this district.”
“You’re right,” said Pierah, her smile waning. “The worst is yet to come. But there is a silver lining to every cloud. I have a present for you, Bottler.”
Calcifer raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Vernon! Angelan! Bring me Blake,” shouted Pierah. From the brothel a pair of elves led the former commander of the Queensguard, his squarish body bruised and battered from the beatings Pierah’s men had given him. “The Wild Hunt made you a promise, Bottler.” Even though one of the man’s eyes was swollen shut and oozing black ichor, there was no mistaking the man as anyone other than Arterius Blake. Calcifer recognized him immediately from the drawings Salus had given him. Pierah kicked Blake’s legs out from under him and he fell to his knees with a painful thump.
“He was awaiting my regiment when we busted through the gates,” said Pierah. “Apparently the Queen’s reinforcements are waiting for us, along with the rest of the Norfieldian militia, at the top of the hill. It’s going to be a long night.”
A wide smile appeared on Calcifer’s face. “Would you give us time alone?”
“Alone?” Pierah shrugged and spread her arms wide. “Now isn’t time for privacy. You could use one of the rooms inside.”
“That’ll do,” said Calcifer as Pierah’s men, Vernon and Angelan, dragged Blake into one of the brothel’s chambers. “Wait outside,” Calcifer ordered the guards. They obeyed, and the door slammed shut behind them. The crimson light from Pierah’s blood moon seeped through the whorehouse’s windows, dousing the already-pink-and-red room. “Do you know who I am?” Calcifer asked Blake, who stared back with an angry, dead-eyed calm.
“Of course I do. You’re the Bottler,” said Blake, his eyes meeting the Calcifer’s. “The Queen hired you to catch that bitch out there, didn’t she?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the door. “That was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?”
The Bottler pulled up a chair and sat before the fully armored Captain. “Do you know why I have an interest in you, Captain?”
“It’s Sergeant now, actually,” said Sergeant Arterius Blake. “That pompous twat up there, Sir Richard, demoted me. Said I had only destabilized the region. The fuck does he know? Norfield was a stinking, rotting shithole of subhuman garbage before I arrived, arrow ears and half-men everywhere. Their shit was piled so high that most of the common folk wouldn’t even leave the city out of fear. You people are a blight on this country.”
The elf reached into a pocket and pulled forth the letters given to him by Salus. Aloud he began to read. “I was working as a servant in the human district when suddenly the Ribcage was alive with flame. A fleeing group of Queensguard arrived in the district’s square. They told the crowd the Archduke was dead and had been killed by a subversive subhuman assassin. Their leader addressed himself as Arterius Blake and proceeded to rile up the crowd. Master Davis pulled a knife on me and accused me of being a traitor. I wrestled it from him and cut out his eye. He made the most awful scream as I fled covered in droplets of his blood. The elfkin district was worse than I had imagined. They put us down like they would have plague dogs. I returned home. I couldn’t find Mother, but there was a horrid stain on the carpet. I came across Bleeding Hearts soon after. A mob had gathered, and they were demanding women. Some were willing. Others were not. The Queensguard showed up and stood by as it happened. Their Captain Blake was there as well. They let it happen. The screams became unbearable, so I ran, jumped over the side of the bridge and washed ashore days later,” finished Calcifer, his eyes narrow slits of hate.
“Yes, that’s more or less how it happened,” said Arterius with a shrug.
He’s so calm about it, as if he cannot understand the ramifications of such a crime, thought Calcifer. “Do you remember an elf girl with dark hair and fair skin?”
“Why?” asked Blake. “Was she a favorite of yours?” he laughed.
“That whore was my sister,” said Calcifer.
“No,” Blake said with a laugh. “Whores are nothing to great men, but I’ll have you know the Queensguard paid them for their work, although only a few had the gall to stay in the city after that.” Blake paused for a moment. “Are you going to kill me?”
Whores are nothing to great men… thought Calcifer. “I am.”
