by J. P. Ashman
After finishing his series of stretches, Cheung walked silently along the rooftop he'd been waiting on for three days and three nights. He carefully rolled the sheet of brown canvas at one end of the flat roof, which had been his only shelter from the day’s sun and night’s chill. Once rolled tight, he weighed one end down under a large potted succulent, before sliding a long satchel from behind another.
The satchel, once opened, revealed a pair of bone handled kamas, their black blades almost invisible as they absorbed the light of the moon above. Taking a bone handle in each henna tattooed hand, Cheung lifted the weapons. He stood and looked to the sky again, holding the weapons at his sides as he walked slowly towards the edge of the roof. Once there, he looked from the stars to the alley below, where a well-dressed woman escorted by two burly bodyguards walked. Blocking the sound of the cicadas out, Cheung lifted his kamas and carved three short red lines across his heavily scarred face, before stepping off the roof.
No cry of warning came from the first bodyguard as the points of two black bladed kamas punctured the top of his skull. The head jerked back as the wielder of the kamas used the weapons anchorage to swing his feet into the small of the victim’s back. As Cheung’s back touched the ground, he used the weight of the dead man’s backward momentum along with an explosive kick with both legs, to throw the corpse over and behind, withdrawing the kamas as he did so.
Springing back to his feet, Cheung leapt forward, bringing the inside curve of one of his blades around and across the throat of the second bodyguard, which spun the choking man to one side. This left the woman seemingly defenceless as Cheung, already past his second victim, reached his mark. He suddenly knew better however, and crossed both kamas in front of him in time to parry a blow from the woman’s naginata. How he hadn’t seen her carrying the long weapon he had no idea, but vowed he would punish himself later for his poor observation.
The woman, despite her cumbersome dress, came at Cheung swiftly, moving the blade at the end of her naginata swiftly in confusing circles, slashes and lunges Cheung deftly avoided or parried. He found little opening to lock either of his kamas onto the haft of his mark’s weapon; the blade at its head was long, so he resigned himself to a series of defensive manoeuvres until he could find an opening in the well trained woman’s attacks.
For several minutes, both Cheung and his mark danced about the alley, the blade of the naginata flashing occasionally in the bright moonlight whilst the twin blades of the kamas soaked it up. It was that in the end, that gave Cheung his chance. He noticed the woman’s eyes being drawn to his blades more than once and the next time she did – his weapons held high – Cheung spun low, taking the woman’s legs from beneath her with a sweeping kick. Before she could react, Cheung had moved inside the danger of her naginata and thrust the tips of his bone hilts hard against her shoulders, pinning her to the ground.
To his surprise, his mark made no sound as he crunched his head into her delicate nose, stunning her before she could make any move against him. Head next to hers, Cheung finally whispered to her his guild master’s regards, before quickly lifting his right kama from her shoulder to bring it point first down through her chest and into her heart.
The only noise was the cicadas as Cheung climbed the side of the building next to him. He walked the roof under a star filled sky and collected both his canvas and satchel. He stopped only once before leaving the roof, to admire the potted succulents and the male cicada sat atop one of the smooth leaves, playing its calming song.
***
An intense white light shone up from the area of Beresford’s bridge like a reversed ray of moonlight. The Red Goblin snarled as he saw it. Pointing a clawed finger, he howled into the night sky and jumped onto the back of a large brown boar with blood stained tusks, which grunted and scraped the ground with its front right foot. The red skinned chieftain kicked the boar’s sides and drew a crude looking sword that glowed in the flickering light of the surrounding fires.
Six large hobyahs clad in spiked, red plate held large cleavers and axes high as they trotted after their chieftain, his boar bouncing off down the street in the direction of the strange illumination.
The air chilled as the chieftain rode closer. Humans were cheering now and he knew it was not a good sign. Always better screaming humans are, always better screaming.
