by Galen Wolf
I see some of the enemy troops have stopped five hundred yards short. They’re big trolls lugging artillery. The artillerymen themselves, who look to be hobgoblins, start to unlimber the trebuchets and mangonels and get ready for an artillery assault on the dome. Interspersed between the artillery pieces are hobgoblin wizards and ogre mages, standing well back and preparing for an elemental barrage against us.
Elizabeth turns to face her former friends. A line of hobgoblin spearmen is forming up and behind them dwemmer archers. On either flank are wolf riding cavalry and forming a second rank of infantry are undead: mainly zombies, some ghouls and operating as their officers, vampires.
The enemy force is maybe five hundred strong. As I recall, Cuthbert had about twenty NPC guards. Maybe thirty. This battle is only going to go one way. I am heartbroken to think that this little speck of King Arthur’s realm is going to fall, but that is what is going to happen.
Fitheach is across now. I study the water. It’s gone down a little. ‘Okay, Spirit. Let’s go.’
The horse instantly responds to my touch and we’re in the water. It’s cold and I see black seaweed floating past. Spirit snorts but keeps on going. He’s taller than Fitheach’s mare so it only comes up to the top of his chest, then we’re through the deepest bit and coming out.
Water streams from us as we emerge from the tide. I look up to see the first fireball shoot out from a hobgoblin mage’s outstretched hand and slam uselessly against Cuthbert’s holy dome. Then there’s another and another. I see some of the mages are firing electricity, then a flaming pitch coated boulder sails through the air from a mangonel and strikes the dome. The dome stops it, but there’s just the faintest flicker in the translucent barrier, as if it’s taking damage.
‘Plan?’ Elizabeth says, looking at me.
‘Standing here is suicide.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Let’s move then.’
‘Where?’
I look back. If we turn our backs on the enemy and try to get over the causeway, they’re just going to get crit after crit on us, so I jerk my thumb south along the coast. We move off and I see the assembled enemy spearmen watch us go, but they don’t attempt to follow us. Their mission is to breach the holy barrier and take the island.
As we ride, Fitheach says, ‘I think the enemy commander is Lazarus the Undying. He’s one of Satanus’s top generals. He must have remained up here in the north while the main enemy armies are fighting King Arthur south of the River Lune.’
‘He’s a litch, I take it?’ I ask.
Elizabeth nods. ‘I know him. Knew him. Scary dude.’
‘The bigger they are the harder they fall,’ I say and Fitheach laughs. ‘That’s the spirit, Gorrow.’
Spirit’s ears twitch. He thinks Fitheach’s talking to him.
We keep going south, leaving the enemy behind. This area has been in enemy hands for a long while now and the grass is the familiar, sick oily black. All the trees are dead and there’s no sign of wildlife. We’re climbing a headland. I see the island of Lindisfarne standing off behind a half mile of sea. The white dome extends just outside the island’s shores, stopping any assault by sea as much as it stops the assault by land.
I ask Fitheach, ‘Do you think they know about the Jabberwock?’
‘Hard to say.’
Elizabeth pipes up. ‘I don’t think so.’
I turn to her. ‘How can you be sure?’
She shrugs. ‘I can’t.’
Then I frown. What does she know about the Jabberwock? I don’t recall discussing it with her.
Then we crest the ridge and in front of us I see the broken ruin that was once Joyous Guard, Lancelot’s castle and where his tomb is supposed to lie.
‘That’s a mess,’ Fitheach says. ‘Lancelot’s old gaff.’
‘He’ll rebuild it.’
‘You seem sure of that,’ Elizabeth says.
‘I am. There will be no defeat.’ With a sweep of my arm, I say, ‘We will retake all of this. You just have to have faith.’
Fitheach mutters, ‘But it might take some time.’
I ignore him. I’ve turned Spirit round so my eyes are fixed on the dome. There’s a constant barrage of fire and electricity from the enemy mages, and their artillery is making a dent in the dome now. It’s flickering as if under heavy strain. From up here, I see the tiny white-clad figure of Cuthbert shooting more white fire into the sky.
‘What now?’ Elizabeth asks.
