When Crow drew on his mana Barghast felt it. It made the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand in, made his skin tingle as if he'd been shocked by an electric charge. When Crow turned to face the Okanavian, waiting for him to give orders, Barghast felt his mind freeze for a moment. It was not the time or place to have his mind free - Barghast liked to think he was good at thinking on his feet in these kinds of high-stress situations - but the change in Crow's appearance always startled him.
Crow had pulled his hood up so that most of his features, all except for his eyes, nose, and the curves of his lips were visible. The rest was shadowed off. What could be seen had become as remote as the flat surface of a pond. Gone was the expression of almost childlike wonder, hopeful earnestness. Why he always pulled up his hood when in battle, Barghast could only guess. His eyes glowed white, a side effect of the mana coursing through him. With the hooked curve of his nose and his scrawny, thin-boned body he resembled a bird more than ever. Only now he resembled a vengeful bird. The bird from which he was named.
"Are we ready?" he asked. Though he spoke normally somehow his voice carried through the deafening report of gunfire. Shots were fired close by but he didn't flinch, didn't even seem to notice it or care. Was it just Barghast's imagination or did he hear an undertone of excitement, of impatience?
He felt a thousand things coursing through him at once: the flood of adrenaline and his own eagerness for battle, the sense of danger. The instinctive uneasiness he felt whenever Crow was like this, and the arousal. The Okanavian threw them all to the side, reasserting control over himself. He nodded.
Crow nodded back once in affirmation, then without another word, turned and walked towards the gate; he'd moved with a casual gate, as if he knew exactly where he was going and was in no rush to get there. One second he was there and the next his form was disappearing into the smoke. Jack followed.
"Fuck me," Barghast growled to himself. The front of his kilt was dented. Oh well, there's no time to take care of it now. He went through the gate.
Barghast saw numerous bodies strewn in their wake like forgotten dolls. A Red Wraith hacked wetly, impaled on a large piece of wood. The sharp end had punched through his chest, the sharp tip covered in crimson. He glanced at Barghast intently. He tried to say something but all that came out was a wet gurgle. Not a good way to die I imagine, Barghast thought, knowing the man maybe only had seconds. It's exactly what you deserve.
Bullets started flying towards them from every direction. Most of them were directed at Crow, who continued to glow eerily with his mana.
The advantage to having a practitioner on the squad, Barghast reminded himself, was that no one wanted to fuck with them; they were like human kegs of explosive ready to explode at the slightest provocation. The Red Wraiths would be too busy trying to take him out to be much worried about Barghast and Jack. Every time bullets struck the outer bubble of mana Crow had forged around himself, the force field rippled; the bullets bounced off uselessly, sparking against the ground like firecrackers.
Human shapes moved in the night, running towards them. Voices shouted, lost over the deafening cacophony of gunfire. The Okanavian barely winced at the sound. For him it was as familiar as one's favorite song. A dark shape moved out of the corner of his eye, weapon raised. Barghast turned and fired, feeling the shotgun kick powerfully in his hand. The shot took the Red Wraith in the chest, knocking him to his feet. Another was running down the wooden steps to his right. Barghast's shotgun exploded once more. The man was thrown off his feet with an agonized scream.
Just feet away, Crow seemed to be doing a graceful sort of dance, arms slicing through the air. Barghast watched as a Red Wraith was nearly cut in two by an invisible blade; gouts of blood sprayed from his chest. Everywhere Barghast looked Red Wraiths were pouring from every direction. Jack had taken cover behind a merchant's stall and was emptying the chambers of both revolvers into the oncoming hoard. His face was completely calm as he dropped three bodies in the time it takes for one to exhale.
When a mercenary fired on Barghast he had no choice but to dive behind a cart of straw. The square was quickly crowding up with advancing Red Wraiths. The Red Wraith who had fired at Barghast was closing on the cart, still firing away. Barghast tried to sly a shell into the chamber of his shotgun, but it slipped from the sweaty tips of his fingers. He cursed, looked around frantically for somewhere else to run to. How had he allowed himself to get cornered like this? Why hadn't he thought to bring another gun with him, at least a revolver. This is why we are supposed to plan things tactically, not just pull things out of our ass, he thought, thinking he would like nothing more than to strangle Rake until his neck snapped.
