"Get behind me!" Erdhardt roared. "Aela, behind me now!" He swung his warhammer through the air, feeling a crunch vibrate through the shaft as it crashed into the Urak's chest. Blood sprayed from the creature's mouth, and its eyes rolled to the back of its head. He hit it again for good measure, caving in its skull.
Flames raged all around as the entire village was consumed. "Stay behind me," he said, turning to his wife, his hard, calloused hand resting against her soft cheek. "It will be all right."
"Don't be an idiot," she said, snatching a knife, so big it looked like a sword in her hand, from the dead Urak's belt. "Come on."
I love you, woman.
A scream rippled through the night, sending a shiver racing down Erdhardt's spine. Rolling his shoulders out, he clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the hammer. It had been a few years since he'd held it in his hands. It shouldn't have been that long. He should have picked it up when the empire killed the man who had crafted it. Vars Bryer was a man who deserved more. A lot more. Erdhardt shook the thoughts from his head. There were people who needed him now; he didn't have to time to pine over the people he had failed.
He caught sight of Mara Styr, her dress covered in dirt, blood running down the side of her head. Young Lina was clutching her mother's hand. The two of them were cowering behind old Guna Lindon's house.
"Mara!" Erdhardt was halfway to her when two Uraks stepped out in front of him, their eyes set on Mara and Lina. His hammer crushed a knee before the Uraks even knew he was there. He heaved the hammer back, caving in the beast's skull with a second strike. Erdhardt twisted to avoid the thrusting spear of the second Urak, but he wasn't quick enough to evade it entirely. He roared in pain as the blackened tip of the spear scored his side. The beast pulled back its spear for a second strike, only to howl as Aela thrust her knife into its ribs. The creature snarled, unleashing a guttural roar as it pulled its spear back again, this time directing it at her.
But the beast coughed and spluttered as an arrow burst through its throat from the back, a spray of blood following the steel arrowhead.
"Hammersmith, to me!" Erdhardt could see Tharn Pimm standing beside Mara and Lina Styr, his long yew bow clutched in his hands. Erdhardt didn't think he had ever been happier to see the man.
"Are you all right?" Erdhardt asked, turning to Aela, checking her over.
"Me? You bumbling fool, it's you who's bleeding!" She furrowed her brow and rested a tender touch on his cheek. "I'm fine," she said with a soft breath.
"The guard?" Erdhardt asked as he reached Tharn, casting a glance over Mara and Lina. The young girl was fine, if a little terrified. Mara, however, looked worse for wear. The cut on the side of her head wasn't too deep, but a worrisome blood stain was beginning to seep through her dress.
"Ferrin has a few of them at The Gilded Dragon. We're trying to get everyone there now."
"We need to get to them, and then we need to go."
"What? Abandon the village?" Incredulity permeated Tharn's voice.
"Look around you, Tharn. What village? The only thing worth saving now are the people, and if we pile them into The Gilded Dragon then these beasts will just burn it down with them inside."
Tharn swallowed, nodding, half to himself and half to Erdhardt. "All right. Let's go."
Erdhardt's heart stopped in his chest as they turned the corner to The Gilded Dragon. "By the gods…"
Fewer than twenty of the town guard were still fighting, swarmed by thick leathery beasts swinging blackened blades. The rest lay strewn about the street, mangled, misshapen, missing limbs, their blood seeping into the dirt.
Mara and Aela both shrieked, tears streaming down their faces. It was not just the town guard who lay in the dust. Men, women, children. Marlo Egon, half his face missing; what was left was barely recognisable. Denet Hildom, his neck twisted halfway round, bones piercing the skin.
Erdhardt's chest twisted as his eyes fell on the misshapen body of Verna Gritten, her limbs twisted and broken, her skin pale and blue, her eyes empty. He had known her since they were pups; she had a pure heart. But nothing prepared him for the sight of young Aren Ehrnin's head laying in the dirt more than five feet from his body. The boy had not seen five summers.
