The Fallen World

Fort Battleaxe - Part 5

     Further out, he saw a few riderless horses wandering the battlefield, all that was left of the city’s cavalry, and he felt a moment of envy for Vento, who even now was being greeted by his God. He turned, looking back to the inner wall, and saw that the crescent of pikemen was still somehow standing, despite being under merciless assault from a troop of ogres who were deliberately impaling themselves on the pikes, then tearing the defenders’ heads off with their huge, clawed hands. Behind them, defenders were still passing through the gate, where they aided the efforts to hold back the ogres while others slipped past them to escape Into the outer circle of the city.

     The old priest then lifted his eyes to the Tower itself and, beyond it, the Shadow, which had now reached the easternmost stretch of the outer wall and engulfed it like a wall of malignant darkness. He realised that he could actually see it growing, inching its way closer, slowly but relentlessly. Nothing could stop it, it seemed, and he imagined a time, not too distant, when what remained of civilization, mainly refugees with perhaps a few straggling soldiers accompanying them, had fled from it half way around the world, only to be met by the other edge of the Shadow which had spread around the world in the other direction. He imagined a tiny circle of light and life being slowly squeezed smaller and smaller, the refugees within crowded shoulder to shoulder, tearing each other to pieces in animal panic as the last shreds of hope were lost and all that remained was the terrible knowledge of their fate. Then the Shadow would close over them, and even the panic would be lost to sheer, mindless insanity...

     “No!” cried the old priest, his eyes blazing with defiance and fury. “It will not come to that! We must fall back here, it’s true, but we will find a way to stop you! I, Darian Resalintas, swear it!” He drew his sword and brandished it at the Shadow, challenging it to do its very worst, putting his enemies on notice that he would continue to fight so long as he had the strength to stand, so long as there was a spark of life left in his body.

     As he held the weapon above his head its blade caught the yellow sun, flashing with fire. Every Shadowsoldier who saw it hesitated in momentary doubt and uncertainty, the exultation of battle and the fiery delight of an approaching victory suddenly eclipsed by a sick feeling of cold fear, made all the worse for being so unexpected. The moment passed before the city’s valiant defenders could take advantage of it, but Resalintas had seen it, and he recognised it for what it was. A sign from Samnos. A promise that He would never abandon those who stayed faithful to Him. New strength filled his old bones. New energy and grim purpose, and singing a prayer to the God of War he leapt down from the roof into the very thick of the battle, his sword swinging and bodies gushing blood as they collapsed at his feet. “Sinners!” he screamed, and hundreds cried in panic and fled before him. “Sinnnerrrs! Come to me and receive absolution!”

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     The line of defenders was staring to break up now, and Gallit knew that any kind of organised resistance was almost at an end. Those who had somehow managed to survive this long faced their end in a disorganised melee. Separated from their colleagues and surrounded, the last thing they knew before dying being faces of maniac hatred and bestiality. He couldn’t stand the thought of that. He wanted to have his brothers in arms beside him when he fell. Loyal friends and colleagues, and he knew they would want the same thing.

     “To me!” he cried therefore. “Reform around me!”

     Those of the surviving defenders who could fought their way towards him, forming a new line that would stand a little longer, and on either side of him he saw other small clumps of defenders doing the same thing. He saw a Shadow officer pointing at him, shouting orders, and he grinned with pride and amusement as the enemy pushed towards him with redoubled fury. Yeah, that’s right! he thought as he was forced to a new effort to defend himself. I’m the bastard you need to get! I’m the biggest, baddest of them all!

     Then he heard new sounds off to the right. An animal cry, bestial and furious, and big. Very big. What in the name of… He thought, and then he saw it. A troll. Twenty feet tall and made even more terrifying by the comically large nose and ears which were suddenly not funny in the least. Too stupid to know who the enemy was, it was prodded towards a neighbouring group of defenders by laughing humans with spears, and it swung at the Ilandians with a wooden club carved into the shape of an insanely grinning head. The Ilandians were crushed and scattered, and those who managed to get away from it were surrounded by the shologs and cut to pieces.

     The humans directing the troll then aimed it towards Gallit’s group. “Heads up, you apes!” he cried, turning to face it. “Troll incoming!”

     “Oh good,” said Cheston, swinging his sword to deflect a sholog scimitar and following through with a sweep that opened its belly. “That should end the boredom.”

     Grey tried to find a witty reply but was too busy trying to stay alive. He had three of the great, shaggy humanoids ahead of him, and as if that wasn’t enough a bunch of goblins had appeared, threading their way between the legs of the taller humanoids to thrust their tiny but wickedly sharp knives into hamstrings and achilles tendons. That gave him an idea, though, and as the Troll lumbered towards them he pulled away from Cheston, opening a gap between them. The shologs pulled back to let it past, and the vast, drooling creature entered the gap deliberately left for it by the defenders. The grinning club head swung down, hitting the ground with a thump Grey could feel under his feet, but he’d dodged it and rolled on the ground to come to rest behind the creature, where he slashed at the muscles and tendons in the back of its leg. Now I’m the goblin, he thought as the creature bellowed in pain and collapsed onto one knee, dropping the club which hit the ground like a felled tree. The defenders fell upon it, and the Shadowsoldiers wailed in dismay as it was dispatched by half a dozen simultaneous sword thrusts.

     The shologs flooded back towards them, determined to avenge the creature’s death. The defenders fell one by one, but Cheston was astonished to find that he wasn’t at all tired. Despite the amount of furious fighting he’d done he felt as fresh as if he’d only entered combat a moment ago. He felt another defender bumping shoulders with him and looked around to see that it was the Sergeant. On his other side Grey was forced back towards him by a press of enemies. The three of them were alone now, everyone else in their little group having fallen, and they fell back until they felt the cold stone of the wall at their backs. No words were said any more. They needed every breath just to fight, and Cheston knew that the end was now just moments away. At least I’m in good company, he thought. This is right. This is how it’s supposed to end.

     By some supreme effort they managed to stand a few moments longer, drenched with blood from head to foot, both their own and that of their enemies. Gallit laughed as another sholog fell in front of him, but then Grey, forced to sidestep to avoid a spear thrust, tripped over the body of a former comrade and fell. He had no chance to stand again as the shologs leapt forward, and a massive axe almost severed his left arm. Cursing while the blood fountained, he drew a dagger with his other hand, but the sholog stood on his arm and gutted him. A moment later Cheston followed him as a spear pierced straight through his breastplate, the solid steel unable to stop the momentum given by furious sholog muscles.

     Last man standing, Gallit had time to think as every weapon was aimed at him. Looks like I’m buying the drinks…