The Red Wraith mercenary - he couldn't have been much older than Crow - now came around the cart. He was grinning savagely as he raised the smoking muzzle of his rifle. Barghast was about to reverse the shotgun and club the bastard with it when Crow appeared at his side, seemingly out of nowhere, so that Barghast was now within the protection of his sphere. The mercenary's rifle went off and the bullet ricocheted off the sphere as if it had hit a wall. The bullet smashed a hole in the space between the mercenary's eyes. His body was completely limp before he hit the ground.
"Thanks," Barghast said with a gulp.
Crow turned his head only slightly to fix those white eyes on the Okanavian. His lip curved into a smile. "Don't mention it."
Just a few yards away, a woman was advancing on Jack's position, a machete raised above her head. Jack was trying to load his gun as quickly as he could but Barghast could see that the woman would reach and kill him before he had the chance.
Crow waved his arm through the air and she was split in half at the waist. Blood snaked through the sand to form puddles. Already more bodies, too many to count laid scattered beneath the velvety black sky like dominoes. A wagon full of hay and horse dung burned. Things were happening so fast Barghast could barely keep track of it all. Barghast stared dumbly at the two halves of the woman bleeding out on the ground. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the coil of intestine. This is why the Eurchurch hates practitioners, he thought. This is why they fear them.
Jack took advantage of the opening Crow had bought him and darted across to them, where he crouched low, panting. "Thanks," he said to Crow.
Crow merely nodded at him. The only reply he gave was, "The cell block is over that way. It's not far. We should hurry." Barghast suspected Crow wanted to go ahead of them, but he was steeling himself, staying beside them so that both Barghast and Jack were protected by the dome of protective mana he maintained around himself. When they were ready, he led them the rest of the way across the courtyard.
Barghast's breath burned in his lungs. The air was hot and sticky, a force to be reckoned with in of itself. Sweat dripped down his arms and back.They had reached the entrance leading into the eastern corridor.
The kid is unstoppable, Barghast thought as Crow blew the door off its hinges with a kinetic blast of mana. Barghast and Jack remained at his back, firing off shots. Despite their futile efforts so far, the Red Wraiths were still running towards them, at least a dozen, maybe two, with still more coming. The Red Wraiths did not stop or give up. Barghast had to give them this. Even as they saw Crow and the Okanavian coming towards them, they fired salvo after salvo, only stopping to duck behind cover and reload their weapons.
Crow waved a hand over the doorway. A ward appeared in a wall of shimmering light, filling the doorway, rippling like water. His face was streaked with blood. Barghast could not tell if it was his or the blood of those he'd slaughtered. If it was his own blood it could only mean one thing: soon he would run out of fuel. "They won't be able to get through this which buys us a minute or two - they'll have to go around to get to us, let's hurry, please." He sounded weary.
"Can you hold on a little longer?" Barghast asked, ducking low.
A fresh drop of blood trickled down Crow's nose. He wiped it away with a hand; Barghast noticed it was shaking slightly. "Yes."
The corridor was crowded with tangled limbs and spreading puddles of crimson. Barghast's nose burned with the pungent mixture of gunpowder and blood. Rake and Lydia were slowly making their way towards them. Rake was supporting Faulko with one arm, rifle dangling from his shoulder by the weapon's strap and Lydia was doing the same with Sara. Sara's eyes were glazed with exhaustion. Barghast knew it was only determination to keep going and not slow the rest of the squad down that kept her clinging to consciousness - if only just.
"What happened to her?" he grunted, stepping forward to take the Eurchurchman from Rake.
"She's drained," Lydia grated, strained from the effort of keeping Sara upright. Though Sara wasn't particularly heavy she was barely standing on her own two feet. "First she gave Faulko just enough to get going, which was more than she expected, and then I took a bullet to the shoulder."
