Randall looked across the river and narrowed his eyes, “Whatever they’re bringing, they can’t risk getting it wet…and whatever it is, it’s valuable—valuable enough that the Ghaevlians think they’ll need it to win the war with the Federation.” In that instant, the seed of a plan took root in his mind and a slow grin spread across his features.
I do not like that look, Randall, Dan’Moread chided.
“What look?” he schooled his features. “How can you even see my face?”
I can feel your face, she countered. A mischievous grin generally leads to mischievous acts—and mischief of any kind is hazardous to one’s health, especially when he is still wounded.
“I was just wondering…” he teased as the grin returned.
What? she asked wearily.
“How do you feel about playing the part of a troll?”
Silence hung between them for nearly a minute before she finally broke it, You cannot be serious. A troll backs his claim by force of arms multiplied by superstitious fear.
“As far as force of arms goes, I’ve got you,” he patted her hilt playfully. “With you in my corner, who needs superstitious fear?”
I dislike this plan, Randall, she said frostily.
“We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, Dani,” he said pointedly. “If it was just you and me, we could run off into those plains,” he tilted his chin across the river, where a seemingly endless tract of relatively flat, unbroken land stretched as far as he could see, “and maybe we’d even escape all of this nonsense. But my friends are depending on me; I can’t leave them in the lurch. So if we’re stuck in this situation then I say we make the most of it.”
By becoming the proverbial ‘squeaky wheel?’
“By tying a knot in their nets,” Randall explained. “Not one so big that they won’t be able to do what they need, but big enough that we can at least get some recognition. I don’t know about you but I’m sick of being pushed around. First the Federation, then the Fleshmongers, then Rimidalv followed by Phinjo and the Nation, and now these Fissalians—what are we, a couple of doormats?”
These are events which dwarf us, Randall, she said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. While trodden upon and often taken for granted, doormats do not incur the wrath of those who tread upon them. There are worse fates than to be a doormat.
“Maybe,” he allowed, “but for some reason Phinjo needs us to hold this bridge. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of making me a baron,” he snorted. “That means we’ve got some degree of leverage, and I suggest we use it.”
She was silent for a moment, It is probably a moot point, in any case. The Fissalians will arrive sometime in the next Wandering or two, and when they get here it is extremely unlikely that we will be able to implement your harebrained plan.
“Maybe,” he grunted, “but that’s not going to stop me from trying to work that plan up. Are you going to help or not?”
You are my wielder, she said with a sigh, so of course I will help—but only under protest.
“That’s good enough for me,” he nodded, “now let’s get to work.”
Chapter XXII: Unwanted Guests
16-2-6-659, Afternoon
“I appreciate the spirit of your plan,” Lorie said hesitantly after hearing Randall’s proposal, “but…Randall, this isn’t a game. If you’re right about an army coming this way—an army of Fissalians, at that,” she added darkly, “I think it might be in our best interests to be as far from here as possible when they do. The stories I’ve heard…”
“What stories?” Randall asked, his curiosity piqued. He had tried to mine as much information out of the Federation soldiers as possible during his time as a bartender at The Last Coin, but they were either too well-trained to let details slip or they genuinely had no idea what was going on across the Rydian Sea.
“We started hearing rumors…” she explained. “The Federation war machines—the same ones that swept through the Kheifs’ armies during the siege of Three Rivers—had been pushing inland toward the Fissalian capitol, but a few weeks ago they hit serious resistance.”
“The Fissalians are supposed to be just another city state,” Randall cocked an eyebrow dubiously. “If they and Greystone joined forces, they’d still be less than a tenth as powerful as the Feds. How could they put up genuine resistance against a fully-fueled Federation army outfitted with those Juggernaut war machines?”
Lorie shook her head, “I heard one soldier talking about…well, he said the Fissalians had giants.”
“Giants?” Randall repeated skeptically. “Giants disappeared from the world back when the Ghaevlian Nation was at its peak.”
“These weren’t just any giants,” she continued, “the Juggernauts’ fire-breathers did nothing to them.”
“These giants are immune to fire?” Randall said in surprise. He had seen the Federation’s fire-breathers in action—they were long, tubular weapons which spat jets of flame that turned men into lumps of charred bone in seconds—and he felt a shiver run down his spine. Anything that could survive a fire-breather was possibly even more terrifying than the Juggernaut that wielded it. “I guess the bridge out there is big enough to handle them…” he said weakly as the thought of towering giants striding across the bridge .
“Randall,” Lorie said urgently, “we might need to find someplace safer to live—“
“I don’t think there is anywhere safer,” Randall interrupted grimly. “Greystone seems more stable at the moment, but it’s only a matter of time before a Federation army rides up to their gates. And we all know what happened to Three Rivers,” he added pointedly.
“Those damned elves,” Lorie growled, taking Randall by surprise.
“What do you mean?” he asked guardedly.
“The Ghaevlians,” she spat, “they couldn’t leave well enough alone. They had to pick this fight, and now the Federation is going to finish it just like it finishes every war it wages. Innocent people are dying because of their pride,” she growled. “I won’t let my children be counted among them.”
