by D. M. Murray
A frightened boy stepped into his way, not even twenty years by the look of him. His battle cry trembled from fear. He caught Bergnon’s sword stroke with the edge of his own blade, but he was weak and his sword arm folded back. Bergnon’s sword bit into the boy’s skull and he stumbled over in an awkward fall.
Bergnon stepped over the dying lad and drove his sword through the back of a raider who was pressing one of the defenders. He moved to the next target and was engaged to the left.
He raised his buckler and deflected the blow with a grimace. Fuelled by fury, Bergnon carved a wide, red line through the chest of the raider. He stepped on to find the next kill. I’ll be with you soon, my love.
*
Thaskil slammed his forehead into the raider’s nose, smashing bone and dropping him. He jabbed his sword into the man’s chest and withdrew, stepping on to engage the next.
The Solansian had just slid his sword out of the body of an Apulan soldier. He turned as the man dropped to the blood-stained cobbles of the square and faced Thaskil.
Despite the din of the battle, Thaskil heard the raider call, “Come ‘ere, pup!” The man’s large beard flexed as he shouted over the sounds of violence and agony.
Thaskil closed the short distance and caught the man’s overhead blow between his hatchet and sword. The raider slammed a big boot into Thaskil’s stomach, beating the wind out of him and almost dropping him to his knees.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” the raider grunted, stepping in and swinging a sword towards Thaskil’s face.
He leaned back, away from the raider’s blade, and brought his sword up in a counter-swipe, through the man’s beard and nicking his chin. A line of blood ran through the wiry hair and dripped onto the stones of the square.
“Not bad,” the bearded man said before pressing Thaskil with a series of blows, forcing him to concede what little ground there was for him to fight in.
Thaskil bumped into fighting bodies, each jostling for enough room to strike out or avoid an enemy’s blade. He didn’t see the thrust. A jerky, stiff feeling spread in Thaskil’s left side. As he made to repel the bearded Solansia, he felt the pain flare. He glanced down to see a sword point being pulled from his side just above his hip. A Ravenmayne was on the other end of the sword.
The bearded raider pressed his attack, his sword jabbing forward.
The moment seemed slow to Thaskil, as if he was dreaming. The pain in his side burned as he lifted his weapons in defence. His arms were heavy and the weapons felt like blocks of stone. To his left, he met the Ravenmayne’s sword with his hatchet, hooking it between haft and blade and driving it down. His sword followed and punched through the Ravenmayne’s throat. With a wet wretch, Thaskil freed his sword and ducked out of the range of the bearded raider’s driven stroke. The wound in his side bit again and Thaskil almost toppled over. He felt tired.
The Solansian roared and, with two hands, made to swing his sword down in a massive blow. The stroke never fell on Thaskil. With eyes wide, the big raider looked to his right.
Bergnon was baring his teeth as he pulled free his sword from under the man’s armpit.
“Bergnon!” Thaskil wheezed.
The bearded raider looked at the man on the end of the sword with a quizzical appraisal. “That’s not fair,” the man said.
“Life’s not fucking fair.” Bergnon pulled free his sword and hacked into the man’s neck, dropping him to the bloody cobbles.
“Thanks,” Thaskil said over the din of battle.
“You hurt, lad?”
“Aye. My side.” Thaskil hauled himself upright. He looked at the wound. Bright red blood slicked his left thigh as it seeped from the wound above his hip.
“Let me see.” Bergnon took a quick look at the injury. “Doesn’t look too bad. You feel able?”
“Aye, think I’ve still got my humours about me. How’s it panning out?”
“We’re hurting them, no doubt about it. We need to press, though; make it count. Can you fight on?”
“Aye,” Thaskil said with a hungry grin. “I’ll go until I drop.”
“That makes two of us then.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Kalfinar’s fury could not be quenched. Solansian raiders fell like wheat as he harvested his wrath.