"I can help," Crow said, coming to Sara's side. Lydia stepped back. She did not stop him but her eyes were full of hostility.
Damn right, woman, Barghast thought, easily propping the Eurchurchman up; the man was so light a gust of wind could have blown him away. Set aside your pride and prejudice and let him help. While he knew Crow could be dangerous if uncontrolled he also knew the practitioner was here to help. If not for him they would have never made it this far.
Crow put his hand on Sara's shoulder and repeated the healer's vow: "I give some of myself to you; take it and live."
The air shimmered around Crow once more and Sara jerked up, crying out as if she'd been shocked. "Wow," she said, renewed.
"Better?" Crow asked with a curl of his lip.
"Yes," she said gratefully.
"We got company!" Chambers spinning, Jack raised his revolvers and unleashed an oppressive barrage of fire at an oncoming platoon of Red Wraiths. He threw himself behind a pillar as the gunfire was returned. Pieces of the wall crumbled to the floor in chunks and grainy bits of plaster.
Crow waved a hand over the ward he'd placed over the entrance to the courtyard. The ward wavered once and then was gone. Crow turned towards the flanking Red Wraiths. He thrust a palm into the air. A flaming ball of fire shot from his outstretched hand and blazed towards the Red Wraiths. One of them shouted to retreat but it was too late. Crow's spell detonated.
The corridor trembled around the Red Wraiths. Several were thrown through the air, arms and legs pinwheeling helplessly. The corridor shook violently. Soot rained from the ceiling. Barghast was blinded by black clouds of smoke, choking on it. Wondrously he still had a hold of Faulko. To his right, the stable where the horses were kept was ablaze. He could hear the agonized whinneys of the burning animals. Barghast felt for them but knew there was nothing he could do. Such was the cost of war,
With the ward gone the Stray Dogs ran. Barghast tried to pace his breaths. It would be a long run back to where the horses were waiting and an even longer journey out of the necropolis. The hard part was ahead of them; getting into Fort Erikson had been the easy part.
The practitioner was barely keeping up, his face drawn with exhaustion. Blood was starting to trickle more freely from his nose. He's starting to wear down, the Okanavian thought. He must have given Sara a lot of his own mana. He handed the old Eurchurchman to Jack and hung back for the practitioner. The other Strays had already disappeared through the hole where the gate had been, out of sight. The practitioner was a mess, drenched in the blood of others as well as his own.
Despite all the bodies the Stray Dogs had dropped, more were pouring into the courtyard. A hundred my ass, Barghast thought. "Come on, kid!" he shouted. He lurched towards Crow who had turned to face the hoard of mercenaries.
"We'll never make it," Crow muttered. A drop of blood trickled down his ear. "There's too many of them. You have to get Faulko out of here."
"Jack's got 'im, now let's go! There's no time to have a debate about it!"
Crow shook his head, pulling his arm free of Barghast's grasp. "I can buy you more time. Just go."
He staggered three steps forward, hunched over. What in the Infernal Depths? Barghast thought. It's like the kid has a death wish. Balls of fire streamed from the practitioner's hands, arcing into the air, making the ground shake wherever they hit. Smoke filled the night sky, fallen Red Wraiths laid in the dirt, screaming in agony or simply not moving at all.
The Okanavian went to Crow's side and stopped. If he keeps going his brain is going to run out through his ears and nose. But worse yet was the utter look of distress on the young practitioner's face. His face, if at all possible, had grown paler. His eyes were wide and white, giving him a ghastly look that also pulled at Barghast's heart. Tears streamed from his cloudy eyes. Had Barghast ever seen such a look of misery?
Barghast shook himself out of his stupor and struck the boy with the back of his hand. He'd only meant to do it hard enough to bring Crow to his senses but the practitioner spun and dropped towards the ground. The Okanavian managed to catch him in his arms and scoop him up. Mazog's sweaty balls he's as light as the old man, he thought and dashed through the gate after the others.