More goblins rode out from side streets upon boars almost as big as their chieftain’s. They were followed by many more goblins on foot, brandishing everything from spears and hatchets to human swords and crossbows, which looked comical, since many of them were too big for the goblins to wield. Their shrieking and whooping made for a bloodcurdling sound, especially when mixed with the chattering and whispering sounds of their leucrotas.
Two women ran out of a burning building and into the street. They soon fled at the sight of a red-skinned goblin in black plate armour riding a large boar and wielding a glowing blade; hobyahs loping along at the side of him, weapons held high and jaws snapping at any goblin venturing too close.
An unfortunate man who'd followed the two women froze at the nightmarish sight, just to be ridden down by The Red Goblin and his boar, before being hacked to pieces by the following horde.
As The Red Goblin rounded the last corner to Beresford’s bridge, a line of ashmen ran out into the street, stopping to set their spears into the ground whilst archers stood to either side. They were clearly attempting to block his path from the dwindling crowds of people finally managing to make it across the river.
The goblin chieftain saw another small number of soldiers amongst the people on the bridge, trying to make it to the other side of the Rive Norl. Two had bows and The Red Goblin could have sworn one was an elf, but before he could confirm it, he and his horde had reached the line of ashmen and two archers.
His lead hobyah was hit with two arrows, both of which the creature snapped off before careering into one of the archers responsible. It literally tore the man limb from limb.
As the hobyah turned to another human, The Red Goblin’s boar slammed into the line of ashmen, their spears knocked aside by other boar riders as they ploughed in to their deaths ahead of their chieftain.
The glowing blade of the howling red goblin sliced effortlessly through padded jackets, maille and iron helmets with its shamanistic charms. He cleaved one ashman’s head from his body as his boar thrust both of its tusks up into another’s stomach, disembowelling him before he landed lifeless on the frosted ground immediately under the beast’s heavy head.
Hobyahs smashed and slashed wildly, killing almost as many goblins as humans as they swept their way through the defensive line, leaving little to do for those behind. One of the larger hobyah’s turned suddenly, biting off the arm of a passing boar rider, causing the boar to buck and smash through the goblin ranks as the rider shrieked and let go of the reigns, gripping his bloody stump with his one good hand.
The Red Goblin glared at the hobyah, who looked down for a second, clearly hurt by its master’s disapproval, before it continued across the swarming mass of goblins towards the remaining humans on the bridge.
***
Every sound tore at Ellis Frane as he stared at the barricaded door of the torture chamber. He'd stared for a long time at the dead inquisitor on the rack; the mangled corpse he'd created from a living, breathing man. After squatting in a corner for some time, rocking slightly whilst trying to force the horrors he'd inflicted on the inquisitor from his mind, Ellis Frane had managed to find enough blood-soaked rags to cover at least the face and torso of Inquisitor Makhell, although it hadn’t really helped.
The royal scribe had then paced the room, occasionally stopping – as he was now – to stare at the barricade; awaiting the painful death those outside would surely visit upon him.
‘I hope you escaped,’ he whispered to himself, thinking of the two guardsmen who'd set him free and given him the chance of revenge upon Inquisitor Makhell.
Revenge? Was that what it was…? Murder,
I should think, which makes me no better than him.
He glanced over to the half-covered body, but only momentarily before straying to the secret room’s entrance in the wall. Ellis Frane shuddered as he remembered what was behind that wall. He looked back to the dead inquisitor and nodded slowly.
Revenge for them more than me, now that’s worth seeing your bloodied face in my dreams, even if it were for a thousand years, you bastard. Although at this rate, he thought, looking again to the barricade, it won’t be another hour.
The silence was deafening as he strained to hear footsteps, voices, raised or otherwise. There was nothing, nothing for what seemed like hours if not days. His eyes felt heavy and his belly empty and although he knew his luck had gone, he hoped again to see or even hear the two men who'd saved him once, here again to save him a second time.
***
The people crossing the River Norln screamed and cried out again as they witnessed the slaughter of their protectors, whilst the soldiers on the east side of the bridge attempted to organise a defensive line, despite the crowds pushing past them.