But in the middle of it all, it was the burning creatures that set stones in his stomach. Standing amidst the smaller creatures – though it felt strange to use that word for an Urak – were four hulking masses of muscles, at least ten feet tall, their bodies covered in thick, carved runes that gave off a red glow and streamed smoke. They looked as though the traitor god himself had risen.
"Tharn, we need to help them." Erdhardt's mouth went dry as he spoke the words. What help could they be? But Tharn simply gritted his teeth and gave a short nod. "Aela, I need you to take the others and make for the northern edge of the village. Head for Talin, it's the closest."
"I'm not leaving y—"
"For the love of the gods, woman! Will you not listen to a single word I say?" Erdhardt regretted the anger in his voice, but he could find no other emotion to fuel his tongue. "No matter what happens here, I will not see another sunrise if you are not by my side. Now take Mara and Lina and anyone you find along the way. Head for Talin, and tell them what has happened. I will follow as soon as I can." Erdhardt's last words felt hollow, even to himself. He would die this night, and he knew it. Aela was cleverer than he could ever have hoped to be – the woman was a fox – which meant she knew it, too. But maybe, if he could hold the Uraks there, he could buy her some time. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he once more brought his hands up to touch her tender cheek. "For all the stars in the sky, I would not trade a single day. Now, go."
He savoured the soft touch of her lips on his, the sweetness of it. He had been a man beyond his luck when she had kissed him for the first time over thirty summers gone, and he was a man beyond his luck still. He let his gaze linger for a moment before setting himself to what must be done.
Reluctantly, Erdhardt pulled his eyes from Aela's back as she and the others disappeared into the night. He charged into the chaos of man and beast. He didn't look back. The tang of iron and voided bowels filled the air, mingling with the harsh smell of burning wood. Clenching his jaw, he swung his hammer, feeling the crunch of bone vibrate through its shaft as he connected with an Urak's hip. The beast stumbled, howling as it dropped to one knee, one of Tharn's arrows plunging into the back of its head.
Erdhardt's blood shivered through his veins, pumping in his head. The screams of men and the howls of Uraks, the shrieking clash of steel colliding, the crackling of homes as fire consumed them, all of it faded, muffling together. Even his own voice was nothing but a muted roar as he shouted at Tharn, pointing towards Ferrin Kolm and the other guards who stood in a fragmented semi-circle before the steps of The Gilded Dragon. Only a handful of them still stood, spears and sword grasped in their fists, fear etched on their faces. They were right to be scared. Erdhardt was terrified, yet he pushed forward.
Again he swung his hammer, catching an Urak in the side. He saw its ribs break, the bones splinter, the blood spray. He pulled his hammer free and let the beast fall.
Erdhardt called to Ferrin, saw the whites of the young man's eyes as he heard the call, then watched as a charcoal axe caught Ferrin in the side of the neck. It wasn't a clean strike; Ferrin still clung to life as the blood cascaded down. He dropped as the axe was yanked free, then Erdhardt lost him to the chaos.
Erdhardt's fear gave way to anger, and anger yielded to a white-hot rage. He leapt headfirst into the fray, swinging his hammer about him. Bones broke beneath its weight and blood stained its surface. More than once, a searing pain screamed in his arms and legs where an Urak blade sliced his flesh, but they were not mortal wounds, so he pushed on. The constant spray of arrows from behind let him know that Tharn still stood; the man was only half as good as his son, but that was better than most.
A blinding white flash burst across Erdhardt's eyes, and the ground rose to meet him as he crashed. The battle rush flooded from his mind, and the sounds rushed in. The snarls, the harsh rasping of blades, the screams. He tightened his fingers. Good. He could still feel the leather-wrapped handle of his hammer, which meant he hadn't dropped it. With a grunt, he made to heave himself to his feet, but a weight crashed into his ribs, sending him spinning back to the dirt. Blood tickled his throat, and his side throbbed. Shaking his head, he spat blood onto the dirt and peeled open one eye to find an Urak staring back at him, its lips pulled back, jagged yellow teeth on display and a snarl in its throat.
