by DB King
“Come. Walk.” Bjorn Hammerstar snatched up a small ticking clock from the only stool in the otherwise vacant tent. He made his way to the entrance, pushing past Raphael, Fenix, and Eliza before gesturing for all present to follow him.
Eliza exchanged a puzzled glance with Raphael before shrugging and joining the trail of robed mages in the High Captain’s wake. Bjorn led the small procession up a small hill of discarded clay and pointed off into the distance, toward the junkyard.
“That’s where the battle-line will face, but we can’t be sure where exactly they’ll come from and how their forces will be concentrated,” he said. Bjorn’s voice was cold, and his words were curt and clipped, as if he didn’t like talking. He held up the clock. “Time’s almost up. Next wave will happen soon. We can beat that one, I think, but not many more.”
“Aren’t you glad to see us, then?” Sylvia smirked. “We’ll sort this mess out.”
Bjorn nodded, not a trace of humor or irony to be found in his stolid frame. “Yes.”
One of the mages that had been surrounding Bjorn in the tent stepped up. It was a woman, judging from her build and the feminine tilt of her hips. The top of her hood didn’t even reach past the High Captain’s midriff. Bjorn sighed.
“But we have a problem first,” he said.
“We absolutely do, High Captain!” the mage declared, pulling her hood back. Raphael gasped as her blonde hair fell loose and her face came into view.
It was the spitting image of Eliza’s. Placed side by side, the two women could very well be mistaken for sisters, if not identical twins. Raphael turned to Eliza, but she was similarly astonished, her eyes wide and her lips parted with surprise.
“Your Guild is here at the sufferance of my father, the King, his Royal Majesty Lucian the Fourth!” the blonde woman declared. “How dare you treat me with such insolence!”
“What insolence?” Bjorn folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I only told you to go home. Get out of our way.”
“After I came down here to lend my Healing Magic to your cause? To join your defense of my people?”
“Yes. You healed many of us. We’re grateful. Thanks. But go, before battle comes.” Bjorn sighed again. “Princess Gabriella.”
“No. As I said, I will fight as well. I will not leave the defense of my countryfolk to mere sellswords!” the princess said. “Place me in the battle-line. My Healing Magic will keep your ranks steadfast, and my Ice Magic will strike down our foes!”
“It’s dangerous,” Bjorn said, obviously having had this very same discussion several times with the princess already. “If you die…”
“You’re afraid that my father will have your head?”
The High Captain of the Second Seat shrugged. “No. He can’t touch me. But the Guild Master will be annoyed. I don’t like that.”
“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into quite the pickle, Bjorn,” Sylvia said, chuckling. “You’ve never been good with the ladies.”
“Yes. I’m not,” Bjorn agreed, turning away from the princess, whose face was getting redder and redder. He met Raphael’s gaze. “This is the one who will enter the junkyard? Fine. We beat the next attack, and then he goes, with the best we can spare.”
“That’s why I absolutely adore you, Bjorn! You’re so easy to work with!” Sylvia punched her fellow High Captain in the arm. Bjorn took the blow stoically, his stone-faced expression never changing.
“Ready all runners. Have them report every ten minutes once battle begins. Now, check your timepieces,” the High Captain of the Second Seat instructed the other mages who’d been in his tent. Each of them pulled out a small clock from his or her robes and made sure that they were synchronized with Bjorn’s.
“Battle stations, all war parties. Go,” he said. The mages nodded and left, spreading out toward their respective posts.
“You sitting this one out?” Sylvia asked, her eyes flickering to Bjorn’s chest. “Fair enough. I’m here to make up the numbers.”
Raphael followed the elf’s gaze and realized that beneath his runic cuirass, the High Captain of the Second Seat was heavily bandaged around his torso. Blood seeped through the dressing across what could only be a severe wound.
“I’ll fight, but I’m in reserve.” Bjorn frowned. “At first, there were only skeleton warriors and bale-wights. Unorganized, rampaging horde. Easy. Then they got smarter. More tactical. Skeleton warriors moving in shield walls. Bale-wights casting in concert and empowering skeleton warriors.”
