by T. H. Lain
The janni behind the soldier stepped forward onto the dying soldier's chest, adding to his agony. Clemf lunged into the hole and jammed the tip of his longsword into the janni's ribs. The outsider shrieked and leaped straight up into the air, where it flew to the ceiling and out of sword reach.
Tasca also took advantage of the sudden distraction and gap in the enemy ring. The spry elf bent his knees and sprang forward, launching himself like a ballista bolt through the hole. Two soldiers and two jann swiped at him as he soared by, but all of them missed, unable to keep up with the speedy elf.
Lindroos retained her composure as she traded blows with Regdar.
"You can't beat me," she taunted, lunging forward and barely missing Regdar's chin.
"Oh no?" countered the big fighter. "What makes you so sure?"
Lindroos smiled. "Them," she said, pointing behind Regdar.
Regdar chuckled without humor. "You don't expect me to fall for that stupid trick, do you?"
Lindroos stepped back, completely disengaging from their fight. "Oh, no," she said. "Look for yourself."
The sound of marching feet drew Regdar's glance back over his shoulder. Coming through the door that Whitman had kicked in was another squad of Lindroos's black-clad soldiers—perhaps two dozen or more in all.
"Like I said," taunted the blackguard, "I never was good at math. I guess I made a mistake when I said you were outnumbered two to one."
Regdar turned and charged toward the new arrivals, hoping he could bottleneck them in the narrow doorframe. His blade swooped down to split a soldier's head, but it bounced away, blocked by a pair of crossed longswords. Pulling back, Regdar barely managed to evade several counterattacks. The tip of one blade caught him on the elbow but failed to find the gap in his armor's joint.
"The luck of Pelor," he said, and he waded in.
Whitman gritted his teeth. In three successive hammer blows, he'd managed to take three soldiers out of the fight. Only one of them was dead, but even if the others recovered their wits in short order, it was three blades he didn't need to deal with right at this moment. The jann were another problem entirely. Clemf had forced one to take flight, but the other three had their scimitars out, and they were looking for blood.
Whitman heard a high-pitched whistle. The sound made the skin along his spine crawl. He'd heard that noise before, and he knew what it meant—duck! Rolling into a ball, the dwarf tumbled forward. He could feel a slight breeze rush by as a scimitar sliced the air where he had been standing only a moment before.
Getting to his feet, Whitman turned to face the janni and its curved blade. The bare-chested outsider had a look of contempt on its face, and it turned the blade around for another attack.
"Let me guess," said Whitman, "you're Tweedledum?"
The janni sneered and swung its blade. Whitman nearly tripped over one of the downed soldiers as he dodged away.
"I am called Shirzad," said the janni. "I tell you this so you will know who to fear in the afterlife."
The dwarf regained his full balance, and he glared back, gripping his hammer tightly with both hands. "And I am called Whitman," replied the dwarf. "I tell you this so mine will be the last name you hear in this world." Whitman swept his magical weapon behind him then up over his head. With tremendous force, the dwarf slammed down the hammer with all his might. It struck the janni's sword and bashed it aside without slowing, then continued on into the outsider's chest. The blow lifted Whitman from his feet, and a tremendous crack echoed across the room.
The janni's knees buckled, and its eyes rolled back into its head. The exposed flesh on its naked chest rippled in waves like liquid as the sound jolted through the huge body. The outsider convulsed once again and vomited soupy, green liquid.
"Damn," shouted the dwarf.
The janni collapsed forward to the floor, falling so that its forehead hit the ground with a great thump.
Whitman heard the high-pitched whistle too late this time. He screamed as searing pain erupted along his back. He spun around to see the other two jann behind him. One held a scimitar tipped in blood. The other swung its curved blade, obviously intending to take Whitman's head as a trophy. The dwarf ducked, but the pain in his back slowed his reaction so that the blade connected with his helm, knocking it off. A heavy, ringing sound bounced back and forth between his ears, and his vision went blurry. He knew there were only two jann standing before him, but he could have sworn there were four.