The Urak loomed over him, a thick-shafted black spear clutched in its fists. A fierce red glow emanated from a smooth gemstone set into the blade of the spear, glittering a red light across the weapon's surface.
Not yet. I won't die yet.
Erdhardt snatched at the spear with his free hand, grasping it just below the blade. He pulled with all his strength, careful not to bring it down on top of himself. The Urak stumbled forward, caught off guard. Just as it did, Erdhardt let go of his hammer – it was too heavy to swing with one hand – and wrapped his fingers around the back of the beast's head. Roaring, he rammed the Urak's head into the ground with every drop of strength he had. Feeling his opportunity, he swivelled onto his knees, grabbed the beast's head with both hands, and slammed it down repeatedly. When it stopped moving, he pulled himself to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the shaft of his hammer. He now stood shoulder to shoulder with the remaining guards.
Joran Brock, Dana Holmir, Allan Dornin. All good souls. He couldn't catch sight of the others' faces, but no doubt they were men and women he would be proud to die beside. He had known most of them since they were nothing but pups at their mothers' tits. It was fitting that he should be there at their end.
A piercing pain flashed through Erdhardt's right thigh. He ignored it. He could feel the blood trickle down the inside of his leg. It was a shallow cut. "Hold fast!" he yelled, swallowing hard and clenching his jaw. They wouldn't last long. Not against these monstrosities.
A din of howls erupted to his left. One of the larger beasts with the runes carved into its skin had sent some form of shock wave rippling through the men, collapsing the left side of The Gilded Dragon's porch. Another of the beasts ripped a man's arm clean off with its bare hands, roaring into the night as it did.
How were men meant to fight against such things? He had seen war, and he had fought Uraks before, but not like this, not with these numbers, and not with these monstrosities by their side.
Fewer than ten of the guard remained.
"To me!" Erdhardt shouted as he shifted his weight onto his back foot, swinging his hammer, feeling bone crumble beneath its weight. He let himself back slowly towards the stairs of the inn. After a few moments, some of the surviving guards stood by his side, beaten, bloody, half-broken. He counted only six. "If you die, take two with you!"
A chorus of roars answered him. They would not go quietly into the void, not men and women of The Glade.
Joran Brock was the first of the six to fall, his guts spilling out in front of him, steam drifting through the cold air as his body lay lifeless. Olina Marken went next, her chest opened by one of the rune-marked beasts.
Run, Aela, please. Run as fast as your legs can carry you.
A roar trapped itself in Erdhardt's throat as a spear tip tore a gash through his side. He choked a rasping breath, his chest heaving. With an almighty swing, he caught one of the rune-marked in the leg, only to feel a tremor reverberate back up the hammer, jarring his arms. The creature snarled, red light drifting through the smoky mist that rose from its runes. It cracked him in the chest with a backhand. He hit the ground hard, tasting dirt and blood in his mouth. He dragged himself to his feet, swaying side to side, bile rising in his throat. Two more of the guard fell before his eyes. One was cleaved in half by an axe swing, another's neck broken.
Erdhardt's fear melted away as he watched the Uraks push forward. The knot in his stomach untied itself, and acceptance took its place. He grunted as he took a deep breath, shifting his weight from his right leg. It hurt to breathe, but he wouldn't have to breathe for much longer.
Roaring so loud his lungs felt as though they would burst, he charged. Three of the Uraks fell under his hammer, taken aback by his sudden rush. A sword cut deep into his shoulder. He felt the grip on his hammer loosen. He let it fall. He tackled one of the beasts to the ground, a snarl escaping his throat. It unleashed a guttural howl as the two of them fell. Erdhardt grabbed hold of its wrist, slamming it against the dirt until the black blade fell from its grasp. Snatching the blade up, he wrapped both hands around its hilt, then drove the sword down into the beast's chest. For a moment it gazed at him, shock on its face, then the life drained from its eyes and the gemstone set into the black blade glowed red with a renewed vigour.
