by Charles Dean
“Did you ask him first?” Ling pressed. “You want to conquer the world with him, but did you even get his opinion on the matter? What if he doesn’t want to do that? Have you ever thought about why he is climbing up the mountain with troops at his back?”
“Troops at his back? I saw none. Only two women that I’ll remove in due time. No, he came to be with me willingly. You’ll just have to take my word now since you’ll be dead soon. Dead. Like all the other weak ones. My brothers and sisters, my Phoukas, are going to purify this group. All but those with the strongest blood will be purged. The rest of you aren’t necessary.”
“For once, when I have to fight some self-righteous whippersnapper, I’d like them to just, you know, attack me,” Dave said with a groan. “What about your generation demands a monologue before every encounter? I mean, we get it, Phouka girl: you got a weird, crazy reason for going all murder happy. You’re just doing it for money ‘cause you got a family to support, or maybe you’re doing it ‘cause it feels good, and your parents were mean to you. I honestly don’t care. Can you just come at me so that I can kill you quickly and have time to wash the fur off my armor before the sun sets? If I’m being honest, I hope you stay in that form so that, after I crush your skull in with old trusty here”--Dave patted his flail--“I can make a nice, proper rug out of your skin.”
The tiger looked over at him, sniffing the air at the same time. “You’re not weak. It’s . . . It’s the one next to you. He’s the one we’ll kill. If you don’t want to die, you don’t have to fight,” she said. “You can run away and live to a ripe old age. I’d even encourage you to sire children to ensure the next generation is healthy.”
Dave and Pelham shared a glance, looking at one another. Seriously?” Dave asked incredulously. “I mean, I’m not trying to say I’m ugly, but how is this face the one that’s worth saving? At least his looks . . . Well, he might be average . . . but my face looks like a carpenter tried to smooth out my ugly-ass nose with roughing paper but failed and gave up halfway. Damn, lady, your taste in men is terrible.”
“Never been a fan of cats myself, much less cat ladies,” Pelham said. “Maybe she can smell it.”
Dave laughed. “That’s true! You have always been averse to--”
“Enough!” Miller shouted, slamming his spear on the ground and letting out his drunken warcry. A moment later, that same spear was hurtling through the air at full speed. The giant tiger nimbly dodged it, but the boar behind her didn’t. The beast was struck so hard that the spear’s momentum knocked the stuck pig back and rolled it over.
You have killed Niall. Your party has been awarded 1312 Experience. Your share of this is 328 Experience.
“Fine, let’s do this the hard way,” the tiger purred and then leapt forward at Miller.
The tiger was engaged so quickly that Ling didn’t even have time to loose an arrow before it was already on top of Miller. By the time she reacted, she was already afraid that she’d strike him or one of the others, so she started looking for weaker, easier-to-hit targets in the backline instead. Experience had already taught her that her arrows would be relatively useless against the bear’s thick hide, but after seeing how effective Miller’s spear was, she felt confident she could deal some damage quickly to the boars and wolves. She aimed at one of the boars that had charged and began firing while watching out of the corner of her eye as Dave and Pelham stepped forward to intercept it. Miller pulled another spear from his inventory and threw it at the tiger lady, missing her yet again, but it still struck another boar, killing it just as Ling put down her own target.
You have killed Oonagh. Your party has been awarded 797 Experience. Your share of this is 199 Experience.
You have killed Afric. Your party has been awarded 810 Experience. Your share of this is 270 Experience.
Nearly a dozen boars died from the rain of arrows as they broke out of the forest and charged directly toward the assembled soldiers, but the shield wall was inevitably struck by the seemingly-endless horde of boars. Several more of the creatures died the moment they struck the shield wall, pieced by the paladins’ spears and hacked apart by Brigid’s men, but the sheer number of brutes was too much. The first wave of swine died before doing any real damage, but the relentless assault continued unabated. The men were driven back at first, slowly but surely, and then they started losing their foot as the mounting bodies continued to pile up with no end in sight. The second and third waves hit, one after another, and the few soldiers who had somehow managed to remain upright began to give way under the pressure. After that, there was little hope for recovering their formation, and Ling knew it.