His vision cleared quickly, but Whitman was momentarily unsure. He now saw three jann around him. He realized that the third, which had been flying near the ceiling, must have landed behind him, trapping the dwarf between all three outsiders.
"This isn't good."
One of the jann snapped its fingers, and in a blink all of them disappeared from view.
"Oh, this really isn't good."
Tasca backed himself into the corner and fired arrows into the fray as fast and as hard as he could. The metal arrowheads made satisfying pinging sounds as they punctured splintmail, and the screams of the men as they were shot was even more reassuring.
Despite Regdar's heroic stand at the door, the room was filling quickly with more soldiers. Whitman was surrounded by jann, and Tasca couldn't see Clemf anywhere. He fired two arrows at once. A soldier shrieked as both projectiles penetrated his chest, but he didn't fall.
"That'll be all out of you," came a voice from Tasca's left.
The elf ducked, an instinctive reaction to being startled in battle. A thick black blade sparked as it hit the stone wall. Chips of broken brick rained down on the crouched elf's head.
Dropping his bow, Tasca somersaulted away from the wall so that he landed on his feet, his rapier in hand. He looked up into the face of the blackguard.
"I'm going to enjoy this," she said. Then she charged.
Tasca braced himself, watching the tip of the long, black blade as it zigzagged toward him.
Lindroos feinted left and changed direction. Tasca weaved his blade through the air, following the move with an expert eye. The blackguard grunted and leaned into her strike. Her blade pushed hard against the elf's rapier, sliding down its length with a long grinding noise.
Tasca pushed back with all of his strength, but the blackguard simply overpowered him. Time seemed to slow down as the black blade slid closer and closer to his face. The sounds of battle fell away, leaving only the shing of metal on metal. Tasca gave ground, dodging away in a complete retreat.
Too late.
Lindroos's blade slipped past his guard and caught the elf on the cheek, opening a deep wound across his face. Tasca hissed and jerked backward, slamming into the wall.
"Too bad," taunted the blackguard. "It's a shame to cut up such a pretty face."
Clemf fought for his life, surrounded by a dozen cultist soldiers.
"Out of the cook pot into the campfire," he said, bashing away attacks one after the other. His efforts were focused exclusively on defending himself. He didn't have time to counterattack or even think about how he was going to get out of this mess.
Another longsword came at his head. Clemf ducked. A second came in at his knees. He slapped it aside with his blade. A third jabbed at his ribs. It glanced off his armor.
A sharp pain shot through the back of his right leg. Clemf howled and pulled himself away, stumbling headlong into two soldiers. The change was unintentional, but the unexpected movement knocked several of Clemf's attackers backward.
The tattooed warrior got tangled up in the pile of flailing bodies. He put out his hand to catch himself. From out of nowhere, a heavy boot caught him in the chest. He dropped his longsword and fell to his knees.
Panting, resting on all fours, Clemf looked down at the wooden slats that made up the flooring. Though he felt no pain, he could see drips of blood falling from his body. They made a slight tapping sound as they impacted the floor.
He wondered at the noise. So odd that amid all the clanging, smashing, fighting, and dying that h
e could hear the drops of blood. For a moment, all that existed in the room was the wooden floor and the ever-changing crimson patterns forming and reforming with each splash.
The unmistakable sound of metal straining then failing rang though Clemf's ears, followed by a hollow noise like a melon being dropped on a hard stone floor. Clemf watched as the drips of blood grew larger, then turned into a steady stream. The deluge hit the ground and splashed, throwing out more drips in a circular pattern.
"How beautiful," said the tattooed human.
Clemf collapsed to the floor, facedown in a pool of blood.
Regdar's stalling tactic didn't work for long. The narrow doorframe made a good bottleneck, but the fight pitted one man against two dozen. Even a veteran fighter like Regdar couldn't expect to hold them forever.
