by Davis Ashura
“It doesn't matter,” Shur said. “We only need a few more minutes, and their place in this world will be gone.” He pretended to laugh. “Look. Satha is already moving off. And they've kindly gathered all their women in one location. It'll make it that much easier to bring Devesh's judgment upon them.”
“Some of their women are leaving,” the Duriah noted.
Shur nodded. He'd seen it as well. “It's no matter. It's the matrons and the ghrina scum who will taste the severity of our righteousness. With the death of their elders, perhaps the young will be blessed with wisdom and see the error of their ways.” Privately, he doubted something like that would ever happen, but it never hurt to show mercy to the weak.
Shur and his men waited in silence for a few more minutes before the Duriah spoke up once more.
“The ghrina is looking our way again,” he said. “And so is Rector Bryce.”
“So they are,” Shur said, “but they're too late. Our warriors are here.” He gathered his breath. “Now!” he shouted. Shur whipped aside his cloak and drew a sword. The rest of the warriors of the Virtuous did so as well as they leaped into righteous glory.
Rector wished he could have convinced the women of House Shektan to leave the Outer Wall sooner than he had. Anywhere else would have been safer than here where they were but targets. The small clusters currently evacuating the area were moving too slowly for his liking even as events seemed to be moving too quickly.
Too much was going on, too much that had no explanation. The green arrows followed by the red ones. The early end of the Advent Trial. Were there really enemies approaching the gates of Ashoka? And worst of all, this foreboding sense that something evil lurked nearby, something seeking death.
Rector wished again that all the Shektan women were moving off the Outer Wall right now. In fact, he wished many things, but none of it mattered any more. Their time had run out.
Jessira had pointed out the Muran. It was the same man Rector had noticed earlier, and he cursed himself. He should have listened to that niggling voice in back of his mind, the one that told him he should pay attention to the Muran. Rector recognized the man now. He had once been a captain in the High Army of Ashoka. Shur Rainfall was his name. Rector had only had a few interactions with him. It had been a couple of conversations shared shortly after Rector's return from his final Trial a few years ago and just prior to the Muran's retirement from the High Army.
But those brief interactions had left their mark. Ironically, just like Rector had once been, Shur Rainfall had also held an utter certainty of his own moral superiority and judgment. In addition, he had also possessed a self-assurance that bordered on the arrogant and a fervent passion that robbed him of charity for those who studied a problem and came to a different conclusion than he. There had been more than one instance where Shur had dismissively disregarded ideas that didn't stem from his own supposed brilliance, and according to rumor, the subsequent errors in judgment had apparently never done much to harm him with humility. To say that Rector had disliked the man would be an understatement.
“I think we're in trouble,” Jessira whispered.
“I think you're right,” Rector Bryce replied with a sinking worry. He'd killed a man once before, and the scars from that action still pained him like boils on his soul. All morning he had hoped that he would never need harm another person. That hope was about to be proven futile. And it was all because of Shur Rainfall. “That fragging Muran's face needs a fist,” Rector muttered under his breath.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Shur bellowed out a command. “Now!”
Cloaks were flung aside. Swords rasped from scabbards. Cries of hatred filled the air.
The world became chaotic.
Rector Shielded and gut-kicked an attacker. He launched a Fireball, and it screamed through the air.
Rector's soul wilted when two men were incinerated.
Upon the shouted word from the Muran, cloaks were thrown and blades drawn.
“Form a Triad,” Bree ordered.
Jessira nodded and conducted Jivatma. As always, it was rich like honey and left her feeling connected with the world beyond the shell of her body. She felt a brush against her thoughts. Bree. Jessira reached for her and Sign.
They Annexed, and an unhurried peace stole over Jessira. Her thoughts grew too heavy, too numb to maintain. It was as if she'd taken a swim in winter-cold water. Soon, her mind stilled to silence.