You have killed Sean. Your party has been awarded 923 Experience. Your share of this is 231 Experience.
You have killed Orla. Your party has been awarded 742 Experience. Your share of this is 185 Experience.
Ling fired off arrows as quickly as she could, counting one death notification after another, but she couldn’t avoid watching the massacre going on beside her in between shots. The strong, durable paladins crumbled under the stampeding boars. One by one, the paladins fell, and the swine rushed and over them, trampling the piled bodies and slowly killing the fallen warriors.
The only spot in the line that didn’t break was the one fortified by Dave and Pelham. The two of them seemed to work miracles as they smashed everything that came near, building a wall of corpses in front of them. Dave’s flail moved with incredible speed: he cracked one boar’s skull open, crushed another’s spine, and slammed into a third with so much force that the sound of its ribs cracking was audible even across a battlefield.
The former Knight Captain Pelham proved to be less of a stationary peg of destruction with his two swords and more of an offensive specialist. He killed his first Phouka by hopping on its back and stabbing down through its spine with both blades, and he then jumped from one boar to the next, pushing his killing spree forward into the onrushing horde and sparing the shield wall and archers directly behind him from the same fate as everyone else.
Miller also put forth a fierce effort while squaring off against the tiger, and the boars surged around the two combatants as if he and the giant feline were a huge stone in their path. His spear was quick, but her paw was quicker, and no matter how fast and hard he struck at her with his weapon, she always dodged it and followed up with an attack that either knocked him back or caused him to lose his footing. It was clear that Miller was fighting a losing battle and that she was taking her time killing him, almost as if she enjoyed what she was doing, and Ling was reminded of Weiser and how the cat toyed with his prey just before killing it. No matter which way Miller moved to attack or evade, the cat’s lightning-fast paws were there first, turning the blow away or stopping him from maneuvering.
Ling normally would have helped--she always preferred to help the others in battle whenever she could rather than going directly for kills herself--but she couldn’t. She was so caught up with trying to stem or deter the flow of boars that she just couldn’t find the right place or the right time to take a shot. Then, before the opportunity presented itself, the shield wall collapsed. She knew that she would be doomed if she stayed in the same spot. The boars were far faster than she was, and she wasn’t as competent a swordsman as Pelham, so there was little chance of her being able to defend herself in close-quarters combat.
Ling wanted to linger where she was--every second behind the bow was a chance to help the others out more--but she also knew that she needed to get to some sort of high ground if she was going to make it through the fight alive. Without any other option, she threw her bow over her back and then turned and sprinted straight toward a tree on the edge of the small clearing, jumping up and grabbing ahold of the lowest branch as soon as she was within reach. She quickly hoisted herself up onto the large limb, secured her footing and then looked toward the collapsed shield wall in the futile hopes of finding a target that would make a difference. She fired off several ranging shots that dropped
into the mob, but her efforts were far too little and too late to make a difference. There appeared to be shots coming from around a dozen places in the trees where others had sought refuge like her, but other than those, everyone else aside from Miller, Dave and Pelham was laid out on the ground, dying and being trampled on by the wave of boars.
This isn’t good. We’re going to die. We’re going to lose more people. Lee isn’t going to handle this well. Ling concentrated her shots on the boars trying to reach Pelham. No, he’s fine for now. What needs to happen . . . Ling looked over at the tiger and plucked off a few arrows straight toward the big beast. The feline may have been adept at dodging Miller’s spears, but Ling’s arrows were faster, and the beast was preoccupied. Seven of the barbs scored across her flank as she tried to rush in and pounce on Miller again.
