They ran down the edge of the wall to where Dax stood, dishing orders to the assembled group of defenders below. Barrels of powder and boxes of bullets had been brought forth and deposited in a now empty building near where they had gathered. Those that had been shooting at the lumbering abominations were busy reloading. As they approached, Dax swiveled to ponder the ramps again.
The captain's fingers gripped the edge of the wall. He spun, face ashen. "We don't have time for this. We have to send men out there to stop them."
"They'll be slaughtered, sir," Daron said, shaking his head. "If we had enough to send out to destroy those ramps, we'd have taken the fight to them. We have to kill their controller."
"That's just as much a suicide as attacking them right out."
"Doesn't change the fact that it has to be done, sir. I'll get it done." Before Dax could respond, Daron flashed Leah a grin in the darkness, though his heart fluttered with the fear that gripped it. "Are you with me?"
Leah smiled.
Dax clasped hands with Daron and Leah, wishing the gods to watch over them. Honestly, Daron wasn't sure they were, but he couldn't voice that out loud. If the gods were watching them from the Eternal Hall, surely they'd offer a bit more help than a few hundred moderately trained guards?
They ducked low and loped across the walkway, heading further west into the city, trying to get out of view of the massed army. They moved as quickly as they dared on the precarious footing offered by the narrow walkway, hunched low, swords in hand. The wall curved away inward toward the river, finally bringing them out of view of their attackers. Nodding to the confused guard watching a wide stretch of wall for additional attacks, they lowered themselves over the edge and dropped beyond the wall, dashing to the tree line a hundred yards away.
They moved from tree to tree back towards the area the army occupied. If his guess was incorrect, and the person controlling the foul abominations wasn't away from the main group, they'd have done this for nothing. It wouldn't be long before those ramps made it to the walls, gouging great rows out of the sodden grass.
From this vantage point they could just make out the ramps grinding forward, slower than even a casual stroll. Most of the army waited in reserve just behind the ramps, outside of easy pistol shot, conserving their best assets. Dax had been right. They'd only sent a minor portion of their forces to the wall, to keep the city occupied while the ramps were readied.
He found his heart was pounding, yet he felt more relaxed on this side of the wall. Even with little between him and the invaders, he felt freer without the responsibility of dealing with the defense. Shame washed over him. Many had already died, and many more likely would be hacked down before the end. He shouldn't feel relief, and yet he did. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, they continued creeping forward. Thankfully eyes were focused on the city, and not on the surrounding trees.
Lightning lit the sky, and Daron felt his breath catch as he saw figures huddled in the flora before them. He grabbed Leah and held her back, waiting for the next flickering from the sky. Moments later the clouds flashed again, and Daron could make out the scene much clearer.
A short man was flanked by a small handful of other figures, staring intently at the forces advancing on the city. Hands were raised to the sky and crossed at the wrist, and Daron could hear a faint voice carrying on the wind, shrill and exultant.
Daron closed his eyes and waited for the next flash of lightning. Hopefully it would blind the group and give them a bit of an edge. He tensed his muscles and held his breath. The sky lit up, glowing through his closed lids, and he was running before the thunder had even rolled over them.
His blade swept out of its sheath and slammed into the back of closest figure. There wasn't even a startled grunt. The fetid odor of rotting meat and death rolled over him, causing his stomach to roll. He'd never smelled something with such foulness, and he fought to keep from emptying his stomach right there.
His sword was still jutting from the back of the being. The figure spun, carving out a large chunk of its side as it turned to face Daron, depositing rotted entrails and black ichor on the wet grass below. Decaying and cataract-white eyes met his own, and a rotted jaw distended, but no sound issued forth. Daron stumbled back, his blade pulling free from the creature, the blade shedding the viscera and returning to pristine white in moments. It didn't even notice the missing chunk.
It reached out with a withered arm to claw at him, but Leah spun in and hacked it off above the elbow. Aside from the force of the blow, the abomination didn't register the attack, instead shambling forward and raising its other arm. The whisper of movement like dried old leather rippling caught his ears as the other figures began to move towards them.