Broden and Subath scythed through the enemy alike. Fires burned around them as Solansians tossed torches within buildings and kicked over braziers. Furious fighting raged across the battlements as raiders scaled ladders and fought to break through the resistance at the gatehouse. It was a battle that the raiders were winning as defenders were ground down and pushed back.
Won’t be long. Kalfinar stole a glance at the gatehouse. The end comes close.
“Kal!” Broden cried to his left as one of the massive, clawed monsters bore down on him.
The big man dispatched the raider before him and tried to join Kalfinar as he met the beast, his hatchet slamming back its swung fist. Broden set about taking the creatures legs away. Kalfinar ducked under another massive swipe of its claws and thumped his sword up under where he supposed its ribs would be, tearing a hole in whatever manner of flesh the monster possessed and setting free rank blood from within.
It swung a clawed fist behind as Broden slashed at its massive knees, just missing tearing his head from his shoulders. The monster collapsed onto the ground where Broden darted around, meeting Kalfinar in the middle. They fell upon the beast, its fanged maw gaping and snapping as sticky saliva was blackened with foul blood. They dispatched the creature and turned to engage another swarm of raiders descending from the battlements.
Subath cut his way through to them, leaving a pair of Solansian fighters glassy eyed in the dirt. “Too many,” he roared as several more of the beasts slashed and tore defenders in their way, draining life onto the mud around them.
Kalfinar was assaulted by the sounds of battle. The stink of smoke and blood tore at his throat. “We have to fight for the living!” he roared back as he fought on, engaging a massive Solansian swinging a double-headed axe.
His sword thrusts hammered the raider backwards. Kalfinar’s second weapon, his hatchet, gave him the advantage of versatile strokes to slice and stab out the man’s life. He brought down an overhead sword blow and, at the same time, brought up his hatchet from below; one of the weapons would find its mark.
Before he could deliver, Kalfinar was knocked off balance by the falling body of another defender. His rear foot slipped on mud, churned up from blood, snow, and filth. Sliding to the ground, his rear foot under his body, Kalfinar was exposed. The giant raider leapt forward, his evil axe slamming downward.
Kalfinar swung his sword up to block the blow. No use. It’ll cut right through.
A blurred shape smashed into the raider as someone leapt off the tier above. The two bodies rolled and thrashed amidst the grime. The raider rolled on top and punched the form below before stiffening, yelping, and falling over onto his side. The man below shoved off the legs of the dead raider and stood up, a bloody hunting knife held in his hand.
Kalfinar looked closer at the defender who had saved his life.
The man wiped his knife and approached Kalfinar. “This is yours. You left it at Hardalen.”
Kalfinar laughed. It was all he could do as he stood up and received the knife from Lucius. “Thank you.”
“It’s your knife,” the commander said.
“Not for the knife,” Kalfinar nodded to the corpse four feet in front. “For that.”
Lucius shrugged his shoulders and stepped past Kalfinar. “It’s nothing. You’d have done the same for me.”
Kalfinar grunted another laugh and returned to the fight.
“What’s so funny?” Subath asked, having finished off the last of a knot of raiders.
“Lucius just saved my life.”
“Come on, laddie. Wits about you, aye? You get a knock on the head?”
“No, he did.” Kalfinar laughed again.
“Well I
’ll be fucked!” Subath barked. “You hear that, Broden?”
Broden kicked the body off his sword with a grunt and turned towards them. “Aye, and I think Kal’s dreaming of miracles. Kal, while you’re playing make believe, maybe you could make believe we have a hope here!”
Kalfinar looked about him. “Not so good, is it?”
Defenders were engaged all around as raiders swarmed and monsters tore through knots of the Free Provinces’ forces.
“Aye, not so good, laddie.” Subath’s grin had gone. Instead, he looked old and tired. “Not so good at all.”
“The gates!” Broden roared. “They’re opening.”
“The gatehouse is lost…” Subath said, his voice trailing off.
“Aye,” Kalfinar mumbled as more defenders grouped together with them.