The front line pushed back against Regdar's assault, and the soldiers in the rear slipped inside the door, working their way past the big fighter and into battle with the other three. In moments, Regdar was again surrounded, and so were his friends.
Regdar slashed his greatsword across one soldier, slicing through the protective metal around his neck and cleaving into the flesh and bone beneath. The man let out a cry and stumbled back. Regdar followed through, taking the opportunity to step out from between the men surrounding him. Spinning, he put his back against the wall to protect his flank.
As he turned around, he got a view of the entire room. Before him stood three cultists ready for a fight. Behind them, Whitman was surrounded by three jann. In the corner, Tasca was locked in combat with Lindroos, his face bleeding from a long wound.
Then he saw Clemf, outnumbered ten to one, fall to his hands and knees. Before Regdar could move or even speak, a huge soldier raised his sword overhead with the tip pointing straight down, right at where Clemf had fallen. Regdar's blood ran cold, and a numbing tingle ran down his spine.
The soldier's arms stabbed down.
The sound of armor complaining as it was punctured followed, and Regdar felt his heart slip into his stomach.
The ring of soldiers surrounding Clemf turned away and broke up, heading for the other three fighters. With his back against the wall, Regdar fought off three attackers of his own. More were on their way. As the center of the room cleared, Regdar's worst fears were proven. Clemf lay facedown on the floor in a growing pool of blood.
Regdar's lip curled. He made eye contact with each of the three men standing before him.
"I'm going to kill you," he said through gritted teeth. "If I have to come back from the grave to do it, I'll kill all of you." His greatsword caught the first soldier between the ribs. The magical blade bit deep, and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell dead.
Regdar pulled out the blade, savoring the sight of blood running down its length. He lunged at the second soldier, but the blow was parried. The man bashed Regdar's sword against the wall and pinned it there with the flat of his own blade.
Regdar struggled to free his weapon, but he couldn't get enough leverage. With his back against the wall and his arm held fast, his chest and belly were completely exposed. The third cultist saw the opening and sliced down. His razor-sharp weapon slipped between the plates in Regdar's armor.
A burning sensation blossomed on Regdar's left shoulder, and he could feel his warm blood seep into his armpit and run down his ribs. With his back against the wall, he couldn't pull back, so instead he jerked sideways, dislodging the blade but not before the weapon tore a much larger gash in his hide.
Regdar drew in a sharp breath between gritted teeth, making a hissing sound as he did. The wound the soldier had opened was deep, and it hurt. To make matters worse, a new group of soldiers had surrounded the big fighter. The cultists lined up in a semicircle, three rows deep, waiting their turn to take their best shot at Captain Regdar.
A pop, as loud as a cannon shot, echoed off the black stone walls, startling everyone. In the far corner, filling the only unpopulated section of the large room, a softly glowing circle of blue-white faded into view. A cylinder of magical light grew from the circle, rising from the floor to the ceiling. The light pulsed once, and the glow began to fade. In its place, several figures took shape.
"Lindroos," came a woman's voice from inside the cylinder, "whatever evil scheme you're plotting comes to an end, here and now."
The magical glow dissipated altogether, and the figures came completely into view.
"No, dear sister," replied the blackguard, "it has only just begun."
Alhandra and Jozan stepped into the melee, accompanied by two holy warriors, each wearing the symbol of the god Heironeous.
A warm flush of pride and hope washed over Regdar, filling him with strength and confidence. He gripped his sword tightly in his good hand, dislodged it with a mighty tug, and lunged at the nearest soldier. The tip of the blade slipped across a metal plate on the man's splintmail and lodged in the leather padding underneath. The big fighter dropped his shoulder and put weight behind the strike.
"This is for Clemf," he said, and the tip plunged through hardened leather into soft flesh.
The man screamed and let go of his weapon, reaching with both hands to try to pull Regdar's sword out of his belly. He didn't need to, as Regdar wrenched it free himself, shouting, "Two!"
With the backswing he decapitated the last of Clemf's killers and roared, "Three!"