The chanting figure turned, surprise washing over his face. This close, Daron could see his face was beset by an unkempt beard and wild, unwashed hair. The smell coming off of the strange figure was nearly as bad as the abominations that clawed forward at them, sweat mingled with offal.
The man gestured, a clawed hand beckoning closer, and the undead shuffled forward as one. Daron hoped fleetingly that if his concentration was focused here that the remaining abominations dragging the ramps would stumble, but honestly had no idea how the control worked. Keeping the ones dragging the ramps forward occupied was almost as good as stopping them completely.
Gritting his teeth, he flashed his sword through the rain. He resisted the impulse to pray for light. They weren't too close to the army, but he'd rather not do anything to get them thinking about investigating. His sword struck home in the gut of another shambling corpse, but lodged there amongst the congealed innards, nearly jerking it free from his grasp as it spun.
Leah seemed to have come to the same conclusion about thrusts, and had resorted to a near dance of slash and step, slash and step. The unholy creatures moved slowly enough that she could skip lightly out of their reach with each stroke of the sword. It was slow work, as no single wound would be fatal to the creatures. If they could be killed again at all, Daron thought.
Something jerked at his jacket, nearly spilling him to the ground. He spun and threw his sword up in time to block a rake from dirt-caked fingernails, but was rewarded with hot pain lancing across one shoulder. He gritted his teeth and lunged sideways towards Leah, feeling waves of agony rolling down his left arm. He flexed the fingers and found them responsive, but each movement sent shivers of pain through him.
This isn't working, he thought desperately. The creatures shrugged off a dozen or more hits that would fell an average man. Each swing tore rotted flesh from its body, but it struggled forward, animated by the sorceror's foul words and energy. One of the abominations was a problem, but six?
No. He couldn't give in to despair. If the ones dragging the ramps got into the city, the defenders wouldn't have the slightest chance. Gunshots would do little, and it would take three or four defenders to take down one abomination, tying up valuable resources.
Daron focused, his forms becoming less rigid and more fluid. His Oathblade arced from side to side, using momentum to his advantage. Rather than aiming for deep, hacking blows on the scrambling figures, he aimed to graze the skin, digging great furrows an inch deep across their desiccated skin.
The sorceror wasn't attacking them, Daron realized with a start. It appeared that he did indeed have to focus to maintain control. Emboldened, he set his teeth and continued his scything attacks, trying to ignore the pulsing in his wounded shoulder.
Lightning flashed again. Daron danced sideways a few steps to clear the huddle mass that was struggling to reach him, and fixed his sights on the caster. He needed to kill the caster while he was busy maintaining the link, before he had a chance to ply his craft against the two of them. He'd never fought anyone like this before, and his thoughts drifted back to the awesome display of raw power Martin had given. His bones were nothing like the rigid iron of the cage that the historian had mangled with a gesture. If the man could lash out with even a fraction of the force Martin had shown, he'd be crushed before he could get in a single swing.
It all relied on concentration, he reasoned. Break the concentration, and all that energy would be useless. He started stalking towards the unkempt man. He'd only have one good shot at this.
The man's eyes narrowed in rage as he spied Daron approaching, and lifted a hand with palm upraised. Daron didn't hesitate. He was still a dozen feet or so away, and would have no chance to close the distance. He whipped his blade around and hurled it through the air.
He knew he had no chance of actually striking with it, but all he needed was a moment of hesitation. His white blade spun through the air, and the man cursed, throwing himself sideways. Daron was already sprinting, following behind his blade by steps, and charged into the man before he'd had a chance to recover his footing. They went down in a tangle of limbs.
Daron pushed himself up and swung a leg over, kneeling atop the man's hips. One hand pinned his opponent's shoulder to the ground, and he swung the other in a hammering blow downward. The man grabbed the wrist pinning him to the ground, not bothering to deflect the blow. He turned his face and Daron's fist cracked into the exposed cheek. If he noticed the blow at all, the man gave no indication.
"Foolish boy," the man hissed, licking his lips. "I will drain your soul and raise you as my minion."
