Night Demons had surrounded them within moments, forcing the six men to stand in a small circle, back to back.
The enemy lunged at them one by one, perhaps testing their bravado, only to be cut down by the soldiers.
The swordsmen had managed to put thirteen of the hooded warriors into the mud before one of the men was injured.
The Night Demons lunged all at once and the swordsmen blocked and swung their swords wildly in defence. They managed to take down quite a few more of the cloaked figures. Then one of the men fell holding his hand to his belly.
Dark blood flooded over his fingers and onto the wet ground as he dropped to his side.
Now they were five.
The throng of warriors pressed hard against the men and managed to hit another two with their curved swords. One fell instantly, his face sliced open exposing bone and tissue. The other fought on until the loss of so much blood seeping from his side caused him to drop into the mud.
The two remaining soldiers stood back to back, encircled by at least twenty Night Demons. The dark warriors lowered their blades and waited for the men to make the final advance.
“What do you say, my friend?” asked one.
“Do you think we can still run away?”
Both men laughed as they lunged forward, swords raised above their heads.
Swinging his blade wildly at the invaders, Richard took three out in one sweep. His blade slashed across the chest of one to his right and in the middle. The one on the left tried to duck out of the way and copped the edge of the long sword in the back of his head.
The lane they had managed to pile into offered little assistance. Five warriors were able to stand side by side as they approached from the front. The same could be said of the rear.
The lane opened onto a courtyard to which the Night Demons were able to access from an adjacent road. At any given time, the six men trapped in the little alley were battling ten cloaked warriors.
Richard didn’t know if this was better or worse than standing in the middle of the street.
Still, they were not about to give up. Their lives depended upon it. Even with the practical probability that they would most likely perish during the night, they had no intention of letting the Night Demons beat them. Nor were there any desires to become human sacrifices for any given cause.
This was about survival.
The soldiers with Richard blocked and attacked, using every chance advantage they could to put a hooded warrior onto the ground. A pile of corpses was heaped around their feet as they continued to fight for their lives.
The enemy soldiers were not easily dismayed however. Even with the numbers of their dead increasing upon the ground, they were intent upon reaching the six men.
Their fervour increased the desperation of the team and they increased their efforts to kill the enemy.
With no reprieve in sight, no time for rest, Richard fought through the sudden fatigue that hit like a hammer. His body ached and his eyes grew heavy.
His thrusts and blows became increasingly slower and less effective. Sometimes two or three swings of his blade were needed where earlier he could complete the same task with one.
He realised he had been awake for nearly two days straight and needed rest. His mind wandered to a place where his cot was waiting for him. He imagined lying down and pulling the covers over his ears, curling up and floating away where he could dream of Night Demons.
A rush of the dark warriors exploded from around the corners in front of him and behind. He hacked and chopped with his blade, connecting with as many of the enemy soldiers as he could.
Blood sprayed upon his face and chest plate again and again.
He suddenly felt revitalised as a second wind knocked some sense into him.
Slicing and blocking curved blades with his sword, he wondered how much longer he could keep this up. He had almost lost it there for a moment.
This had to stop eventually.
One way or another.
Francis Lytton poked his sword into the throng of dark figures squeezing into the thin alley. His reach was surprisingly long and, with his sword just as long as his arm, he was able to meet his mark before his enemy had the opportunity to attack him directly. Their curved swords were not as long as his blade and they required a slashing or swinging motion to be effective.
The long swords used by the men of Woodmyst could be used for hacking, chopping, slicing and stabbing. The downside to their weapons was that they were heavy.
Forged from tempered steel and quite thick along its fuller, the blade wore its user down before the enemy did.
The enemy blades were much thinner and easier to operate, but the handler would need to get in close to their enemy.
Both blades had their positive and negative points.
For now, however, the Woodmyst blade proved to be the more advantageous.
The narrow confines of the passageway prevented the soldiers from being able to chop and hack their enemies. But stabbing and poking in their current environment was ideal.
The need to block and parry was still necessary, and they used these defensive manoeuvres to their advantage. As an enemy warrior charged with sword held high, intending to lower it forcefully into one of the men, one of the team members would block the blow with his blade while another would stab his sword into the invader.
The strategy was proving a successful one as bodies continued to pile upon each other in the narrow alley. The Night Demons now had to clamber over their own kind to attack the small band of men.
This too, proved to be profitable to the men, for as the enemy navigated their way over the carcases, the men would race forward and cut them down.
The enemy must have passed the word to their comrades of the tactics being used by the men and, consequently, they must have forged plans of their own.
As the men fought in the passageway, several Night Demons climbed upon the roofs of the surrounding buildings, some lowering themselves into the rear of the alley silently.