We’re south of the enemy army so we can see their two ranks and their artillery. I smile at Elizabeth. ‘You go to Joyous Guard and wait. We’ll come and fetch you. You go with her Fitheach. Keep her safe.’
Her brows furrow. She’s puzzled. ‘What? Why should I leave?’
I say, ‘If they kill you, you resurrect back in the middle of an enemy village, like you said. Then they kill you again and you can never get out of that village to bind somewhere else. So you need to be out of harm’s way. I just wanted to see if Joyous Guard still stood and whether you could hide there. There’s not as much left of it as I hoped, but they’re not going to be searching for a while. When we get the Jabberwock Blood, we’ll come back for you.’
A strange, unreadable look comes on her face. ‘You wanted to save me?’
I nod and smile. ‘And now I’m going back. You stay with her, Fitheach.’
The truth is, I didn’t want to let her die because she might be genuine, but I want her out of the way because of my mistrust.
The saint shakes his head. ‘You can’t afford to die, Gorrow. If you do, we will never recover the Jabberwock blood, and our quest will end in failure.’
‘I’m not planning on dying. But neither should you. Stay here.’
‘I can fight with you. And heal you. I’m coming.’
I don’t want the old guy to die either. We still have a way to go to get home even after collecting the Jabberwock blood, and I can use him on the journey, but I see from the way he’s set his shoulders that he’s going to come with me. Elizabeth just needs to hide better on her own.
‘Go to the castle,’ I say to her.
‘Even though he can go with you?’
‘Yes.’
I think at first she’s going to object, but then she sits there and says, ‘I still don’t know the objective of our quest. I know it’s something to do with Lindisfarne.’ She indicates the island over the stretch of sea to my left. I let the question hang unanswered until she cocks her head and says, ‘Care to tell me?’
‘No,’ I grunt. ‘You go get safe.’
‘Okay then Sir Gorrow.’ She turns and waves. We watch her as she gallops down the slope towards the ruins of Joyous Guard.
‘I thought you didn’t trust her,’ Fitheach says.
‘If she hides away, then I don’t have to trust her. Or mistrust her.’
‘Why did you come and save her?’
I shrug. ‘I knew Joyous Guard was just south of here, from reading forums and looking at maps, and I wanted to see it. It’s a better place for her to hide than be sitting on the beach. That and I’m a nice guy, maybe?’
‘You’re a credit to the Round Table, Gorrow.’
Just then there’s a crump and a projectile gets through the holy dome. It’s the first to make a hole, but it won’t be the last. A cry goes out from the front rank of the enemy spearmen, then a barked order. I hear the crunch of their boots as they come to attention and move off. They slowly advance on the causeway, waiting for the barrier to come down.
A glance shows me the causeway is completely dry now and it won’t be covered over again by the tide for a few hours. Plenty of time for them to get their army across.
‘Let’s go.’ I nudge Spirit into a canter and take out my lance. I’m in my full Green Knight outfit and I see the enemy look round and shouts go up even though we’re a way off them yet.
‘Plan?’ Fitheach says.
‘Lots of people have been saying that recently.’
He frow
ns. ‘But plan?’
I chew my lip. ‘If we’re quick, we can beat them to the barrier. That’ll hold them a little while to give us time to rally with Cuthbert and the Holy Rollers.’
‘Let’s hurry then.’
We thunder down the slope towards the enemy. They keep looking at us nervously but their sergeants shout out, ‘Eyes front!’ and they focus on their march across the causeway. More stuff is flying overhead and bashing the barrier. And the barrier is flickering like a light that’s about to go out. I risk a look over to the island and see Cuthbert has stopped reinforcing the barrier. He looks grim. His handful of Holy Roller spearmen are in front of him pulling up a shield wall and behind him is the Jabberwock. What the hell is that vegetarian thing going to do? Maybe he figures just the look of it will scare the enemy.
Spirit’s hooves are pounding the ground and we’re fast. Fitheach is just behind me on his mare. My lance is straight. The first enemy are onto the sand, blocking our way. We’re going to have to knock them out of the way. Then there’s a searing light and holy power shoots from Fitheach’s hand and slams into the side of the advancing troops, scattering and burning them with screams and shrieks.