“So you’re saying that there’s a Necromancer behind all this, controlling and marshalling this undead force?” Sylvia asked.
“Maybe. Can’t be sure. The monsters aren’t… monolithic enough to indicate the presence of a singular, unifying controller,” Bjorn said. “Like actual soldiers. Disciplined and tactical, but not puppeteered. We were taken by surprise. That’s when we started dying.”
“I’ve a feeling you haven’t gotten to the worst part yet,” the elf noted, her tone grim.
“No.” Bjorn looked out toward the junkyard once more. “Toward the end of the last attack, something new appeared. A Pale Haunter. Came out of nowhere. Wiped out the war parties of Jansen, Hotaru, and Niobe. I took mine to meet it. It cut me open. We destroyed it. But Felix, Meryl, Sebas, and Viktor are dead. The rest are too badly hurt. I’ve sent them back to the Guild House to recover. No more Healing Magic for them today.”
“A Pale Haunter?” Sylvia demanded. “Why didn’t the Guild Master mention this?”
“We’ve only just gotten confirmation that it was indeed a Pale Haunter. Half an hour ago, the corpses of those slain by the Pale Haunter rose up again and killed the war parties of Baxton and Alvarez. They escaped into the junkyard, dragging their prey behind them.” Bjorn’s face somehow became even grimmer. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing them again. Maybe even in a few minutes’ time. I’ll fight the Pale Haunter when it appears once more. No one else can.”
“Except me, you silly man,” the elf chided. “I can take on any number of Pale Haunters.”
“If you can’t, it’ll have you too, and then all of us will die. The entire city will be wiped out. The Guild will be lost. Lucario will fall to death and ruin,” Bjorn said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Jeez! Don’t hog all the cheer for yourself, Bjorn,” Sylvia huffed. “Ever heard of keeping up troop morale? Aren’t you a tactical prodigy?”
“Yes. That’s why I hold the Second Seat,” Bjorn pointed out. “I’m telling you this so that you will hang back from the fighting for now. Sylvia, if your armsman can enter the junkyard safely, he is our only hope of ending this. Conserve your war party’s strength.”
Raphael walked over to the princess, who’d turned pale after hearing Bjorn’s ghastly assessment. He sketched a quick bow to her before speaking. “Your Royal Highness, surely you understand how dangerous it is now? Please go home.”
Gabriella pouted. “I will not. As a member of the Royal family, I am sworn to the defense of my realm.”
Growing up, Raphael had seen drawings of the princess and caught glimpses of her when the Royal family made their rare public appearances, but this was the first time he’d ever met her in the flesh, and up close, the princess’s resemblance to Eliza was truly striking. Raphael could hardly believe the two women weren’t related. But Eliza had said that she was the daughter of Ser Luca Valente, a knight, so there was no way she and Gabriella were kin.
“What… what is it?” Gabriella stammered, flinching away from Raphael and signaling to him that he’d been staring again. “Do mind your manners, sir! Do not take me for some tavern floozy, easily swayed by your charms!”
“I meant no disrespect, your Royal Highness.” Raphael backed away, raising his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “I just…”
“Where are your attendants, your Royal Highness?” Eliza asked, coming up behind Raphael and silencing him with a slight nudge to his ribs. She had donned her sallet helm and lowered it
s visor, so that half her face was hidden. “At least one of them is supposed to be by your side at all times, whenever you’re in public.”
“I… Well, I told them to look around the area and help out wherever they could,” Gabriella replied.
“You mean that you ran away from them and lost them somehow,” Eliza corrected her. “What are you doing here? The Hell Drakes are risking their lives to protect your family, your realm, and your people! Are you thick-skulled or spoiled enough to think this is some kind of game? If so, well, you heard High Captain Bjorn’s words yourself. People have died, and more people will die! If you don’t want that to happen to you, leave! Now!”
“That’s… that’s our crown princess. You know, next in line for the throne?” Fenix hissed in Raphael’s ear. “What’s Eliza trying to do, talking to her like this? Get us all beheaded?”
“I think she knows what she’s doing,” Raphael whispered back. “I hope.”