As he knelt in the dirt, fear shot through Erdhardt's body, and he threw the Urak's blade to the ground, wanting it nowhere near him. He felt something as the beast died, a shiver that rippled through him. It made him want to vomit.
A series of shrieks broke him from his thoughts. They weren't the shrieks of men, but the guttural howls of Uraks. What is happening? He dragged himself to his feet, leaving his hammer where it lay; he didn't have the strength to wield it. An Urak crashed into his side, sending him spiralling; he caught himself before he hit the ground, just keeping his balance. He turned to brace himself, but before the beast struck, a green light flashed through the air, separating its head from its shoulders.
"What in the gods…" Erdhardt stumbled backwards, tripping over something that lay lifeless on the ground. All around him, flashes of green rippled, illuminating the night. Wherever the light shimmered, Uraks fell. Then he saw the source of the light. It was a man. At least, he thought it was a man. Plate armour of smooth green metal covered him from head to toe, an insignia of snow white emblazoned across the breast. The man held a sword in his fist, a sword that looked as though it was wrought from pure green light. Erdhardt would not have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself. He watched, stunned, as the man's blade cut straight through one of the rune-marked's legs, then took its head from its shoulders.
Erdhardt struggled as a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders.
"It's all right, Erdhardt, it's me!" Aela's voice gave him both warmth and despair.
"What are you doing here?" Panic clung to his voice as he turned to look his sweet wife in the eyes. She clutched a spear in her fist, blood dappled her face – not her own blood – and dirt crusted the edges of her dress. "You should be long gone."
"I left the others at the edge of the village, outside the Palisade. They went with a group to Talin. Ylinda Pimm and Anya Gritten led them. I wasn't leaving you."
"Gods damn you, woman. Gods damn you!" His chest heaving from exhaustion, Erdhardt lowered his weary legs and snatched a bloody sword from the ground, one of the guard's swords. He would not touch an Urak blade again.
Green light continued to flash, tearing through the Uraks like a maelstrom of death. There was not one man in green plate, but four. They moved as though the wind itself obeyed them, splitting bone and opening hides. Erdhardt swung his head, looking for any more survivors. His eyes fell on Dana Holmir and Allan Dornin. Allan lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, his hand clutched to his chest, blood staining his blue tabard. Dana stood over him, limping on her left leg, a spear and shield clutched tightly. Uraks surrounded them.
"Come," he shouted to Aela, still furious at her for returning. She gave a short nod, her mouth a grim line.
Erdhardt drew his blade across an Urak's legs, hamstringing it. The creature bellowed as it collapsed to its knees, its cries cut short by Erdhardt's sword punching through the back of its head. They were big, and they were quick, but they held little awareness. He took two more from behind, pushing his way through to Allan and Dana. Fresh cuts raked Dana's side, and blood seeped out through a gash in her breastplate. Erdhardt glanced over his shoulder and saw that Aela still held tight to him, her knuckles pale as she grasped the spear.
"Can he stand?" Erdhardt asked as they reached Dana, nodding at Allan.
"I don't know," she said, panting. "I don't know if he's even…"
Erdhardt went to reassure the woman, but a hammer blow caught him in the back, knocking him to his knees. Pain flared through the gash in his thigh as his muscle flexed, trying to keep him upright.
One of the rune-marked crashed in between him and Dana, raking its clawed hands across her chest, rending her breastplate in a stroke of blood and steel. Dana collapsed to the ground, gasping for air as she clutched at her chest.
Erdhardt fought through the pain, biting his lip as he pulled himself to his feet, lunging towards the beast. He threw all his weight behind the blow as he drove his sword up through the creature's ribs, burying it to the hilt. The rune-marked beast howled. Spinning, it grasped Erdhardt by the neck and lifted him off his feet.
He choked, dragging ragged breaths into his closing windpipe, gasping for air as he floated. The rune-marked lifted him until its eyes, glowing with a crimson fury, drew level with his own. He saw nothing as he stared into those incandescent hollows of red. The beast's grasp tightened, thick fingers closing around Erdhardt's throat. It held him there as he floundered like a rag doll.
