Nowhere to Run

by Elliott Kay

  Scars sat up with narrowed eyes. He recognized that pompous tone, and now he had a sense of where he was. “You’ve gotta—nngh,” he grunted. He could hardly flex his right hand. His left arm was worse. “Get the arrow out of my shoulder.”

  “It’s in deep. Pretty ugly,” Zana warned.

  A sharp scream preceded the crash of an unarmored bugbear by their sides. The wound in his gut was surely fatal. The fall and the hit to his head likely spared him from lingering pain. Many others were not so fortunate as more screams followed. The army likely had its footing now.

  It would only get worse.

  “Do it,” said Scars. “Pull it out hard as you have to—aaargh, fuck that hurts!”

  “You said!” Zana complained.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t scream.” His eyes opened again, immediately locking with those of a crossbowman at the edge of the trench.

  “Goblins below us!” the man warned. Standing on the outside of the mob, he had freedom to move that no one else did. He’d surely been sent out to shoot along the sides of the fight, but now he had an easier target. The crossbow came up to his shoulder.

  “Roll back,” warned Zana. She had her stolen shield up in time to block the bolt before the man shot. As soon as it thunked against the shield, she reached up and over to hurl a dagger at his groin. His armor didn’t protect the inner thighs. The man screamed and fell backward into the crowd where he would not likely be helped.

  Once upright, Scars looked only once at the other arrow stuck through his wrist. Most of the shaft had broken off in his fall. There was still enough in his forearm to hold it in place. The bloody arrowhead jutted two inches from his bracer, now covered in more dirt than blood. At least the shaft blocked most of the bleeding, or so he told himself.

  Zana crossed behind him to get to Karana while he checked his wound. The mayor’s helmet still covered her head, but the tiny billowing of dust and sand near her mouth gave away her breath. She had no visible wounds, nor blood pooling under her body. Scars kicked away some of the dirt and rubble covering her back before getting his hands around her shoulders. The task was tough enough without all the pain in his shoulder and wrist.

  “Watch for more trouble,” Scars grunted. He mustered another surge and pulled again.

  The goblin paid little heed. She only looked up once or twice while pulling away rubble. It was mostly dirt clods and loose soil, but plenty more slid off the mound to fill the void. “Think they’re all about the fight up top anyway.”

  “They’re hardly more than a spear’s length above us.” He strained harder. Karana was almost free beneath the waist. A groan from her throat seemed like a good sign.

  Zana glanced to the tunnel under the wall. “Why isn’t anyone coming out here to help? It’s an angle to shoot from, at least.”

  “Probably still disorganized from the breach,” huffed Scars. He rallied and dragged Karana out by her ankles. Another groan from the mayor gave him more hope.

  A sharp whistle past his head nearly undid it all. The crossbow bolt missed him, but it came from a woman who had plenty of comrades. They were only a short distance away and rushing along the trench with their weapons out to take even closer shots from straight down.

  Zana’s shield still lay beside him. Scars picked it up with his left arm and hooked his other hand under Karana’s collar. He tried to channel his pain into rage and strength like his mother had taught him. Karana came up off the ground as Scars hauled her backward to the escape tunnel. “Go! Go!” he roared, shield up and already blocking a second crossbow bolt.

  “There!” he heard Chadwalt shout from above. “Those are their leaders! Crossbows, shoot them down!”

  Another bolt hit the shield. The impact nearly knocked him off his feet, but he held his stance and kept going. Zana scrambled into the tunnel first. Scars nearly threw Karana backward as he reached the edge, shield still up and blocking shots. He could practically feel blood pumping out and running down his wrist with the effort.

  His burden settled only part way into the tunnel. Scars released her collar and grabbed at her belt. Another bolt plunged into the ground at his feet. “Grab her head,” he shouted, lifting her at the waist as Zana kept the rest of Karana off the ground. He couldn’t get her far this way. The tunnel wasn’t built for someone larger than a goblin to stand their full height. Another impact against the shield threatened to wrench it from his arm. “Take her and go!”

  Zana let out a loud grunt as she hauled Karana farther inside. Only her boots stuck out from the lip of the tunnel. “We’re good, get in!” Zana shouted.