The tiger skidded to a halt, screeching out an awful noise that was a combination of pain and surprise. It turned toward Ling, looking for the source of the shots, and the moment that she did, Miller ran through with a spear and stabbed her in the left shoulder. This seemed to infuriate the enormous cat, and rather than actually slowing it down, the animal swiped Miller so hard that the giant Firbolg went flying back ten feet. The tiger then turned to face Ling again, roaring a challenge in her direction.
Ling felt a tremble in her composure under the roar. Her nerves rattled, and a slight tremor ran from her spine down the length of her already-shaking arm, disrupting her rate of fire. She quickly sucked in a deep breath of air and tried to calm herself, but by the time she went to shoot again, the giant black beast was already dashing straight toward her at full speed. Why won’t you just die? Ling complained while muttering a few choice profanities that she had heard from Dave under her breath. She took aim and fired off as many shots as she could, doing her best to pincushion the rapidly-moving feline. Over half of her arrows hit the mark, but none actually slowed it down.
“No, you don’t!” Miller yelled, charging after it at full speed. The massive feline reached Ling’s tree and was just set to pounce when Miller slammed into it at full speed, ramming his spear into feline’s side. Both went flying back, and the two slammed into the trunk of the tree with a massive thud. Reverberations from their assault shook the entire tree, and Ling had to reach down and grab ahold of the limb she was perched on for fear of losing her balance.
“Why must you court your own death?” the tiger growled as it sprang to its feet. It leapt away once and then turned and faced Miller. “You are one of the strong ones. You would have lived.”
“I will not watch as those under my charge die!” Miller shouted back, pushing himself to his feet and holding his spear at the ready. Ling hadn’t noticed it before, but he was covered in blood. She had only seen the beast knock him back once, but he had either been trounced when she wasn’t looking, or that single blow must have done a massive amount of damage.
“Don’t be foolish. Know your place in nature and back down now so that I may cull the weak filth from this field,” the tiger roared.
Ling didn’t know how much health it had, but she was beginning to be worried by the fact that even as her arrows pelted it relentlessly, it ignored her.
“My place is here in front of you, in battle, until one of us dies,” Miller said, letting out another inebriating shout.
“So be it,” the tiger roared and then pounced at Miller. The Firbolg warrior was ready and responded by hoisting his spear up in front of him. He took the brunt of the tiger’s attack on the end of his weapon, wedging it into the beast’s open jaws, but it wasn’t enough. The tiger bowled him over with sheer weight and momentum, and Miller was trapped underneath the beast.
Ling fired off shot after shot at the easy target, but her arrows still seemed to do very little damage. With every passing second, Miller was being ripped up by the Phouka’s claws.
“Last chance,” the tiger growled. “I do so hate killing the strong blooded.”
“Justice never backs down, you filthy, wretched beast,” Miller taunted through gritted teeth. “Get to safety, Ling. I’ll hold this stupid cat off.”
Ling turned and took a quick survey of the field. She was tempted to do just that. She spotted eight of the dozen archers who had made it to the trees, and only Dave was still standing amidst the carnage, his flail swinging back and forth with carefully-placed shots as he crushed one enemy after the other. There was nothing on this field that she could fix, her arrows were running low, and time was nearly up. Taking to a higher branch and attempting to make her way through the canopy of trees was an option, but it didn’t sit right.
Ling pulled back another arrow and steeled her resolve. Even if Lee will mourn me, he wouldn’t run. “I’ll meet you and Amber shortly.”
Miller’s spear shattered as the beast’s maw finally snapped shut. The tiger looked up at Ling as she heard the farewell, and then it opened its jaws again and bored down on Miller, tearing off his face in one bite.
Miller has died.
The tiger looked up at Ling after her kill, Miller’s blood dripping from her maw. “Strong-willed and strong-blooded. Even though you carry his scent, I shall leave you today. You have earned that much.” The cruel feline then leapt away, disappearing into the woods again and vanishing from sight as quickly as it had appeared. Ling took one of her five remaining arrows, nocked it on to the bow and prepared to aim at any target she could find. But the wave of boars was gone. The bear-man was dead, and Pelham was lying next to it, his legs separated from his torso. One of his two swords was buried in the ursine creature’s throat, and Dave was standing over his corpse, looking down at his dead friend.