Finally their sergeants order the line to turn and face us. But it’s too late.
I hit the first of the hobgoblin spearmen and score a crit of 520, killing it instantly. My impetus sends the spears reeling and stumbling, folding like a pack of cards before my assault. I switch my lance for my sword and hack at them. They attempt to jab at me with their spears but hit my shield. My armour’s too tough for them to get through. I swing and hack.
I get 200xp from my kills, and then we’re through. I see Fitheach get hit with a spear and blood floods out like a crimson lake on his dirty white robes. ‘Come on,’ I yell. ‘The causeway, let’s get back to Cuthbert.’ I see him nod, his white hair flying wildly as he smacks and pounds them with his staff. I break off from the enemy, killing another as I go, and then I’m on the sand of the causeway, the retreated tide lapping at it on both side. Spirit’s hooves splash through the water as we gallop across. I slow and turn to see Fitheach is behind me. He’s managed to break away from the enemy and they’re not pursuing, but have gone back into formation.
We’re almost at the barrier now, or what remains of it and then, five second later, when we pass through, I hear Fitheach shout, ‘Gorrow, look out!’
I turn and see three scaly devils, red and black with talons like kitchen knives and eyes like a furnace. They’re flying about ten feet off the ground, and just coming over the heads of the enemy spears. They look like pit-fiends to me.
Pit Fiends
The pit fiends are coming. They close on us fast, and I can hear the flapping of their wings and the odd gurgling noise they make as they seek out prey.
If we can only get through Cuthbert’s holy force-field then that will give us some defence. I turn my head and yell, ‘Fitheach, ride faster!’
I urge Spirit forward. Seconds go by, maybe milliseconds only, but I hear a cry of pain and pivot in my saddle to see a pit fiend dive and strike Fitheach. It doesn’t knock him off his horse but it slows him. The fiend flaps up and comes after him again.
Then the enemy artillery barrage takes down the holy force-field ahead of us. The white light flickers and is completely gone. A huge cheer goes up from the enemy infantry and I’m aware of the shouting of orders and noise as they move forward onto the causeway to begin their assault on the island.
But my focus now is Fitheach. He’s stopped to fight his assailant and his eyes glow with anger as he fires his holy white light up at the pit fiend which screams as Fitheach’s spell hits it.
I want to turn and get impetus so I can use my crystal lance, but they’re too high and too close now. I can’t get impetus but I can turn. I drag my sword from its sheath and turn Spirit round. Now I have full view of the enemy host marching on us. I see their hundreds of eyes filled with hatred and desire to see us dead.
I also see the pit fiend coming down at Fitheach. I spur Spirit forward but one comes down at me from the left. I raise my sword but its taloned feet kick into me, sending me to the right, but I block the blow as my Shieldblock skill triggers. I come round with Spirit, but we’ve fought so long together than our bond is almost telepathic. He turns, as if reading my mind. The fiend attempts another strike, but I cut it.
The demon-slayer skill on my sword triggers. It was only a 5% chance, but I’m not complaining.
I get 300xp for killing it.
The pit fiend is banished back to hell with a scream, and I turn to face the others. Fitheach is badly wounded. He heals himself up but blood’s still running down his face and in his eyes and beard. I go forward, conscious that the front rank of hobgoblin spearmen is only yards away. As if to emphasise the danger we’re in, a wave of hostile arrows from the dwemmer archers behind the spears sails over and the shafts embed themselves in the sand around us or splash into the water. Several clatter off my armour and shield.
We can’t die here. If we die here, then we won’t get the Jabberwock blood and if we don’t get the blood, then they will and within days or at the least weeks, they’ll have armies with vorpal weapons and the whole of King Arthur’s realm of Logres will be lost to darkness.
‘Fitheach!’ I yell. ‘Come.’
He wants to come but the pit fiend dives again. It’s trying to knock him from his saddle. The third one comes at me horizontally from the right, all fangs and fire-eyes. It screams and shoots out a breath weapon. The fiend breath hits me.