  Scars couldn’t risk a look over his shield. He didn’t know how many enemies waited above for a shot only yards away and staring straight down. The tunnel wasn’t big enough for him to turn and run. His mind raced for an escape without carrying half a dozen crossbow bolts inside the hard way.

  Black tendrils hooked past his shield and wrapped around his arm to remove that problem. The solid shadows jerked him up and out of the trench. Scars howled at the strain on his already injured shoulder before his body slammed into others. He landed in a pile of shields and bodies in chain mail.

  Pain is rage, and rage is strength, his mother had told him.

  At the moment, pain just hurt.

  “Ah. Thank you, Brok,” said Chadwalt. He stood right over Scars, looking as if he’d been spared from the impact by mere inches.

  “It’s not for you,” hissed the bounty hunter. Black wisps of shadow cascaded off of him from his hooded head to his boots. “This one knows too much.”

  “And he insulted me,” said Chadwalt. He drew his longsword as the others in the pile picked themselves up or crawled away. “His blood is mine.”

  Scars pushed himself back from a seated position to gain ground. The mob of troops made room rather than holding him down, all likely from the same threat Scars recognized. Though the captain in armor clearly intended to kill, the dark figure still behind him promised far worse.

  One was a human danger. The other was not. Scars needed magic to hurt Brok, but had only a shield and two wounded arms.

  “I regret that I couldn’t fight you in fairer circumstances, monster,” said Chadwalt—loudly enough to be heard by the surrounding troops.

  “No you don’t, you effete fuck,” growled Scars. “You’d hide behind someone else if I wasn’t already hurt.”

  Chadwalt turned red as his face twisted up in fury. He came in with a competent thrust and then lunge, knowing full well Scars would block both. The captain intended to lock shields and swing his blade around and catch Scars in the back. It would have been a good plan against someone else.

  Wounded or not, one proved far stronger than the other. Scars caught his foe’s shield against his own and wrenched both to the side. Turned and overextended, Chadwalt had no defense as Scars slammed his impaled wrist hard into the captain’s neck. Chadwalt gasped and jerked a second time as Scars wrenched his arm free, leaving the broken arrow behind.

  Voices cried out in shock. The battle raged at the bridge only a couple dozen yards away, but those closer had already formed a circle like children watching a scuffle in the road. Scars had been there before. It usually didn’t involve magic.

  Brok reached out to the dead captain with an open hand. Dark vapors burst from Chadwalt and flew to their summoner.

  “No!” cried out another of the warriors. She rushed in with sword and shield, followed by a second brandishing a spear. A cloud of darkness enveloped the first, dragging her down before she could reach her target. The spear struck home but seemed to have little effect. For all its power and penetration, no blood erupted from the wound. The warrior who drove it home let go and backed up in fear as Brok pulled the spear from his side with contemptible ease.

  Scars used the distraction to full effect. He snatched up the gleaming longsword fallen from the dead captain’s hand. It was exquisitely crafted. Polished. Shiny. Chadwalt was clearly an aristocrat. Maybe he’d been wealt
hy enough to buy a magical weapon somewhere. He seemed like the type.

  Shadowy tentacles extended from both of Brok’s arms, each splitting into several tendrils. He reached back and whipped forward with both. Scars dove in rather than waiting, raising up his shield to the left and swinging the blade to cut down the tendrils on the right.

  The blade passed through without effect. Shadows lashed Scars from both directions, passing through him with all the pain of whips cutting deep into his skin. He collapsed at Brok’s feet gasping for breath.

  Past his enemy’s boot, the fight at the breach raged on. Ruck shoved a pair of warriors off the dirt bridge with his axe. He led at the very edge, spurring on a rush of bugbears and orcs pushing back against the attackers. The cavalry’s strength at the bridge waned. The infantry hadn’t caught up yet. Their leader was down. No signals came. Everyone on this side of the breach was distracted. Goblin folk claimed weapons from the fallen and pushed back as the enemy faltered.

  The fight wasn’t over. He forced himself off his belly, looking up. That same hawk wheeled in the sky directly above, but his vision rapidly darkened.