The swirling blue-white of the teleportation circle faded from Jozan's eyes, and he took in the grand melee before him. Regdar and his crew were badly outnumbered. The four new arrivals didn't even the balance, but Alhandra and her holy avengers resolutely advanced to deal with the blackguard.
Jozan went to save his friend Regdar.
A semicircle of armored warriors surrounded the man.
"You never did learn when to retreat," he said, knowing that even if Regdar could hear him, he wouldn't listen anyway.
The cleric stepped up to the first black-armored warrior he encountered and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. His fingers glowed as they touched the metal plates of the splintmail. At first contact, his spell discharged, flooding into the warrior. All the muscles in the man’s body constricted, and he exhaled as if being crushed, then collapsed to the ground.
A handful of the soldiers menacing Regdar turned their attention to the newly arrived cleric.
Jozan lifted the mace from his belt. "May Pelor see fit to look after your immortal souls," he recited as he hammered the head of his weapon against a warrior's helm.
"Moradin works in mysterious ways," said Whitman between swings of his massive hammer. His arms were growing tired, but the sight of the cleric, the paladin, and their holy avengers filled him with a needed boost of strength.
So far he'd considered himself lucky. His enchanted elven chain armor blocked at least a half-dozen scimitar attacks that he'd been unable to parry with his hammer. He was cut a few times, but he still had his head, both feet, and two hands. Though he figured a good dwarf was worth at least three jann any day, he had to admit that this particular fight had involved more luck than skill.
"Just not in the dice for me today," he said, slamming down the head of his hammer on a janni's foot.
The outsider gave a terrific roar, then returned the blow with its scimitar. The fine blade descended, and Whitman watched it come in. Twisting sideways, the dwarf let the weapon slip down his belly, skidding harmlessly off the worked metal rings of his armor and sliding all the way to the floor.
The janni overbalanced and had to bend forward to keep hold of its sword. Whitman kicked up, catching his foe in the gut. The burly outsider blew out all the air in its lungs in a singular, uncontrolled belch, and let go of its sword, opting instead to protect its ribs.
The janni balanced for a moment, bent forward as it was, wobbling a bit back and forth. Then, almost as if it were moving in slow motion, it tumbled backward, landing first on its ass, then on the back of its head.
No longer surrounded, Whitman tumbled one full revolution
away from the other two jann. When he came to his feet, he brought his hammer up before him and smiled at his otherworldly opponents.
"Now," he said, tapping the head of his weapon in his muscular palm, "if either of you have any wishes left, I suggest you use them to get your sorry butts out of here before I turn you into genie paste."
Tasca touched the wound on his face. He pulled his hand away and examined the blood, then he looked up at Lindroos and smiled.
"I think," he said, "that a scar on my cheek will only make me more rakishly attractive." He polished his fingernails against his chest. "I should thank you. Women love scars." He chuckled. "You of all people should know that."
When a loud boom echoed through the room and a glowing sphere of light erupted in the opposite corner, the blackguard turned around. Tasca didn't hesitate before leaping for his bow.
In one bound he made it to the spot and scooped up the weapon. He spun, an arrow already nocked to its string, prepared for the blackguard and whatever new monstrosity was inside that magical cylinder.
He was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the gibbering horror or pit fiend he had expected to see, a trio of Heironeous's holy warriors were advancing on Lindroos, and a cleric of Pelor was rushing up to help Regdar.
"Well, well," said the elf, letting his arrow fly across the room. "The gods are fickle indeed."
Regdar fought with renewed strength. Behind the line of killers surrounding him, his old friend Jozan was also bashing heads.
"Not quite the same as killing goblins, eh cleric?" Regdar shouted over the noise of battle. His greatsword shced into a soldier's arm, cutting it off at the elbow. Reversing directions, he chopped at another.
"No," came the reply from Jozan. "At least we don't have Lidda to worry about this time." His mace collided with another man's skull. The warrior went down in a heap.