Out of the entire company, there were two from Brigid’s unit, four paladins, and Ling and Dave alive. An empty, hollow pit formed in her gut as she surveyed the brutal landscape. Dozens and dozens of boars lay dead across the field. Each of the paladins had killed at least one, and some had even killed three or four before dying. They had stood and fought exceptionally well in the battle, proving their worth before being slain under the hooves of a horde of swine. Yet, even as she witnessed and acknowledged their valiant effort, it felt meaningless underneath the scores of their own people that had died.
Ling dropped down from the tree and cautiously made her way over to reach Dave, carefully picking her way around the dead beasts as she went. She couldn’t help but wish she knew what to say.
“Shame, really.” Dave said when she reached him. “You’d think that, after all the crap he survived through, dying in the woods to some crying blind kid throwing a magical hissy fit wouldn’t be one of the ways he’d go.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ling muttered dumbly. She put a hand on the old man’s shoulder, trying to be supportive.
“Don’t worry about it, young’n,” Dave responded, shrugging her hand off. “At my age, I’m more surprised when a fight ends without a friend dying than I am when one winds up dead. You’d think it would be us old folks that would go first, but it’s always the folks that would have had time left. They just don’t know when to run; always got something to prove. If he had stayed in his place and just fought that damn horde of bacon like I did, he’d still be here, laughing at how many people he killed. Nope, had to be the big man and fight one of these bastards solo. Had to prove himself, the idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” Ling said again, still unsure of what to say.
“It’s not your fault. It’s that damn Herald’s. Him and his stupid . . . Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. He and that Firbolg of his fighting against two of them in a doubles’ match of Blind Billy and the Barmaid left that idiot Pelham thinking he could mimic them,” Dave lamented. “Idiots really shouldn’t think--or rather shouldn’t act--on their thoughts. The moron, getting himself killed.”
Even though Dave was throwing around insults, Ling knew that he was really just depressed with the outcome. His face looked broken, like he might cry, but then every time she thought a tear would fall, he’d just sniffle and wig
gle his moustache. “I’m still sorry for your loss,” she said again.
Dave shrugged. “People dying for dumb causes. It’s what makes this world great. Well, you wanna wait here for your boy, Lee, or chase my unkilled rug and her hoard of pork chops down to Satterfield?”
“I think we should wait for Lee,” Ling advised cautiously. “We need to send him a message about what happened as soon as possible.”
Dave scratched at his scraggly beard and then said, “You thinking we might abandon Satterfield, regroup back at Kirshtein for a defense? If we had a good army, we could handle the wench. We’ve taken out a good chunk of her forces, and, if we get some proper idiots willing to suicide themselves in a fight like Pelham, I think we can do this in one more go.”
“One way or another, I’m waiting for Lee,” Ling answered resolutely. “I want to protect Satterfield too, but I’ll see what he wants to do. I don’t know how we can outmaneuver them.”
“They didn’t field them, but I saw there were these other things moving around the action in the woods. They were slow walkers . . . umm . . . I don’t know what you call them. Fancy bull- and horse-looking things walking on two legs. If the Phoukas keep their army together, which they should, then we’ll be able to catch them if we move at a full sprint. We’ve got roughly . . . four or five days at most until that force hits Satterfield head-on if they let the slowest hold them up. If you dodge out now and head back at full pace, you might be able to save your dad.”
Ling bit her lip. “I’ll give Lee till the end of the day to respond, then I think I’ll do just that.”
“Suit yourself, woman, but I’m sticking with you till then. Can’t have old boozemaker mad at me for letting you die on your own.” Dave looked down at Pelham one last time and added, “Well, I might need to bury a few people first. You think Lee will give him one of those fancy glass statues? Maybe he could make Pelham smile for once when he does the face. Maybe that’d be good.”