Icy chill rolled through Daron's hand, freezing his veins and muscles. Glacial cold that made the autumn rain seem an inferno by comparison flowed in through his arm. He gasped at the pain and tried to pull back, but the man held fast, cackling in glee. Spittle flew from his lips as he laughed, and Daron felt the sorceror ripping energy from him.
He felt himself growing weaker by the moment. Panicked, he flailed uselessly with his other hand, but the man continued to cackle under the ineffectual blows. He struggled to stand, to push himself off his knees and wrench his wrist away, but they wouldn't respond. Ice cold fog filled his mind, and he felt himself breathing slower and slower.
It felt as if he would never be warm again. His mind raced, but the haze that filled his mind was impossible to shrug aside. The Justice could hardly remember why he was struggling. It seemed much better to try and find some warmth. Then he could be happy. He sagged forward, and felt fingers around his throat, propping him up, squeezing the breath from him.
The world faded to a warm gray. It was almost pleasant, aside from something that kept flashing in his vision. Annoyed, Daron tried to focus. Wasn't there something urgent he should be doing? A fleck of silver flashed again. With great difficulty, Daron finally saw it. One of his cufflinks in the sleeve of his jacket was reflecting some unknown light. Everything was hazy, but he could make out the hourglass and flame symbol on them in perfect clarity.
Please, he thought as he felt consciousness fleeing. Help me.
Call out to the gods, Aiden had said. He tried to focus the words for a silent prayer, but they wouldn't come. Damn. Instead, he tried to focus on the faces of the seven, drilled into him since the first year.
Help me, he urged.
At the edge of his vision, the waterlogged grass began to wither and shrivel. Within him, the familiar wellspring of warmth blossomed. The gods had answered him. It was undiminished by the cold that permeated him. If anything, it seemed to him that it was stronger than ever before, a raging inferno instead of a pleasant campfire.
"Light," he whispered hoarsely.
The forest flooded into daylight. From everywhere all at once brilliant pristine light blazed about them, reflecting off of the clouds swirling distant above. The light embraced him, warm and comforting. Somewhere distant he heard an anguished scream, but he was too distracted by the glow that infused him. It poured out through his skin, shining like a beacon, flaring across the grass and trees that surrounded them, a pillar into the night towering to the clouds that roiled above.
His senses bled back into him. Abruptly he realized he was still kneeling above the sorceror. Gone was the cackling glee, and instead the man's face was a mask of fear and agony. He writhed beneath Daron, screaming in pain. Hastily Daron jerked his hand free and slammed it into the face below him. The Justice screamed wordlessly in rage. Blow after blow rocked the sorceror until he finally lapsed into unconsciousness.
Dazed, Daron pushed himself shakily to his feet. He strode through the withered grass and retrieved his sword, trying to focus his mind. He spun abruptly, a single thought filling him. Leah.
With the man controlling them unconscious, the abominations had collapsed like a puppet with the strings hacked away. Leah stood breathing heavily about them, sword poised low. Without preamble she hacked away the heads from each unmoving corpse, and then staggered over to Daron. She glanced up at him. Light no longer pulsed from him, but his sword was a brand of incandescence, brighter than he'd ever called before.
"We have to do it," she said.
"I can't kill an unconscious man," Daron protested. He felt tired, but knew he had to focus. He stared at the form collapsed onto the withered grass.
Without another word Leah knelt. Her blade flashed once, and the brown grass was splashed with red.
Daron turned away and forced his eyes shut, nausea sweeping through him and replacing the ache of tiredness he had felt. When he opened them, he found the light had dwindled away to nothingness, leaving them once again in the dark forest. The only sound the steady patter of rain on the canopy above.
"That," Daron said, his voice low and husky, "is what it means to dispense final justice."
Leah glanced down at the corpse as it bled out onto the waterlogged grass. Slowly she raised her head to meet his eyes, and then nodded once.
"What did you do?" Leah whispered.