“I am not a thick-skulled, spoiled brat trying to find sport in disaster,” Gabriella said. “I am a mage, highly skilled in two schools of magic, here to serve my King and country as best I can!”
Bjorn shrugged. “She actually is pretty good, for someone so young. Promising Hell Drake material. Still don’t want her around though.”
“Can you imagine the political destabilization facing the kingdom if its crown princess dies?” Eliza said. “If you truly wish to serve the realm, you do so by staying away from danger and leaving the fighting to those better suited for it!”
“Such as yourself?” Gabriella sneered. “You’re armed to the teeth, but your Spell Vectors haven’t been active in ages. And even if they were, they’re so diminutive and stunted I’ll be surprised if you can even cast any spell above the Intermediate Order, even after decades of study and training. You’re no armsman or knight. You’re not much more than someone with a few sharp pieces of metal and a heavy stick.”
“She’s got a point there,” Fenix whispered. “Eliza studied Battle Magic for three or four years longer than I did, and even then, she could barely cast Explosive Orb and Windblast, and only poorly. That’s why Master Victis was always trying to convince her to leave.”
Raphael shook his head at the battlemage. Eliza didn’t need to hear anything along these lines, especially not now.
“In fact, I’d wager your war party would rather have me than you,” Gabriella continued. “They already have that handsome young man with the polearm to swing something sharp around, plus a battlemage, judging by that distinctive attire. And your leader is a High Captain. My Ice and Healing Magic would fit in much better among your war party than… whatever it is you do.”
“Ice and Healing Magic would definitely come in handy…” Fenix mused, only to fall back into silence when Raphael glared at him. The battlemage had a brilliant mind, but he really needed to know when to hold his tongue. For a moment, Raphael understood why Sylvia got so irritated at Fenix sometimes.
“She’s the bravest and smartest one among us,” Raphael said, “and she’s highly skilled with weapons. She also saved my life.”
Eliza gave his hand a quick appreciative squeeze before releasing it, but before she could reply, Fenix cleared his throat and spoke up instead.
“Begging your Royal Highness’s pardon, but that really isn’t the point at the moment. If you get killed here, the kingdom will suffer. That doesn’t apply to the rest of us, individually at least. Of course, if the Hell Drakes all die, then everyone else in the city is going to follow suit,”the battlemage explained.
“And that’s quite likely, with a Pale Haunter in the picture. Imagine if it manages to somehow kill Sylvia, which is more likely than you might think,” Fenix continued, ignoring the elf’s snarling protests. “She’s going to come back as an undead monstrosity and kill the rest of us. Then once we’ve become undead creatures as well, we’re going to wipe out the city and the palace. So if you really want to help, your Royal Highness, you can do so by coming up with a plan to evacuate your family and as many of the people as possible, in case the Hell Drakes do meet their end here.”
“I…” Gabriella began, but whatever she wanted to say failed to emerge. She coughed lightly and cleared her throat before speaking. “Your comments are sensible, sir mage. The situation is indeed much worse than I’d thought. I will best serve my King and country elsewhere.”
“Go. Away,” Eliza said, her voice tight and cold.
Streaks of light hurtled skyward then, accompanied by the shrill shriek of whistles and shouted commands. Hell Drakes streamed past Bjorn’s perch on the garbage hill, to take up battle positions in a line that stretched as far as the eye could see.
A chorus of voices raised in spellcasting chants. With what could only be Martial Magic, armsmen wreathed their armor and weapons in auras of translucent energy that were not entirely unlike Raphael’s draconic armor. Mages readied spells to tear their foes asunder. Bands of auxiliaries wheeled out carts of throwing spears, arrows, bolts, and Spell Dust vials. More auxiliaries stood by, stretchers and bandages close to hand.
“Weren’t we also supposed to have a bunch of guardsmen and knights with us?” Sylvia asked.
“King’s men got spooked during the last attack. Knights ran off first. Guardsmen and constables lost heart, so I told them to withdraw into the city and hold there.” Bjorn nodded in Gabriella’s direction. “If any knights were still here, this one wouldn’t be.”
“Oh right. We ran into Fabio’s lot on the way here.” Sylvia shrugged. “Think there’s any point talking to the King about the sorry state of his troops again?”