Fal looked back from his position on the bridge, and his stomach lurched as he saw the ashmen and archers ripped apart. The moving mass of goblins, boars and leucrota, not to mention the six tall and fearsome hobyahs, closed in on the now undefended opening of the bridge. The western stone towers on either side should have held crossbowmen to defend the bridge, but those crossbowmen had been called to the wall during the early stages of the goblin assault on the town, and now the towers lay empty, allowing the blood crazed enemy to advance unmolested.
Sav and Errolas found room to loose arrow after arrow into the heaving throng of advancing goblins. Every shaft found its mark and several goblins were thrown from their war boars and trampled under the mad stampede that followed.
‘We can’t hold them,’ Sav shouted from his position on the side wall of the bridge. ‘We need to get these people across this bridge, and fast.’
Severun jumped up onto the wall alongside Sav and cupped his hands in front of his mouth. ‘Move the people on, clear the bridge, clear the bridge!’ His voice drowned out any other sound, despite the ear assaulting din all about him.
The soldiers on the other side, rather than stare astounded at the cloaked man addressing them, nodded quickly and started picking up children and the elderly to hurry them along.
Correia’s group was almost fully across as the goblins, a red skinned heavily armoured boar rider at their head, made it onto the bridge and began to charge across. Both Errolas and Sav loosed more arrows, whilst half a dozen crossbow bolts whipped down from the towers on their side of the river. Starks shot one hobyah, but the bolt seemed to have no effect. Roaring, the creature shrugged off the wound and plucked the iron tipped bolt from its shoulder, charging all the faster for it.
As Correia’s group made the other side, the townsfolk fled towards the far gatehouse, eastern keep and the tougher looking stone buildings of the armoury and smithy nearby.
Fal turned then and joined the ranks of the ashmen and shield bearing men-at-arms as they formed two lines across the opening of the bridge.
Correia stopped and pulled on him to follow.
‘These men need our help,’ he shouted, over the continuous noise.
Balls of burning pitch – amongst other things – were still being catapulted over the distant walls across the river, and buildings were flaring up here and there whenever one of the flaming missiles struck them. The flames licked at the sky as some buildings collapsed, creating flickering reflections on the fast flowing water cutting through the town.
‘We need to go while we can, Fal. We have to complete our mission. Now come on… now!’
Fal shrugged off Correia’s grip.
Starks and Sav stood in the defensive line too, as did Gleave and Mearson, to Fal’s surprise. Correia screamed at them all, but none of them moved. They set their feet and hefted their weapons ready for the incoming charge to hit. The goblins were half way across the bridge now, several of them dropping every few heartbeats as arrows and bolts slammed into them, but never enough to slow the oncoming tide of blades, tusks and teeth.
The man-at-arms to Fal’s left dropped to his knees suddenly as a crude goblin arrow glanced off an ashman’s kettle-helm in front and struck him in the eye. He fell forward then and the arrow shaft snapped; the noise was somehow audible over everything else. For some reason, the sound affected Fal more than anything he’d seen or heard since the town’s assault had begun.
He knelt quickly, pushing the sound from his mind as he retrieved the dead man’s wooden heater shield, quickly strapping it to his left arm and lifting it to protect himself from incoming missiles.
‘Hold!’ Fal shouted, suddenly aware there seemed to be no officers in the ranks. ‘Hold!’
The men in the line strengthened, and as the goblins closed on the tensing soldiers, Correia pushed in next to Fal, her swords held in a defensive posture and her jaw set firm. Fal allowed himself a sideways glance, but Correia’s eyes were set on the oncoming horde.
Fal looked back to the shrieking goblins, towards the red skinned, black armoured boar rider leading the charge. He’d almost forgotten Severun’s mysterious return, until, from the corner of his eye, a black cloaked and hooded figure ran across and in front of the spears of the ashmen.