  Brok reached down for Scars, a shadowy hand closing at his neck.

  Scars rolled and slashed upward with his blade. He caught something with his weapon but he couldn’t be sure as he scrambled back up. Brok hissed and jerked back. Without even a breath left in his lungs, Scars got his feet under himself and thrust his longsword forward in a desperate stab. This time he caught his foe squarely in the chest.

  Brok only stared back from under a black hood. The blade turned painfully cold, but it did no visible harm.

  Shiny. Fancy. Not magical. Stupid business model.

  He let go of the blade before any more harm came to his hand. Brok silently grabbed the handle to pull it from his chest, staring at Scars like he knew the intimidation value of every second. Scars knew it, too—so he kept fighting.

  The trench was only a few feet behind Brok. Scars put everything he had into a solid kick. It was better than nothing. He planted his foot in Brok’s gut and drove both fighters back from one another. Scars had no plan for what came next, whether Brok fell back in the trench or not, but at least it opened up some space.

  The world exploded in front of him.

  Thunder filled his ears as he fell back. A white light filled his vision, first all-encompassing, then a single jagged line against the back of his eyelids. His head buzzed fiercely as if to confirm he was still alive while the rest of his body sorted itself out. He moved only with effort, but pushed himself off his back and looked around.

  He wasn’t the only one knocked on his ass. Most of the warriors around him were getting up, too, with some still on the ground. No one made a sound that could penetrate the ringing in his ears. Not the shouts, not the panicked horses and their riders trying to control them, not the din of goblins pushing humans back from the breach.

  Not even the familiar figure standing in front of Scars where Brok had been. The ground at his feet was scorched, but the man was untouched. Scars knew exactly why.

  “NOW YOU SHOW UP?” Scars shouted. “WAS THAT LIGHTNING?”

  “Yes,” said Glendale, or at least his lips moved that way. The rest was harder to read.

  “WHAT?”

  He replied. Apparently.

  “I CAN’T FUCKING HEAR YOU. A BOLT OF LIGHTNING CRASHED DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. ON A CLEAR DAY. HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT HAPPENED?”

  Rolling his eyes, Glendale reached out to touch Scars on the cheek. The ringing diminished into sounds of battle. Scars felt the pain of his other wounds recede, too. “Thanks,” he sighed.

  “You’re welcome,” said Glendale.

  “What the hell? You jump in now?” Scars waved his hands to his sides. The warriors around him were still largely disoriented, while others shouted and struggled to regroup and help at the breach. Orcs, bugbears, goblins, and hobgoblins poured out to push the fight farther back. Scars looked over his shoulder only once to find the remaining infantry now rushing across the field to join the fight.

  “I had to wait for a gap between you,” Glendale explained. “No other magic at my command would have destroyed him. I thought you had it handled.”

  The younger man’s shoulders sank in exasperation. “I’m talking about the rest of this!”

  “Ah. Tensions within my circle grew after you left. I could only intervene if and when the greater darkness beneath the camp was extinguished.”

  With his wits returning, Scars looked around more at the battle than at Glendale. He didn’t want to die like an idiot having a conversation in the middle of a siege. “Was it?”

  “Yes,” said Glendale. “I saw your friends coming out of the buried ruins.”

  “You did?” Scars blinked.

  A familiar shriek split the air over the bridge. Flames soared over the heads of the goblin folk in a slender elven form before exploding amid beleaguered human warriors. From the thick of the defenders pushing forward, War Cloud emerged with a bloodthirsty roar and a brutal slash of his greatsword. He led from the front alongside Ruck, clearing the last steps across the bridge to the other side.

  “So what about the others?” asked Scars. “Are they here? Can they help? People are dying.”

  “It’s only myself and Snowflake,” said Glendale. He shrugged. “We’ve at least saved most of the horses from serious injury. They should recover.”

  Scars shook his head, turning to face the battle yet to come. “Good for them.”

  “Hold back. I’ve got this now,” Glendale counseled. He raised both hands in clenched fists that slowly released seeds into the breeze. Across the field between goblin folk and human troops, green vines grew from the ground, thickening to knee height in a single breath. Gruesome thorns emerged as the vines quickly tangled and swelled ever larger.