He stared at the circle of dead grass beneath his feet, marred with crimson. Had he done that? His thoughts were a blur. He remembered the energy draining from him, and calling for light, but it had responded in a way he'd never seen before. Normally he'd have to focus on an object like his sword to bring it forth, but this time it had flooded about him, brighter and stronger than he'd ever managed before. It had even come from him, something he'd never even though to try.
Daron strode a few paces further away to where the grass was still green, and focused his thoughts. He lifted a hand, palm downward, thrust towards the ground. He tried to reach out, to feel the energy of the grass and pull it into him. Nothing happened.
"I don't know," he admitted. "The gods must have answered my call." Aside from the burning on a shoulder where he'd been struck, he felt decent. Good, even. He'd had no sleep for far too long and the exertion of the fight should have burned at his muscles, but he felt rested and focused. He gave silent thanks to the gods, feeling almost surprised they were watching over him.
"We should get moving," he said. "There's no way they didn't see that light, and likely their abominations have collapsed as well. They'll be here to investigate soon, and we've only stalled them for a short time. They'll have to move those ramps with manpower now, giving us a chance to pick off more of the living."
Leah nodded, but he could see concern on her face. He gave her a reassuring smile and set off again through the woods. They moved at a quick pace, weaving through the trees. He glanced over his shoulder and found that Leah was a dozen paces behind him, trying to keep up.
"You move quickly," she breathed, leaning against a tree beside him. "Are you feeling well?"
"I feel great," he admitted. "I hadn't realized I was moving so fast."
"I'm just tired," she said, waving a dismissive hand. Still, she was breathing heavy as she rested there, while Daron felt he'd done no more than a light stroll. After a moment she stood and stretched, giving Daron a quick nod.
As they broke away from the forest and headed for the wall, the rain blessedly stopped. The smell in the air was vivid and pungent, the odors of moss and grass suddenly filling his nostrils. He smiled as they sprinted across the open ground to the short wall, giving a wave at the guards patrolling there. He laced his fingers and gave Leah a boost up, and a moment later they were sitting side by side, backs against the wet stone.
He looked to his left where Leah sat, and suddenly burst into manic laughter. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he suddenly felt exhilarated. She gave him a startled look, and then grinned, her own laughter bubbling up. It took them a moment to catch their breath.
"That could have gone better," he said, trying to regain his composure.
"It certainly is never dull with you around," Leah smiled. "I thought for a moment I'd have to rescue you. Again."
"That's not our deal," he grinned.
"When this is done, remind me to renegotiate our contract."
His smile faded away. Thoughts of the harsh words they'd shared earlier came rushing back. He could almost feel the folded drawing in his pocket weighing him down.
"About earlier," he stammered. "I-"
"Save it," she dismissed, rising. "Once this is all done with, we'll have plenty of time to talk. About a lot of things."
He looked up at her, meeting her copper eyes, and nodded. She offered a hand and helped him to his feet. Her hand held his for a brief moment longer once he stood beside her, and then let it drop away.
Daron fished the folded parchment from his pocket and crumpled it into a ball, letting it drop over the wall. It doesn't matter, he decided. Whatever had happened in her past, she'd proven herself to him over the last few days. To the void with it all.
Leah gave him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. "Nothing important," he said.
A guard sprinted down the walkway, barely managing to keep her footing with each thundering step. She almost knocked another patrolling guard off as she dashed by, and slid to a halt before them.
"Dax commands your presence," she breathed. "The attackers have begun to push the ramps forward again. They're about to breach the city."
Chapter 23.
They sprinted through empty streets rather than take the precarious walkway. It was eerie how desolate the city was. The street corners were lit with buzzing electric lights, but most buildings were utterly dark and devoid of any signs of life. Their footfalls echoed against blackened stone buildings as they ran towards the eastern gate.
Leah watched with growing concern as Daron loped ahead of her, suddenly energetic and apparently unaffected by the long waking hours they'd been through. He looked well, aside from the shredded jacket at one shoulder, matted with dried blood. He seemed exuberant, almost ecstatic. It was a pleasant change.
Distant sounds of steel on steel rang through the air, followed a moment later by the acrid smell of gunpowder. They sprinted the last few blocks down the main thoroughfare just as the defensive group withdrew into it.