Erdhardt felt his grip on consciousness slipping, stars flitting across his eyes. His vision faded to black, then blurred before seeing flashes of light, then returned to black. His lungs gasped for air, burning, but found nothing. He kicked, clawing at the beast's arm, flesh coming away under his fingernails, but it didn't so much as flinch.
Then he was free, his body hitting the ground like a hammer on steel. He gasped, dragging air into his screaming lungs, the iron tang of blood on his tongue. Coughing, he lifted his head, only for his heart to rend when he saw why the beast had let him go.
Aela stood between Erdhardt and the monster, her spear buried beneath the pit of its arm.
Erdhardt scrambled to his feet, digging dirt into his fingernails as he stumbled, his vision still a half-blurred haze. His blood pounded through his veins, panic shivering through his skin. He snatched up a fallen spear, launching it at the beast. It roared as the spear plunged into its shoulder. Swinging its hand down, it shattered the shaft of Aela's spear before catching her with a horrifying backhand that left her in a crumpled heap.
No, no, no.
Erdhardt crashed to the dirt beside his wife, ignoring the explosion of pain in his knees. Blood covered her face, tacking her fine hair to her head. "Aela, Aela!" Erdhardt tried to breathe, but the air just caught in his throat, an emptiness in his chest. "Aela! God damn you, woman. Open your fucking eyes!" I can't feel her breathing. Erdhardt's throat went as dry as sand, his voice splitting and cracking as he tried to shout. "No, no, no… gods dammit, no!"
Kallinvar swivelled, slicing his Soulblade through the Urak's arm before ripping it across the creature's gut, opening the contents of its stomach onto the dirt. The Urak cried out, the sound cut short as it choked on its own blood.
He paused a moment to take in the battle. Around him, his knights tore through the Bloodspawn mercilessly. Arden and Lyrin had each claimed a Bloodmarked, and Ildris held his own against a clutch of Uraks. But where was the Shaman? Four Bloodmarked in one place. Where was the Shaman that had carved the runes?
It was a question he would have to answer when the fighting was done. His eyes fell on the last of the Bloodmarked, two spears protruding from its thick hide, one with a shattered shaft. It stood over a crumpled man who held a body in his arms. Kallinvar took in a breath, then charged, the power of the Sentinel armour surging through him. He cleaved through two more Bloodspawn as he moved, arcing his Soulblade about him before he bent at the knees and leapt into the air, his armour-enhanced legs lifting him.
He buried the Soulblade into the Bloodmarked's back, eliciting a blood-curdling howl from the creature. As the beast spun, Kallinvar released his Soulblade, summoning it once more as he hit the ground, shearing the beast's leg at the knee. It collapsed, no longer supported by its right leg. Kallinvar followed it to the ground, staring into its eyes as he drove his Soulblade through its chest, where its heart should have been. The runes on its skin glowed furiously as they tried to keep the Bloodmarked alive, but even that dark magic could do nothing for the beast now. Kallinvar dropped his weight, driving the blade through the creature and down into the dirt. He watched as the light in its eyes died out. "For Achyron."
Kallinvar stood there, his foot on the beast's chest, heaving air into his lungs. The fighting around him was beginning to fade, and what was left of the Bloodspawn were fleeing into the night. He still saw no sign of their Shaman.
Releasing his Soulblade, he cast his eyes around. The man to his right was a sobbing, convulsing mess holding a woman's body in his arms – his wife, most likely. Kallinvar left him to feel his pain, to grieve. He had felt that pain before. There was no other thing in the world that compared to it. To lose the other half of you was to have the skin peeled from your living bones, to have your heart pulled from your chest and your eyes burned out.
"That is the last of them, Brother-Captain," Arden said, stepping up beside Kallinvar, his voice holding an uncharacteristic tremble as his gaze fixed on the sobbing man.
"See that it is. Secure the village and bring any survivors here."