“Won’t listen. No use.” Bjorn held his right hand out and began chanting. A swirling, multi-colored rift appeared in front of his fingers. A gleaming silver handle emerged. The High Captain grasped it and pulled his weapon from the rift. Predictably enough, it was a hammer, just long enough to be wielded in one hand or with two. The enchanted weapon was radiant beneath the morning sun, its haft and head covered in runes.
“Well, you showed me yours, so I’d better show you mine, eh?” Sylvia winked and summoned her sword into her grasp. She released its hilt, and the magnificent, leaf-bladed weapon hung in the air beside her, humming with eager lethality.
“You’ve seen the Hammerstar before. Not the first time I’ve seen Willowflight, either,” Bjorn said, the utterly deadpan tone of his voice making the elf huff and stamp her feet.
Gabriella approached the High Captains, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked at the runic weapons. “For your information, High Captain Hammerstar, I intend to implement significant military reforms upon my ascension.”
“If that happens, we’ll talk. Now, you must lea—” The High Captain turned away from the princess and toward the junkyard. “Ah. Shit.”
The horizon swarmed with silhouettes, all seemingly humanoid in stature.
But there was something wrong in the way they moved.
Whatever they were, they were the enemy.
Chapter 26
Raphael figured it out within a heartbeat. No sounds of breath or speech marred the thunder of the enemies’ collective tread. And though they didn’t walk in perfect lockstep, they presented a unity of malevolence Raphael suspected no armies of men or elves were capable of.
The first monsters came within clear view: rank upon rank of grinning skeletal faces, some of them partially sheathed behind ancient brass helmets and others left open to the light of the morning sun. Endless rows of crumbling breastplates clinked as they approached. Yellowed bone showed through where mail and plate hadn’t been spared by time. Fleshless fists clutched blades, axes, shields pitted with rust.
Raphael looked closer, focusing the light of the Dragon Meridian on the approaching tide of skeleton warriors, and detected hunched figures in black robes interspersed among them. Their swaying hoods revealed glimpses of manic leers stitched across rotting faces. Tiny flickers of flames, swirls of frost, and tendrils of electricity danced across their decaying fi
ngertips.
The approaching army of monsters was a terrifying sight, but the light of the Dragon Meridian banished any trace of fear from Raphael’s mind, leaving him calm and focused, while the heat of the Draconic Braziers roiled in his flesh, filling his limbs with their strength. The golden scales of his draconic armor blazed into existence across his flesh.
Bjorn cast him a curious glance. “Hmm. No Spell Dust. Interesting.”
“I’ll tell you all about him later, Bjorn,” Sylvia promised.
The High Captain of the Second Seat grunted wordlessly in reply before turning to Gabriella. The princess was pale and trembling, obviously shaken by the sight of the approaching monsters.
“I… I will take my leave, then,” Gabriella declared. “Fortune in battle, brave sir.”
“No one leaves the battle-line when war is upon us,” Bjorn growled. “That’s desertion.”
“Flee and I’ll kill you myself,” Sylvia growled at the princess as well, lowering and roughening her voice in poor imitation of her fellow High Captain. She cleared her throat. “Heh. I’ve always wanted to try one of Bjorn’s catchphrases. Well, princess, you wanted a chance to fight so much, and now you’ve got it.”
“She’s yours. If she dies, she dies,” Bjorn snapped, before returning his attention to the approaching horde of monsters. The High Captain held up his hammer and pointed it forward. A hundred war parties advanced at his signal, each of them a dozen or two dozen strong. The rest of the Hell Drakes held back, spells and weapons at the ready.
Reserves to help any war party that needs it, Raphael thought. But surely there is a deeper strategy to be employed here than meeting the enemy head-on?
But there wasn’t, he realized quickly, at least not yet. The battlefield was open terrain, though spotted by piles of garbage and the occasional hill of packed dirt or sand here and there. The foe was fearless and numberless, with no regard for self-preservation. They were also leaderless in the sense there was no key or controlling figure to strike at that could turn the tide of battle. The only real way to stop them was to meet them head-on and completely destroy them.