At least we stopped those things, she thought. Give me flesh and bone to fight any day over that.
The ramp jutted a few feet over the top of the wall, hovering just above it and a bit beyond, into the city proper. Armed men surged over it like the inexorable tide. Two score bodies lay scattered about, a few sprawled on the walkway above with most splayed out on the damp ground below. Thankfully most of them were the attackers, though more than a handful of city guards had been felled.
Brynn held the first line of defense between the buildings closest to the wall, Dax close at her side, but it was a losing fight. The guard captain whirled, a vicious flurry of steel death. More attackers swarmed around adjacent buildings where the defensive line was weakest. The Justice flitted through the crowd, her obsidian black braid snaking out behind her as she spun and slashed, lunged and thrust. For each attacker struck down by the town guard, she felled two herself, and Dax a handful more.
They could ill afford to lose even a single defender. With each person struck down defending the city, the surging crowd gained a few inches. Inch by inch they pushed their advantage, freeing more space for other attackers to leap down from the ramp looming over the wall.
Daron shouldered through the fray to one side, attempting to cut off the forward advance along the wall. Leah cursed openly, lost to the sound of battle. What in the void was he thinking? They should have pulled back to a defensible position, rather than hold an already wavering line. If they broke through in any one place, they'd quickly punch through the gap and overwhelm them. Damn that man!
She struggled through the defense to land beside Daron, fighting side by side. While he was relatively unskilled at the sword, her own training allowed her to take up his slack. Where Daron swung low, she thrust high. Where a blade crept through his defenses, she was there to parry it away. They flowed in synergy, parry and riposte, thrust and slash. A bit of his exuberance was beginning to bleed into her, and she found herself grinning in spite of the prospect of death that loomed before them. When growing up with her uncle, she'd always tried to imagine what it would be like to ply the skills he'd drilled into her. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline and fear pumping through he limbs with each pulse of her frantic heart.
Since her uncle's murder, the only time she'd felt whole again was in the midst of a fight. The fear, the exhilaration a" it all helped her forget her uncle for a brief moment. Each time she closed her eyes, she could see him slump to the floor, a crimson stain spreading beneath him. She shook herself. Now was not the time for that.
While men continued to pour down like a macabre rain, she saw they were finally managing to stop losing precious inches of ground. For a fleeting moment it felt like they were actually going to hold.
"We can hold this," Daron shouted to her over one shoulder. "We can stop them."
She nodded, knocking aside a thrust aimed for his kidneys.
"Pay attention," she snarled, flicking her wrist and opening the stomach of the man she'd just parried. He howled and toppled sideways, hands vainly scrabbling to hold himself together. One thing her uncle hadn't managed to prepare her for was the death, but it was an easy thing to ignore. Kerris and his men weren't the accursed mercenaries that had been hounding her, but they were cut from the same cloth. They deserved nothing beyond slaughter.
A man with vivid red hair dropped down from the ramp, a sword in one hand, pistol stuffed into his belt. The one that had demanded their surrender. He landed against one of his own men, slamming the man forward and into an eager blade. Dax surged forward to meet the new opponent, shaking beads of crimson away from his blade.
The man met Dax enthusiastically, his toothy grin flashing in the half light. They whirled about each other, blade meeting blade, occasionally lashing out with a boot or fist. Each was blocked in turn.
"Ah, someone worthy," the red-haired man grinned, sliding back a step and snapping a salute with a crimson stained sword. "I hadn't dreamed of finding someone to pit myself against in here."
"What do you intend to do?" Dax asked as he lashed out again. His blade was knocked high, and then low. "Even if you succeed here, the townsfolk will be fearful of you."
"They might concede the city to us out of fear, but they'll give it to us nonetheless," the man said simply. He shrugged. "When they see what we offer, they will eventually come to our way of thinking."
"There is nothing to gain by this," Dax urged.
"More is at stake here than this little skirmish," the man grinned. "The longer I keep you locked up here, the longer my master has to do his work."