As it pulls up away from me I lunge up and catch its leg. Demon slayer doesn’t trigger unfortunately, but I do 300 damage.
I scream, ‘Fitheach!’
The hobgoblin spearmen are almost close enough to touch. I see the saint nodding because he’s heard me give the order and he wants to comply, but he fires a final burst of white light and the thing dies screaming, falling into the sea with a splash like a downed warplane. Fitheach spurs his horse and we’re off. We’re pulling away from the spearmen. There’s still one pit-fiend up there I know, but I’ve got to focus on getting to the Jabberwock. If it’s going to die, I want its blood.
We’re riding hard. The enemy spears are behind us, about halfway across the causeway, but we’re on the beach now. Cuthbert and his Holy Rollers are ahead of us on the grass standing with spears braced as if they have any chance of resisting the enemy host. The Jabberwock looms huge and docile behind Cuthbert. It reminds me of a cow chewing grass just watching the world go by.
We pull our horses left of the line of soldiers just as a pit fiend dives down going for Fitheach. With a glance over his right shoulder, Cuthbert gives casual point of his finger and an intense beam of light sprays out and fries the thing. I can almost feel the heat through my armour as it dies.
We pull up on our horses, which stand panting, flecked with foam on their glossy coats. ‘He’s better than me,’ Fitheach says, meaning Cuthbert. ‘He always was.’
Then Cuthbert gives the order. ‘Fall back!’ His troops move backwards with disciplined smoothness as the enemy footsoldiers march onto the beach. The enemy pause to regroup. The archers are behind them, and behind them the gibbering and hooting third line of undead. I watch as their vampire officers marshal the ghasts, zombies and ghouls and prepare to cross the causeway. The tide is still out and showing no sign of turning yet. It looks like nature won’t be protecting us any more today.
Cuthbert is going back towards the church, and the Jabberwock following him like an obedient, but slow old dog. He turns to me. ‘Gorrow, come here. I need you. And you Fitheach.’
I ride over and I see he’s placing his troops behind the grey stone graveyard wall. The Rollers, maybe thirty of them all told, stand behind their shields, spears levelled.
The enemy starts marching at us again, and now the barrier is down the bats and undead ravens swoop. They come down like angry flies, but just as
if they were flies, Cuthbert fires pulses of light to zap them. Fitheach joins in.
‘Gorrow,’ Cuthbert says. ‘Take command of my spears until I return.’
I nod.
‘Oh, and the Jabberwock too.’
‘The Jabberwock?’ I ask.
Cuthbert says, ‘Just until I come back. Fitheach, with me.’
The two saints disappear and the Jabberwock leans his huge head down, presumably for a stroke. Frowning, I stroke it and it makes the weird Jabberwock happy noise.
The corporal of the spearmen asks me what orders I have for him.
‘Wait,’ I say. The truth is this is probably the best defensive position we’re going to get. The numbers are against us, but at least here, it’s going to cost them to kill us all. And then I remind myself, I can’t allow myself to die here. I look at the Jabberwock and he looks at me with his dumb gentle eyes. The bottles are ready in my inventory for when he starts to bleed.
They’re two hundred yards away. The hobgoblin spears halt, then arrows come arcing at us from the dwemmers set up behind the spearmen’s rank. They do little damage. I was hoping one might hit the Jabberwock, but it doesn’t. And I’m glad.
The great reptile is staring at the spearmen now, but it’s hard to read his eyes. The expression doesn’t look friendly, and even in his dim brain, he must recognise them as a threat to his master, Cuthbert.
Spirit shifts under me. ‘Easy boy,’ I say stroking his neck.
Then there’s a noise from above and behind. There are still some bats and ravens left but I see that Fitheach and Cuthbert have emerged onto the church roof. There must be a walkway up there. They’re zapping the enemy flying beasts from up there.
Cuthbert cups his hands and calls down. ‘Everything all right down there?’
What can I say? I yell up. ‘Just peachy.’
Cuthbert calls, ‘Great. Me and Fitheach are going to take a tower each. We’ll shoot at them from up here. When they get to contact, let the Jabberwock go.’