Raiders continued to spill onto the battlements, and from behind the opening gates came the flash of shimmering colour and the war cries of the monsters and men.
“And so it comes,” Kalfinar said, his brow wet with sweat and blood, his arms tired and heavy from battle. He thought of Evelyne. I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you what happiness you have brought me. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to you, love.
“Aye, so it does,” Broden said.
Kalfinar glanced around as the press of bodies grew tighter, forcing the three of them back-to-back, facing a death of body and a death of spirit. All was to be lost.
“We tried.”
“Aye, we tried.”
“One last push, lads,” Subath said, his voice providing some small comfort; the instructor and the cadets, two generations of defiance at the end.
“Aye, one last push.” Kalfinar nodded.
“For the Free Provinces,” Subath roared, his cry bringing cheers from the defenders.
“For the people,” roared Broden, raising louder cheers still.
“For Dajda,” roared Kalfinar, taking himself by surprise.
“For Dajda!” an almighty cry sounded around him from the battling defenders and it chilled Kalfinar within.
The gates of Carte swung open and in flowed a swarm of monsters and men, tooth and sword, claw and flame. The defenders roared aloud and pressed to engage, but the mass of enemy used their force of numbers and drove forward, pushing the defenders back. Man engaged man whilst the spirits of Balzath withdrew from the fight and raced off into the city towards the High Command.
Kalfinar watched as they battled against the rush of raiders. “Where the fuck are they going?”
*
Evelyne stood by the window in Harruld’s study listening to the sounds of battle raging throughout the city. Fires burned everywhere, buildings and entire streets ablaze, ships burned in the bay, and the sounds of fear and pain all around. The smell of smoke clung to the cold air. A flood of iridescent forms could be seen hurtling towards the High Command, followed by the roar of thousands of warriors.
She knew what they were the instant she saw them. Have you fallen, my love? Am I truly all alone now? I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you what happiness you have brought me or to say goodbye to you, love. Snow began to fall again and she bowed her head in sorrow. She turned from the window and back towards Olmat.
The old man lay, his rheumy eyes beholding the two Children of Light that knelt nearby holding his weak hands. “My dearest Evelyne,” Olmat croaked. His voice was weak to the point of a dry whisper.
Evelyne raced across the room towards him. “Uncle,” Evelyne gasped, her knees crashing to the stone floor. “I feel a grave danger approaches. Are you almost ready?”
The old man’s eyelids closed over. “Almost, child.”
Screams sounded from the gate of the High Command below. Evelyne sprang to the window. Looking below, she saw one of the shimmering Desverukan on top of the battlement, sweeping defenders from its path. It sniffed at the air, and then flashed its eyes towards her, holding her gaze for a moment. A cry of alarm sounded in her head. They come for me.
The demon broke into a stride, heading for the main castle of the High Command. Towards her.
Evelyne unsheathed the blade that was up her sleeve. “There’s no more time,” she shouted towards Olmat. “A Desverukan comes for the heart of Dajda.” She stood beside him and cleared the fabric away from Olmat’s chest. “We have to do this now!”
“The Key cannot be forced,” Olmat said with a feeble voice. “It will not work.”
“There’s no more time!” she urged.
Screams could be heard in the body of the High Command keep.
Evelyne held the knife over Olmat’s chest, hovering inches from the wispy white hairs that curled above his heart. “Uncle, I pray you pass.”
Tears formed in her eyes as she heard the clattering racket and heavy breathing of the demon as it made its way towards the chamber. The guard outside roared, perhaps in a vain act of bravery, but the courage withered and was soon replaced with a mangled scream of agony.
The two Children of Light stood up and, with calm grace, approached the door and began to hum a beautiful sound.
“Olmat!” Evelyne urged.
The old man wheezed, his breath slowed and rattled, but his chest rose again.
The door splintered as the Desverukan battered against it.
Olmat exhaled, and breathed again.
The door smashed open and a vision of horror stepped in. Shining black talons clacked on the stone floor and blood dripped from fangs and horns. Red eyes stared at the Children of Light and then to Evelyne.