Francis, at the front of the fray, continued to block and stab wildly with his blade, oblivious to the gathering invaders behind him and his men. The small band of soldiers was too engrossed upon the hooded warriors attacking them from the opening to the passage.
The stable master didn’t feel the spatter and spray against his bare neck as the three men behind him had their throats slit. The rain was pelting too hard and his temperature too warm from fighting for him to distinguish the feel of water from blood.
It was only when he heard their swords clang upon the ground that his head spun around to see the dead swordsmen lying in a heap and the five Night Demons standing before him.
The curved blade sank deep into his belly and twisted as the warrior slid it across to his left side where it exited his body above his hip. Slowly, his innards slid through the wound and dangled by his side.
Strangely, as the rain pelted his face, he didn’t feel much pain. It was more of a discomforting sensation.
He swayed upon his feet and plunged his sword deep into the belly of his attacker.
“If I go,” Francis told the Night Demon, “you go with me.”
The remaining two men, a stable worker and a swordsman, turned to see their commander standing defiantly as he pulled his sword up into the warrior’s ribs. A loud crunch was heard as blood sprayed from beneath the dark hood and into Fancis’ face.
Two cloaked figures ran their blades along the necks of both the stable hand and the swordsman. They stood motionless for a moment as blood flowed across their leather breastplates before falling to the ground.
The stable master and the Night Demon both fell upon their knees together. Francis pushed his sword into the warrior up to the hilt so that the blade was sticking from its back.
As the other dark warriors watched, both man and Night Demon fell against each other in what could be seen as an embrace. There, both breathed their last breath and fell upon their sides.
The gathering of Night Demons stood around, staring at the spectacle in the narrow alley, as the pouring rain welled in the lifeless eyes of Francis Lytton the stable master of Woodmyst.
Enclosed in by a multitude of dark warriors, Richard and the five swordsmen with him fought frantically for their lives. They worked together as a unit, using their swords to block swinging curved blades, allowing another of their allies to plunge his long sword into the form of their enemy.
Over and over again, they used this strategy, fighting with their backs to each other in a tight circle. The enemy changed their stratagem and started to focus their attack upon one soldier at a time.
Being in a circular formation, and with three to four blades being thrust towards a particular man in unison, it became difficult to determine where to focus evasive manoeuvres. The other men in the team would occasionally lend a hand by helping to block the oncoming swords, but this opened them up to attack from another Night Demon waiting for the opportunity.
Eventually, fatigue and exhaustion drained the swordsmen and their reactions slowed. Defending each other and themselves became a toilsome task.
It was only a matter of time.
While defending his fellow swordsman, another was struck in the leg. He fell to his knees. There, another swipe from a curved blade, sliced through his neck. The head lolled upon the ground as the body swayed, as if deciding to fall or not.
Richard bumped the headless man, sending him sprawling onto the ground, as he blocked an attack from two warriors.
The trumpet blew a long note.
It sounded close.
Richard surmised from the volume of the sudden noise that the trumpeter was inside the village walls.
He raised his sword quickly and hacked the two hooded brutes open as the circle of men tightened.
It almost seemed pointless. For every Night Demon that they destroyed, another was there to take its place.
Was there perhaps an endless supply of dark warriors outside of the walls?
Perhaps the rain sent them down in droves from the sky.
He raised his sword to block another curved blade heading for his face.
The cloaked soldier used his body weight to push his sword closer and closer towards Richard.
The council member required both of his hands to hold the edge of the blade away from his flesh. He searched his mind for a solution to his current setback as another dark figure swung their sword towards him from his right.
Balls, he thought.
He thrust his knee into the aggressor as hard as he could. The warrior relaxed his attack and fell to his knees holding his crotch. Instantly, Richard swung his sword around to his right and blocked the oncoming strike from the other Night Demon.
The two blades clashed loudly. The curved sword bounced off the tempered steel, giving Richard the opportunity to plunge his sword deep into the heart of his foe.
The warrior dropped his sword and stepped back from the circle of men as a spray of blood pumped from the wound again and again before he fell to the ground. Placing his attention upon the other hooded figure, still holding his crotch, he buried his blade into the injured warrior’s belly.
There was no time to celebrate as another Night Demon was already there, swinging its sword towards him.
Again, he blocked the blow and retaliated with his own strike. The warrior parried with its own blade.
Finally someone formidable, Richard thought as he swung his sword towards the hooded figure. His sword dug into the dark soldier’s elbow, separating the forearm from the rest of the brute.
Perhaps not, Richard supposed.
The long sword slid across the enemy’s middle, spilling blood across the wet ground and sending the dark soldier into the mud.
Behind him, another of his men fell victim to the curved blade and the circle tightened again.
As they continued to fight in the lane, a loud voice from the courtyard behind him made itself known to the attacking warriors. It’s deep and raucous sound was harsh upon the ears.