  The approaching infantry reacted with confusion. Some rushed forward in hopes of crossing the overgrowth before it was too late. Others hesitated, causing the rest to stall. Still others found a way through. “You left a gap over there,” noted Scars.

  “Yes. No need to trap those on this side. They’re already breaking,” said Glendale.

  It was true enough. Calls of retreat rang out amid the dismounted cavalry. Some turned and ran immediately. Others tried to collect their horses, while everyone who hadn’t dismounted yet seized upon the better part of valor.

  The defenders looked ready to charge until the paladin now at the fore held his arms and his blade out to block others. “Let them go!” shouted War Cloud. “Let ‘em run!”

  “To hell with that!” snapped a bugbear, only to feel the tap of War Cloud’s blade against her chest before she took another step.

  “We’ve lost enough today and so have they,” War Cloud bellowed. “They’ll remember this.”

  “Your friend is a noble soul,” said Glendale.

  “Uh-huh. Wait for it,” said Scars.

  “They’ll only regroup on the other side,” argued another hobgoblin. “They’ll cut through all that mess, whatever it is.”

  “I think not,” said War Cloud. He looked into the mob. “Yargol?”

  The hobgoblin’s point was sensible enough. Already the infantry on the other side of the bramble barrier regrouped and called encouragement to the retreating cavalry. The battle stalled, but had not ended.

  Then a smaller form in dark robes emerged from the defenders. Yargol raised his staff and his mismatched arms, his hood falling back to reveal a patchwork face. Sparks erupted from his fingers to coalesce into another elven form, but this time the magic of his staff aided her flight.

  Vanquished leaders, broken cavalry, and sudden barriers shook the army enough. A third display of flashy magic was enough to break the enemy’s morale. Warriors turned and fled. Riders with and without mounts followed as fast as they could. Any conflicting interests in pursuit among the defenders were drowned out by victorious cheers.

  Aimless and nervous horses wandered the field. Most g
rouped up among themselves while some followed the retreat. Others struggled through injuries, with only a single white-haired dwarf going from one to the next to provide aid. Snowflake and the horses were all that moved on a field littered with bodies and discarded gear—aside from two other forms. Shady Tooth knelt with Teryn on the other side of the battlefield. Scars felt a wave of relief at the sight. He turned back to the defenders, hoping for one last lucky break.

  Goblin folk spread out everywhere amid the fallen. Looting had already begun. War Cloud hustled over to a knife-wielding orc kneeling over one body to deliver a harsh kick. “None of that!” the paladin snapped. “No executions. None of you!” he went on, looking to the others. “We aren’t doing that shit. You hear me?”

  “He’s right!” Ruck bellowed, moving off to the other direction. “Mayor’s orders. Leave the wounded alone.”

  “Is there some plan for the wounded?” Glendale asked, keeping pace with Scars.

  “Yeah, it’s called mercy,” grunted Scars. “It has its virtues.”

  “Then I should get to work,” said Glendale.

  “Might want to see to the worst off among the goblin folk first. Let’s not get crazy.” Scars led him over, meeting Yargol in the middle on their way to War Cloud. “Hey. Glad you’re alright. Where’s DigDig?”

  “He’s fine,” said the little mage. “He went back around the wall when someone mentioned Karana. He had a potion.”

  “I need to stay with Glendale here so nobody hassles him. Can you look in on the others?” Scars gestured back across the field.

  “Already on my way.”

  * * *

  “Pardon. Sorry. ‘scuse me. Gotta get through.”

  “Back off, runt. Mayor’s hurt,” said a burly orc. Goblin folk of every kind crowded behind the wall, but few spoke or did anything useful. Most only gawked and held their breath. The orc seemed as tense as the rest.

  “Yeah, I know,” said DigDig. “I’ve got a potion for her.”

  “None of that tonic nonsense here!” snapped a hobgoblin. Others looked back from amid the crowd along with him. No one seemed pleased. “Faith healer bullshit. Piss off.”