“Look,” Randall began hesitantly as he thought about the Underworld tunnels beneath their feet, “I honestly don’t think anywhere is going to be safer for us than here, at least not for the foreseeable future. Besides, there are hiding places here in this keep—or inn,” he corrected with a deferential nod, “so it seems to me that our bigger priority right now is laying in some supplies before things get too hot.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lorie asked.
“One of us needs to go to Greystone,” he explained. “The real question is: who is going to go—” he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed his flyl had become warm and was vibrating.
Randall, Dan’Moread said warningly.
“Everyone get into the cellar,” Randall said quickly, gesturing to the back of the main house.
“What’s going on?” Lorie asked as Ellie and Yordan shot him worried looks.
“I don’t know,” he said tightly as he pointed emphatically to the back of the building, “but whatever it is, it’s going to be best if you all get in the basement—now!”
The looks of concern on their faces melted away as they hurried to do as he said, and soon they had collected the children and made their way to the cellar door at the back of the main house.
Meanwhile, Randall ran to the gatehouse and ascended the short flight of stairs there. All the while, his flyl became hotter and vibrated more vigorously, and when he finally reached the top of the wall he saw the very thing he had hoped not to see.
“Fleshthings…” he whispered as he drew Dan’Moread from her scabbard, feeling the reassuring jolt of tingly numbness course up and down his body as she assumed control over it. “Six of them,” he breathed as his heartbeats began to pound so loudly that he could barely hear Dan’Moread’s telepathic voice as she spoke.
They are coming here, she declared as she bolted back down the stairs and made for the door-less gate itsel
f. We must stand against them.
“We can’t defeat all six of them!” Randall protested as the sound of the Fleshthings’ approach struck a primal chord of terror somewhere within him.
Perhaps not, she allowed as she deftly spun herself over in his hand, but what choice do we have? If we do not stand here, these abominations will descend on your friends. We cannot let that happen.
“No,” he agreed as he tightened his grip on the bracer’s leather straps which looped around his fingers much like a glove, “we can’t.”
Control your breathing, Randall, she urged as the sound of the Fleshthings’ footsteps drew so close that, for a moment, the fear which gripped him seemed to drown out all sensation except his sight.
Just as he began to do as she had instructed, the first of the Fleshthings appeared in the gateway—and Dan’Moread fearlessly lunged toward it with her star metal tip aimed directly where its heart should be.
The Fleshthing seemed surprised by the speed of her attack, and clumsily offered a sweeping strike that smashed into the stone of the gate’s wall. But her aim was true and she buried her blade a third of the way into the lumbering brute’s rancid, boil-covered flesh.
Twisting her blade and spinning Randall’s body, she managed to tear a ragged hole in the monster’s chest as she pulled herself free from its torso. Its follow-up attack was only slightly better-aimed, as it attempted to tackle her with its asymmetrical arms—one of which was half again as large as the other. She managed to dance out of its reach before pirouetting and slamming her acid-hardened edge into the Fleshthing’s near, smaller arm.
Her blade cleaved through flesh and bone, severing the limb at the elbow as she deftly hopped back and out of range of the sweeping counterattack made by the thing’s longer arm.
This type of fight was less comfortable for her than a proper duel with an opponent wielding a weapon. As a sword-breaker in both name and design, she always preferred to focus on the enemy’s weapon rather than its flesh and blood. But in spite of her discomfort, she pressed the attack knowing that as soon as the Fleshthings entered the keep’s inner courtyard they would have the opportunity to surround her—and while the Fleshthings did seem mindless, they did not seem stupid.
This one’s movements were less coordinated than the first one she had fought some nights earlier, but of even greater importance was the fact that Dan’Moread had spent much of the last few days considering how to deal with these abominations.
The early returns on the effectiveness of her new tactics were promising, to say the least.
Launching Randall’s body toward the creature, she put every ounce of his body weight behind her tip as she once again aimed at its chest. She had narrowly missed the unnaturally cold stone with her first attack, but this time she knew exactly where it was and her aim did not fail.
Her tip plunged into the cold lump of crystal, and just as before there was a tremendous sensation of numbness. But she had prepared for it this time, and before that numbness overpowered her control of Randall’s body she managed to yank herself free of the walking patchwork of half-rotten body parts.
She rolled to a stop several feet from the creature’s shuddering body, which stood in the middle of the gateway, and she barely managed to duck into cover before a shower of rancid gore and crystalline fragments sprayed several steps into the courtyard.
After the explosion, she immediately leapt back into the breach and barely brought her blade up in time to intercept the nearest of two onrushing Fleshthings which seemed heedless of their fellow’s demise.
A weak block was all she could manage before opting to retreat into the courtyard a few steps so as to improve her footing. The Fleshthings seemed intent on gaining entry to the courtyard, but she knew she needed to deny them as long as possible. Daunting as it was, the prospect of facing two of them while their mobility was slightly limited was far better than facing five of them after they had surrounded her.
“I’m going to try something,” Randall said in a raised voice as Dan’Moread lashed out and scored a deep hit on one of the Fleshthing’s thighs.