The Triad was born, and it had a single task: survive. It would do so no matter the cost. The Triad Shielded and swords were drawn.
The one known as Rector Bryce stepped forward. He gut-kicked an attacker. His Fireball screamed through the air and incinerated two of the enemy. After that, there was no further room for any weapons other than blades.
The Triad stepped forward. It angled Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary so there were no blind spots. Primary was the swiftest and most powerful of the three, but Secondary was the most skillful warrior. The Triad set her at point.
The enemy held Linked Blends and were effectively invisible. The warriors allied to the Triad were slowed by their inability to see their adversaries. Nevertheless, they persevered. The Triad, however, wasn't hampered in any fashion. Two members could sense Blends. The Triad waited until the time was opportune. Surprise would be devastating. A Link was established with the Blends of the attackers.
Murans, Rahails, and Duriahs suddenly popped into view.
Secondary parried an attacker. Her follow-through was a hard kick to her adversary's knee. It buckled and a diagonal slash ripped the man across the chest. His hands dropped, and a kick to the face put him down.
Primary held off two attackers. She took a blade on her Shield. A quick thrust led to her adversary's gurgling death. Tertiary took the other attacker in the back.
A command came from two of the members: attack. It was immediately rescinded by Secondary.
They were to hold the line. Nevertheless, they were soon surrounded. Secondary was sent forward. She took the lead and waded into the enemy. She parried slashes and thrusts from all sides, moving faster than the enemy. On her heels came Primary and Tertiary. They dealt death to those Secondary hurled aside.
From all three members came a great horror. Feelings leaked from them: shock, grief, and shame. A bone-deep regret that they had to kill people. Other Humans with life and thought.
The Triad slowed, almost halted. It conducted Jivatma from all three and from Secondary and Tertiary came Lucency. The thoughts of the members quieted, became sharp as a razor. Purpose was restored.
The Triad had drifted too far away from allies. It cut a controlled retreat through the middle elements of the enemy. This time Primary led. Her swift sword sang. Tertiary worked to her right. Secondary brought up the rear, defending their backs.
Tertiary took a cut to her thigh. It was deep and immediately began bleeding profusely. Secondary stepped forward to protect her weakened side. Just then, Primary took a stunning blow to the face.
Secondary was left to defend both of them. She blurred, moving even faster than before. She defended against a swarm. The enemy had them surrounded.
Rector fought without the aid of a Duo, Triad, or Quad. He had to have a clear mind to watch everything that was happening and direct the warriors to where they could better protect the women. As a result, he felt every thrust, every cut, every slice he inflicted upon another living person. He wanted to plead for mercy, to have this weighty burden removed from his shoulders, to cry out at the pain he was inflicting on his very soul. How did these attackers not feel the awfulness of what they were doing? How could they attempt to murder without even the slightest of hesitations?
The questions might have circled in his head, but instead, Rector shoved them down, burying them along with his horror. He did what he had to. The horror could come later.
There came a moment of stillness when the Linked Blends of the adversary simply dissolved. The enemy was suddenly visible.
They were a mix of Duriahs, Murans, and Rahails. Nearly a third of their number lay on the ground, unmoving or groaning in pain. As for the warriors of House Shektan—all of them still fought. They remained in the battle, but most were injured. A few gravely. Some of the women who the warriors were meant to protect had taken up swords as well. Their skill was lacking. Unlike Bree, they hadn't spent the last year focused on mastering their martial skills. They were almost more of a hindrance than a help.
Rector cursed when he saw the Triad of Bree, Jessira, and Sign drift away from the main body of House Shektan's warriors. They were too far for the other guards to offer support. He had given permission for those three to fight, but why couldn't they have remained close and hold the line like proper warriors? Maybe a woman in a battle simply couldn't think clearly enough to do what was needed.
He cursed again when Sign took a deep wound and Bree a heavy blow to the face. Jessira blurred, but it was a pace she couldn't maintain for long. Rector called out orders. The other nine guards closed ranks while he stepped forward to rescue the three nits.