The Horn of Dajda opened their mouths and sang a discordant song, ear-piercing and shrill, at the monster. It stepped forward and swept them aside, sending them crashing into the wall.
Olmat exhaled, and breathed again.
“You’ll not take Dajda!” Evelyne screamed at the demon.
She turned the knife towards her heart. Before she could strike, she was bowled over by an unseen force. The knife fell from her hand and her vision blurred and disappeared.
*
Evelyne awoke and found she was being carried over the shoulder of a demon, being spirited away at pace amongst the host of Desverukan. Olmat and the Children of Light lay unconscious over the shoulders of three creatures in front of her, their limbs bobbing as they raced through the ravaged streets of Carte with the eastern gate coming into view. Battle still raged.
Evelyne’s throat issued no sound as she tried to scream. Her limbs felt lifeless and her body held no strength. Within her mind, she heard a tormented wail. Dajda fears.
*
Kalfinar hammered back the throng of raiders that pressed against him and the rest of his desperate companions. The knot of defenders grew smaller as beast and man alike cut through them. The grace of the falling snow contrasted the chaos of the battle. Kalfinar had lost his hatchet some time ago and battered against the raiders with two-handed chops of his sword. There was no grace in his tired, furious strokes.
The smoke stung at his eyes and the taste of blood was everywhere. Smoke and blood. Smoke and blood.
For every one they cut down, another raider stood in place of the fallen.
“We can’t hold on for much longer!” Broden shouted as he batted away a sword and ran through its owner.
“Too many!” Subath roared. “Too many!” He ducked and swept the leg from a Solansian, leaving the man chasing his wayward limb as his life-blood welled into the slush and dirt of the ground.
The booming note of a trumpet sounded from beyond the walls, and the fighting stopped.
Kalfinar pressed the raider before him, but the man stepped back, turned, and ran away. Kalfinar and the defenders watched as the forces of Grunnxe retreated and flowed out of the eastern gate of Carte like sand through an hourglass.
“What in the hells is going on?” Broden growled, his sword held ready.
“Something’s coming,” Kalfinar said, pointing towards the faint light that grew from the main boulevard into the city. “The light. Demons!”
“Dajda, get ready!” Broden shouted to the remaining defenders.
Kalfinar dashed towards the corpse of a fallen Solansian and picked up the man’s battle hatchet. As he re-joined Broden and Subath, the demons roared into view, streaming towards the eastern gate in a flood of spectral colour. There was something amongst them.
Kalfinar strained his eyes against the flurry of snow and the murky light of the dawn. The monsters carried something. They carried someone.
Evelyne! No! “No!” Kalfinar roared and ran towards the mass of demons as they streamed out the gate. He sprinted towards the rear of the pack, watching the limp form of Evelyne disappear into the distance beyond the gate and towards the ranks of Grunnxe’s army.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Bergnon wiped clean his sword with a rag torn from the clothes of a dead raider. Thaskil approached him. He had a hand resting on his injured side and grimaced as he walked.
“You fine, lad?” Bergnon asked.
“Aye, fine. Just hurts a little,” Thaskil said, his eyes scanning the square before them. It was littered with bodies of Solansian raiders and Free Province defenders alike. “That’s the last of them scattered.”
“Good,” Bergnon grumbled. “You commanded brilliantly.” He looked up at Thaskil as he sheathed his sword. Reaching to his side, Bergnon unbuckled his sword belt, wrapped the leather around the scabbard, and offered it to Thaskil. “I offer myself back to your custody.”
Thaskil looked at him for a long moment before accepting the sword from his former mentor. He nodded towards him before removing a pair of shackles from the pouch by his side. “I hate you with all of my heart for what you’ve done to our people. To our friends. To Arrlun. I hate you for it.”
Bergnon nodded.
“You’ve committed such treachery, such sin, that it would seem that my blade should wet itself with your blood now. But, even still, it wouldn’t wash away your corruption.”