“Good,” said Blake. “I’ve got nothing to live for since they stripped me of my rank. It’ll be a mercy.”
“No…” said Calcifer, standing up and pushing a chair into the corner of the room. “It won’t. Huntsmen!” he shouted and Pierah’s guards entered the room. “Fetch me rope, clear the building, and drag this disgusting piece of shit outside.”
Blake’s armor scraped along the floor as he was dragged and tossed from the whorehouse and into the mud. A faeling arrived with a long, strong ring of hempen rope as the looters were ushered from Bleeding Hearts, their arms stuffed with silk and jewels. “I trust you know how to tie a noose?” Calcifer asked. The faeling gave a coy smile and began to weave the knot.
“You plan to hang me?” asked Blake. “Fair enough, I suppose.”
“You’ll hang,” said Calcifer, finding an abandoned helmet and fastening it upon Blake’s head. “But you won’t choke,” he continued, placing the noose around the steel bevor that protected the guard’s neck. “You see that post, the one the brothel’s sign is hanging from?” Calcifer asked the Huntsmen. “Hang him from there.”
“What are you playing at, boy?” shouted Blake as the Huntsmen dragged him away. “You just gonna string me up? I’ll be set free when the Queensguard squash you subhumans.” There was fear in the man’s voice, and it took three elves to haul up the weight of his armor.
Blake began to twitch and flail as Calcifer approached, the Captain’s captured men looking on in horror while the Huntsmen laughed. After narrowly avoiding a kick in the head from one of Blake’s greaves, Calcifer grabbed the man’s leg, leaving a red hot handprint in the metal. Crackling veins of fire rippled and twisted up the iron as Blake began to scream. “Damn you all to hell! Fucking degenerates and whoresons!” he screamed as he thrashed and kicked against the hungry flame.
“This is… too much,” said Kaevin, his face going white as he left the grim scene.
When the fire made its way to his belt, the screams became unintelligible and Blake’s impossible struggle all the more violent. Sparks flew upward and, seemingly with an intelligence of their own, lit the first floor of the Bleeding Hearts on fire. The former Captain of the Queensguard smashed himself against the building’s column. A final dreadful howl tore through the night as the veins of fire reached his breastplate and bits of molten steel began dribbling onto the ground. His cries ceased when his helmet liquefied into molten metal and dripped onto his face, melting away flesh and encasing Blake’s skull in a scalding orange scream. Behind him the Bleeding Hearts brothel roared with flame as the
whores’ fine silks turned to cinder and glass bottles of perfume burst from the heat. There was a satisfying crack as the beams supporting the building’s top floor snapped and crashed through to the ground, taking the rest of the building with them.
Calcifer smiled, oblivious to the horrified stares of Blake’s captured men. None of the Huntsmen would meet his eye, but Calcifer didn’t care.
A wall of stairs marked the entrance to the human district. The Wild Hunt were about to fight an uphill battle, one they were not in a position to win. The massed forces of the Hunt had gathered at the foot of the stairs. The entrance to the human district was barricaded with steel and decorated with the yellow banners of Norfield. The Hunt marched forward with the gilnoids in front, each holding a massive shield. Together they formed a wall of steel and muscle strong enough to wrestle bears.
Behind them followed the elves, dwarfs, and faelings, who exchanged arrows with the human snipers on either side of the wall. The captured bastillas sent massive bolts at the door, smashing it inwards in an explosion of splinters. A wall of pikemen waited on the other side. Calcifer and Pierah did all they could to stop the arrows, but their mana shields were only so strong. Elfkin were falling and their deaths made the stairs slippery with blood.
Pikes snapped like twigs as the gilnoids pushed past the ruined gate, reaching over their shields with mauls and flails. Before the Wild Hunt lay a sea of Norfieldian yellow and Queensguard red that stretched all the way to the horse statues guarding the Ribcage. The Hunt clashed forward, a green arrow of fearless rage, the Hunt had only their lives to lose.