Primary shook off the effects of the blow to the face. Secondary was surrounded. Attackers swept around her like water around a boulder. She was immoveable in her determination. It couldn't last forever, though. She would weaken. Tertiary's leg was rapidly failing. A ringing of swords. Secondary was pressed hard. A hard blow was absorbed by her Shield. Primary cut her way to Secondary's side.
Rector Bryce was there as well. He thrust and slashed all about him.
Primary offered distraction to Secondary's main opponent. Rector ran the enemy through.
Another adversary filled the gap, and Primary took a deep cut to the biceps. Her arm immediately weakened.
The Triad followed as Rector acted as the ramming prow and returned them to the thin line of House Shektan's warriors. Triad noted that their numbers were down to eight. Two warriors lay unmoving, and the rest were slowing, all of them injured in some fashion.
The enemy had them hard-pressed on all sides. Their numbers were likely little more than half of what they started with, but they were whittling the Shektans down.
The Triad sensed the worry of its members, but the concern didn't touch it. Purpose was all it knew.
Rector was growing fearful. The enemy numbers had been cut down—they were down to a little less than half of their original number—but they showed no signs of fatiguing from the fight. They came on, and he distantly wondered what fervor drove them to such evil.
Further rumination had to be put aside. Three of them attacked him just then. Rector slipped past a blow intended to take off his head. He spun with the momentum of his movement. He parried a slash. Still spinning, his upswing took off the third man's sword arm at the elbow. Another blow was taken on his weakening Shield. He thrust forward like a launched arrow. His sword took one of them through the heart. The final opponent was dispatched by Jessira Shektan.
Rector shook his head in disgust. He still didn't like the idea of the three women fighting, but at least they were being useful now that they were holding the line. Not like the City Watch, which had yet to show up. Where in the unholy hells were they! The battle had been going on for seemingly forever, but there was still no sign of relief. If the Watch didn't arrive soon, there might not be anyone of House Shektan left to rescue.
Two more of his warriors were down. Their line contracted further, and despite Rector's distaste with the notion of women as warriors, he was heartened when more of the Shektan women took up fallen weapons to defend themselves. They were the daughters, wives, and mothers of warriors. Rector felt great pride for these women. In their own way, they were warriors as well.
An instant later, that same pride fled. Satha Shektan had taken up a sword.
Rector watched, horrified when he saw her engage an enemy. She had some skill, but if she wasn't supported, she would fall. Rector fought his way to her side. Above all the other women, she had to be preserved.
After a few intense moments of fighting, there came another pause.
“I am capable of defending myself, Rector,” Satha said to him in a tart tone. “We would work better as a team.”
“I can't form a Duo with you,” Rector said. “I have to maintain a clear mind to control the battle.”
Jessira, Bree, and a badly limping Sign arrived.
“Form a Quad with us,” the Triad said in its inflectionless voice from the mouths of all three women.
Satha did so and a Quad was born.
Rector wasn't sure whether to applaud Satha's courage or cringe with concern at her foolhardiness. In that moment, the most inane concern came to him: Dar'El would be furious that Rector had allowed Satha to risk herself like this.
The Triad became the Quad. Its purpose remained unchanged: survive.
Quaternary was the only one uninjured at this point. Her Shield was also the strongest. The other three were straining to conduct Jivatma. Their Wells were rapidly emptying. Quaternary was set at point. Even through the fog of their clouded minds came a rebellion from Primary and Secondary. Quaternary was pulled back. Secondary took point instead.
Rector Bryce fought alongside them. Other Triads, Quads, and Duos, did so as well. All of them were women, except for the six remaining male warriors of House Shektan.
There was a fierceness to the conflict, an escalation as the enemy launched themselves at the Shektans. From Secondary and Tertiary came the sense that this was likely the end of the battle. The enemy would either overwhelm them or be defeated.