By all means, she quipped as she pivoted to the right, narrowly avoiding the black, claw-like nails of the other Fleshthing.
“Here it goes…” Randall said, squinting his eyes—much to Dan’Moread’s irritation—before his Flylrylioulen flashed brightly. “Right—right!” he yelled, and Dan’Moread hesitated for a fraction of a second before following his advice and leaping to the right.
Before Randall’s feet even hit the ground, the two Fleshthings slammed into each other with a sickening crunch. She had not seen it coming prior to his warning, but it was clear they had coordinated their effort in order to trap them her in a pincer—a pincer which had now been turned against them.
Needing no encouragement, she sprang forward before the rightward Fleshthing could regain its posture. Lashing out with her razor-sharp edge, she struck its head clean off its neck and her follow-through somehow managed to graze the other monstrosity before both of them regained their footing.
Good call, she grunted as she parried a trio of inbound strikes from the leftward Fleshthing. Its headless fellow remained standing, but its movements were jerky and uncoordinated which meant that, at least temporarily, she could focus her attention on the other monster standing before her.
It seemed as though Randall was about to reply, but before he did so he raised his left arm and blocked a surprisingly quick half-punch, half-stab from the leftward Fleshthing.
Randall’s armored bracer deflected the impact, but the impact of the Fleshthing’s claw against it was jarring since Dan’Moread had not anticipated the blow. Temporarily off-balance, it was all she could do to retreat in the face of the oncoming thing as it swiped a half dozen times at her.
She knew that if she gave up the gate before paring down their numbers more than she had already done, it would only be a matter of time before she was overwhelmed. But she saw no other option; Randall’s block, while likely saving them from a fatal wound, had cost them the initiative—along with his life, in all likelihood.
No, she seethed as she planted his feet and launched a wild counterattack, our lives!
Stabbing, slashing, and chopping with a ferocity fueled by rage, Dan’Moread somehow managed to cripple the Fleshthing’s right arm before cleaving deep into its left leg just above the knee. Randall blocked another blow with his armored bracer while she strained to withdraw herself from the Fleshthing’s thigh bone, and this time the impact of the blow actually helped her dislodge from the abomination’s leg.
Staying on the balls of their feet, Dan’Moread managed to avoid the follow-up swipe by dancing beneath the incoming fist. As she ducked beneath its arm, she blindly lashed upward and tore into the thing’s bicep—only to receive a vicious kick to the gut before leaving the Fleshthing’s range.
Their ribs erupted in pain—again—but this time the impact was significantly softened by their new armor. Breathe, Randall, she urged as he struggled to draw the first full breath following the hit. Breathe!
She ducked behind the headless Fleshthing and drove her tip deep into its back, narrowly missing its crystalline ‘heart’ with her initial stab. The beast swung its arm blindly behind itself toward her in an attempt to dissuade her, but she would not be dissuaded.
She wrenched her hilt with Randall’s arm, twisting and heaving and—surprisingly—managing to bite into the things chilled heart. She tore herself free and dove forward, narrowly avoiding the worst of the ensuing shower of rancid gore as the creature exploded just as its predecessors had done.
Randall had managed to resume something approaching regular breathing rhythms by then, and Dan’Moread saw two more of the Fleshthings appear at the gate. Soon it would be three of them against her, and there was still a sixth Fleshthing which had not yet entered the courtyard.
She knew that they would soon be overwhelmed, and Dan’Moread had little hope that they could emerge victorious over s
o many of the monsters. She had been lucky thus far in avoiding their surprisingly well-coordinated attacks, and like any competent sword fighter she knew that luck rarely held as long as it already had.
She tucked and rolled beneath one of the Fleshthings’ legs, drawing a long gash across its thigh in the process. The beast somehow caught them on the left shoulder mid-roll, and had it not been for their new armor she was certain that Randall’s left arm would now be completely useless.
As it was, she barely managed to scramble away before the lumbering brute brought its massive, bloated foot down where Randall’s chest had been an instant earlier. Pushing off the near wall, she righted Randall’s body and lunged toward the Fleshthing with her tip driving toward its head.
What should have been a thoroughly satisfying deathblow, when her tip drove into its eye and tore a chunk of its skull off as her momentum split its head like a piece of wood, seemed to have little effect on the unliving thing.
Thankfully its flailing arms missed her as she ducked back into the courtyard, but even as she did so the sixth—and probably final—Fleshthing entered the gate, making it four of them against her and Randall.
Gripping her hilt tightly, she knew precisely how this fight would end—but she would not surrender while Randall’s friends depended on them for protection.
You have been a true friend, Randall, she said grimly as the four abominations moved ever closer to them. I am sorry I failed you.
“We’re not…done yet,” he said through gritted teeth.
No, she agreed as she tensed in preparation for what would likely be her final counterattack, but we soon will be.
“Let me…concentrate,” he urged. “I might…be able to…help you get…another one…”
Do it quickly, she snapped as the four undead monsters moved steadily closer while she gave ground as slowly as possible.
Randall’s Flylrylioulen flashed again, causing the Fleshthings to recoil for an instant—which gave her the opening she needed to skewer one of them through the chest.
Dross (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 2) Page 26