Several of the attacking warriors shouted back in their own tongue. Richard had no idea what the exchange between the Night Demons was concerned with. Nor did he care.
Thrusting his sword, he connected with another dark warrior and sent it falling into the mire.
Another of his men fell to his right and suddenly there was only three left.
He knew that they wouldn’t last.
Their doom was imminent.
But they weren’t about to simply give up and die.
“Kill them all, lads,” he hollered as he stepped into the horde.
The enemy stepped away from him, allowing him to move into them. They blocked and parried his blows and dodged his attack if he drew too near to them.
Perhaps his exhaustion had finally overtaken him.
Perhaps the Night Demons had decided to simply toy with him until they saw it fit to end his life.
He swung wildly and peered back to his men.
Both of them fell to the ground dead.
He stared at them for a long time.
The rain fell hard all around him. The sound of the downpour filled his ears so that hit was the only noise he heard.
He lowered his sword lazily by his side, expecting the Night Demons to slice him open.
Moments before, he had conjured up the will to fight until he could fight no more.
Now, as he looked to the five young men lying in the mud amongst the bodies of dark warriors, he had no more fight left in him.
He was spent.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked them as he stared at the bodies.
The Night Demons moved to the sides of the lane, forming a channel for Richard to move along.
What choice did he have?
Keeping his sword by his side, Richard walked through the lane back towards the street he had entered it by. On both sides of him, lined up against the building’s walls, were cloaked warriors watching him pass by.
He walked into the street and turned to his right, towards the bulk of Woodmyst. Sitting further along the street before him sat the great dragon.
It roared a thunderous cry as Richard emerged from the lane.
“So this is it.” Richard nodded. “You’re going to feed me to your dragon.”
The dragon eyed him carefully as it made a gargling growl at the man.
One of the hooded warriors pointed towards the eastern wall. Following his direction, Richard turned slowly to see the street lined with more warriors all the way to the breach.
He dragged his sword behind him as he staggered along the road towards the mound.
Atop of the mound stood a lone figure with a hood upon his head and a curved horn attached to his belt.
Richard slowly approached the solitary Night Demon, sword tip bouncing upon the pebbles in the street as the rain and wind washed over his face. He glanced up to the wall where he saw the three bowmen lying upon the wall-walk, throats cut and bled out.
Two of the dark warriors stepped forward, swords drawn as the man approached.
He stopped in his tracks, no more than five paces away from the base of the mound, as he looked towards the two Night Demons.
He breathed rapidly, waiting for them to take him down. They didn’t. Richard felt as if he was in a stand off.
What were they waiting for?
Chapter Thirty-Two
The warrior upon the mound pointed to him with a clawed hand. The man looked to him as the dark soldier indicated to the long sword with his finger. A sudden flick of the invader’s hand and Richard understood.
Drop the sword.
He complied and fell to his knees uncontrollably.
He was tired.
So very tired.
The lone warrior raced to him and crouched by his side, placing an arm around Richard’s shoulder.
He was confused.
Why wasn’t he being hacked to pieces by all of the curved blades around him?
&nb
sp; Why wasn’t this one ripping him apart?
Why wasn’t he dead already?
Tears welled in his eyes as he looked into the dark cavern beneath the warrior’s hood.
The Night Demon placed Richard’s back against the inside of his thigh to give the man some support so that he could remain seated. It signalled to one of the hooded figures to step forward. The other complied, handing the commander a canteen.
The commander popped the cork from the vessel and tilted it for Richard to drink.
Poison or not, Richard was thirsty and gulped the liquid down gratefully.
“Who are you?” Richard asked in a raspy voice.
The commander placed the canteen into the man’s hands and lifted his own claw-like fingers to his hood.
Slowly, he pushed the covering to the back of his head where it fell to the nape of his neck.
The warrior wore a dark scarf over his mouth and nose, but Richard recognised the face before it was removed.
The eyes bored into the council member like ice daggers to his heart.
The large yellow, glaring eyes that he hadn’t seen for so many years.
The scarf was removed to reveal the rest of the commander’s face.
He was pale skinned and hairless.
The warrior pulled the sleeve of its cloak up and revealed an old scar upon its forearm. It grunted as it held the mark closer to Richard’s face.
The man nodded.
“I remember you,” he blubbered.
Richard remembered the swamp where he had witnessed his friends murder captive soldiers.
He remembered the clay huts of the small village they had discovered nearby.
He recalled those who dwelled in the city with their grey skin and yellow eyes.
Richard saw creatures of varying sizes. Some as large as men and others appearing as only children. Their yellow eyes shared the same sensation. Fear.
These were a timid people who had hidden themselves well from the eyes of men.
The tragedy of war had brought them into the light. He silently wished they had never chased the four enemy soldiers into the forest.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 25