The Quad was faced by a constantly moving stream of opponents. They attacked. Blows were exchanged, but the quarters were tight. The enemy would be jostled aside before the Quad could land a telling blow.
Two men stood against Tertiary. Her leg nearly collapsed as she sought to block the closer of the two opponents. The Quad sent Quaternary to support Tertiary. One of the enemy turned to face her. Quaternary slipped a thrust. Her own found a heart.
Tertiary stepped inside the guard of her final opponent. She smashed the hilt of her sword into the man's nose, shattering it. An elbow followed in the same motion. The man stumbled into Secondary's waiting blade.
Primary parried an overhand slash. Her arm buckled. Secondary had already been pulled to guard. Her sword cleaved a deep gash along the flank of Primary's adversary.
Another opponent down. Another filled the gap. And another. For once, Secondary was too slow to act. She took a slash to the ribs. It was deep, and her breathing suddenly came less easily.
A shout came from Rector Bryce to pull back, to fight shoulder to shoulder.
As the Quad did so, another surge came from the enemy. Three of them focused on Tertiary. Quaternary was moved to guard.
Tertiary's leg gave way. Her Shield absorbed one blow. Another. Then it was done. Tertiary's Well could no longer support a Shield. Quaternary was sent to stand before the fallen Tertiary. She fought alone against what was now five opponents. What she was unable to block, she absorbed on her Shield. She would be overwhelmed soon.
But Rector Bryce cut one adversary down. Quaternary took out another. There was a momentary lull.
“Get her out of here!” Rector shouted.
His order was echoed by all four members of the Quad. Quaternary carried out the command. She helped drag and carry Tertiary toward the back, until she was out of immediate danger. Quaternary then rejoined the fray.
Secondary and Primary were both beset by several opponents each. Primary was weakening quickly. Her injured arm hung by her side. She fought one-armed.
Secondary's breathing grew ever more ragged. She didn't have much left in her Well either.
Rector Bryce and another Shektan warrior provided them some relief.
The Quad saw the attack coming. It could do nothing to stop it.
Bree's thoughts, so quicksand slow in the Quad, snapped into racing focus. Her amma was going to die. She faced three Murans. They moved to flank her. There was no one close enough to offer her
any support.
The Quad was moving too slowly. Its focus was on keeping as many members alive as possible, even if that meant sacrificing one of them.
Bree severed her ties with the Quad and threw herself forward even as she knew she would never reach Amma in time. She watched in horror as one of the Murans thrust forward. Amma blocked. She parried a slash. Another slash defended. A riposte took one adversary in the throat. Meanwhile, the third Muran—middle-aged and with a face full of hate—had stepped behind her. His blade stabbed out, penetrating Amma's Shield. The sword warped from the impact. Instead of stabbing Amma through the heart, it bent down and took her in the center of her back.
Bree screamed.
Amma collapsed, and her head smacked the ground.
Bree arrived. Hatred and rage rode roughshod over her sorrow. There would be time for tears later. She killed a Muran and felt nothing. The one who had stabbed her Amma took one look at her and ran.
“Coward!” Bree shouted at him.
He stopped long enough to gesture rudely in her direction.
Bree realized she had space. There was a cluster of three opponents closing on her. They'd never make it. Her hand glowed but before she could discharge her Fireball, another one impacted the charging enemy first. It had been Rector Bryce's.
His Fireball had punched completely through the lead enemy and also taken his compatriot following on his heels. Both men were launched backward by the blast of the Fireball. They smashed into the third man, who'd been standing behind them. His head hit the ground with the sickening sound of a coconut cracking open.
The rest of the attackers must have taken the sight of Rector's Fireball as a sign. They broke and within seconds, the Shektan section of the Outer Wall was clear.
Bree's anger suddenly drained away, replaced by a desperate fear. She ran to her unconscious amma. Jessira was there also.