Surrounded by what looked like the shimmer that rose from the land on a hot summer day, Severun released the build-up of tension and rage he felt within. The wizard shuddered violently and threw his arms – almost his whole body – forward, unleashing an almost invisible wave of energy that crackled, rippled and ripped through the oncoming mass of goblins, throwing them far back and into the air. Many of them flew over the side of the bridge and plunged into the fast flowing water to be swept to their deaths, whilst others flew back into their kin, skewering themselves on the oncoming wall of weapons. Others were crushed as heavy boars slammed into them, whilst the large hobyahs flattened goblins here and there, the smaller creatures falling under their cannibalistic cousins’ feet and blades.
Not much more than a dozen heavier set goblins remained standing, along with just two hobyahs and their red skinned chieftain, who, head down and glowing blade held forward, crashed into Severun, sending the wizard flying back amongst the ashmen’s spears.
There were gasps and cries at the sight of the wizard going down, but as Fal feared for Severun’s life, he saw the man stand, seemingly unharmed.
More shouts from the humans, this time of hope and encouragement, as Severun drew a gleaming sword from naught but thin air.
The Red Goblin kicked his boar forward again and Severun ran headlong at the beast as it came on, arrows whipping past the two as they collided.
Sparks flew and lights flashed as enchanted swords clashed high and low. The boar attempted to ram its tusks into Severun’s long legs, but the experienced wizard leapt to the side, thrusting his blade towards the goblin chieftain as he landed. Releasing a haunting choir-like sound, Severun’s sword illuminated the whole area briefly, before crunching through black iron plate to pierce The Red Goblin’s heart.
The townsfolk, many of which were hanging out of windows watching the spectacle, cheered and clapped, and the closest ashmen rushed forward and thrust their spears into the large boar’s neck, pinning it down.
Thrashing, grunting and fighting to break free from the spears holding it, the mighty boar eventually died in a final spasm of defiance that tore a spear from one of the ashmen’s grip, leaving him defenceless.
Fal swiftly pulled the ashman back as the two remaining hobyah came on, several goblins close behind. Most of the leucrotas ran back across the river, their eerie chattering fading as they escaped, but others remained, snapping their bone ridged jaws at the defenders as they closed in rapidly.
The ashmen lurched forward as the gap closed; the men-at-arms and Fal’s group close behind as they passed Severun to slam into the remaining enemy.
&n
bsp; Errolas and Sav managed to drop the lead hobyah before the ashmen’s spears reached it, and the other red armoured brute, along with the remaining goblins, were impaled on the long ash-shafted weapons before being hacked to pieces by angry men with swords, axes and smashed with maces, fists and feet.
Fal, Correia and the two pathfinders put their worth in, tackling the last hobyah as it fought on with an ashman’s spear protruding from its chest. All four scored hits on the creature, but it was Mearson in the end that thrust his sword into the hobyah’s roaring mouth, the bloody tip emerging from the back of its head before it slumped heavily to the ground.
With another cheer from the onlookers and the surviving soldiers, the bridge was finally won and the eastern side of Beresford saved. Alas, there were still many goblins visible on the far bank, but Correia couldn’t allow the group to stay any longer. She ordered them to her side and they obeyed, satisfied they'd helped defend the bridge and pleased they'd witnessing the raw power of a high wizard in action. Severun looked exhausted, but pushed away helping hands, insisting they listened to Correia and moved out while they still could. King Barrison had secretly spared him, but that was because he had a city to save, and that was Severun’s and the group’s first priority.
This time, they all agreed.
Chapter 35: Vulnerable
A light breeze blew the last wisps of a smouldering campfire across half a dozen sleeping men. Two men-at-arms stood watch over the camp, or rather played nine men’s morris; their board carved into the top of a wooden barrel.
To the edge of the camp lay a deflated balloon, its canvas envelope not dissimilar to a ship’s sail, whilst its large circular basket housed a strange mechanical contraption suspended on chains in the centre.