"As you say…" Arden hesitated for a moment, his gaze never leaving the sobbing man. "Brother-Captain."
"Are you all right, Arden?" Kallinvar called out to the Sigil, commanding his helmet to recede, allowing him to look at Arden with his own eyes. The young man did not do the same.
"I am, I just… I'm fine," Arden said, turning away. "I will continue to search for survivors, Brother-Captain." Arden strode into the night with not so much as a glance over his shoulders. Something did not sit right, and Kallinvar would find out what it was, but for now it could wait.
Once they were back in the temple, Kallinvar found Arden exactly where he expected him to be: sitting beneath a Hallow tree in the Tranquil Garden. Ever since the young man had received the Sigil, this was where he seemed to spend most of his downtime. Kallinvar understood the desire. He had spent many days alone in the Tranquil Garden after the battle of Ilnaen, until duty called him to rise – many of the knights had. To be one of Achyron's chosen was not an easy burden to bear. The Tranquil Garden was a symbol of Heraya's gratitude.
The moss underfoot yielded to the weight of Kallinvar in his full Sentinel armour, receding with each step of his plate boots. The armour was such a part of him that he often forgot he wore it.
Calling to the Sigil, Kallinvar released his Sentinel armour, feeling the cool sensation wash over his skin as the dark green plate turned to liquid metal before returning to its home within the Sigil. With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders back, feeling his muscles bunch as he did. Sentinel armour kept the weariness at bay. It helped carry the burden.
"What is on your mind?" Kallinvar said as he approached Arden, though he knew well what troubled the young man's mind.
Arden sat on the ground, his back resting against the trunk of a Hallow tree, the tree's luminescent purple flowers dangling around him. A vacant look filled his eyes as he stared off towards the other side of the garden.
"My mother loved flowers." Arden smiled absently, holding a small purple leaf between his thumb and forefinger. "She was a healer. She saved people."
Kallinvar let his gaze linger on Arden for a moment before dropping himself down onto the ground beside the man, resting his back against the same tree trunk. "When we take the Sigil, we forego our past lives, Arden."
"I know, Brother-Captain. But must we forget? Because I can't. It is my family that I fight for. It is to protect them that I serve Achyron."
"No, brother, you need not forget them. To be a Knight of Achyron is not an easy charge. Sometimes it is easy to forget what it is we fight for." Images flashed across Kallinvar's mind as he spoke, images of the battle of Ilnaen – of The Fall. His blood shivered through his veins as the images flooded him. Blood, fire, death. They were no strangers to him. They plagued his dreams every time he closed his eyes, as vivid as the night they happened. Even now, sitting at the base of the Hallow tree, they were clear in his mind. Eltoar Daethana's shimmering blue níthral bursting through Brother Ohren's chest. The scream of Ohren's soul as the weapon ripped it from the world. "Those villagers will be safe with their neighbours. The village where we brought them is too far from the mountain for Uraks to bother them again for a while yet."
"Why could we not have brought them to Ardholm? They would have been safe there."
"You know we could not do that. Not yet. The others must be convinced."
Arden nodded half-heartedly at Kallinvar's words, twirling the purple petal across his fingers, only a momentary pause betraying him. "What is it you fight for, Brother-Captain?"
Kallinvar sighed, letting the back of his head rest against the rough trunk of the Hallow tree. "I fight for all who would be consumed by the Shadow if I stood back. I fight for those who cannot. I was there at Ilnaen, at The Fall. I saw what the Shadow will do when good people stand back. Bloodspawn kill without prejudice. We should have stood against it sooner on that day, and I will not allow us to make the same mistake again. We are Achyron's chosen, Arden." Kallinvar reached out his hand as he spoke, holding it in front of Arden. "Had he not sent the Grandmaster to us, we would both be dead. We were saved for a purpose. But that does not mean our path will be easy. We must be strong."
Arden reached out, grasping Kallinvar's hand. He let out a short sigh, then Kallinvar saw a steeliness set into the young man's eyes. "Pain is the path to strength."