Gwendolyn
The Gloam was dissipating in patches, shrinking back and congealing as the fire leapt with hungry abandon from orchard to field, candling in trees and swaying with stalks of wheat. Black smoke rose into the air and orange light replaced grey mist as the acres below burned.
Six years of work. Six years of her sweat, labour, and even a little bit of her blood had tended and nurtured that soil. She had seeded the now wheat that now blazed, planted the trees that withered and crumbled as the fire devoured them.
"See the latch beside the hammer?"
Gwendolyn floundered with the Salamander in her hands, still finding even holding it uncomfortable. She twisted her hand back until she found a lever, as long as her hand, set on the side of her rifle.
"This?" she asked.
"Good. With your right hand, pull the latch until it clicks," the corporal said. Looking at him, it was astonishing how relaxed he looked, with his wrist resting on the grip of his sword. His feet were set apart wide enough to pivot on either foot, his breathing was slow and deep, his hands unnaturally still.
Seeing it helped her focus. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled until it clicked.
"Put your hand back on the trigger and let the barrel fall," Valen ordered. Gwendolyn shifted her right hand, and let go of the barrel with her left. The barrel fell open and swung lazily just in front of her hand.
"Now with your left hand, pull the spent shell out," Valen said.
Gwendolyn pinched the end of the Salamander shell still stuck in the barrel, and gently pulled it out.
"Drop it off to the side and take this," Valen said, extending the Salamander shell in his hand.
Gwendolyn reached out and took it from him. The shell glowed a soft orange, like firelight, and was warm to the touch. She nearly dropped it, surprised by the heat, and her hand was shaking as she tried to put the shot into the barrel.
"Once the shell is in, rub your thumb over the back end, like you were brushing dust off it," Valen said. Gwendolyn frowned, but she complied.
"We do this in case the shell's deformed. If it doesn't sit flush with the barrel, toss it out. A deformed shell could keep the gun from sealing properly, and you'd be lucky if the blowback only melted your eye. Is that a good fit?" Valen asked.
"Yes,"
"Yes sir," Valen corrected her. "You're a soldier now. Remember to act like it."
"Even now?" Gwendolyn asked, as she pulled on the barrel and closed the Salamander.
"Especially now," Valen whispered, as he stared out into the night. "Next step, point the Salamander into the air again, at an angle towards those Gloamtaken at the stairs. Once you do, go ahead and pull that trigger again."
Gwendolyn cringed and squinted, her body quietly recoiling from the memory of the last time she pulled the trigger. The bright blue flash was ferociously bright, the noise thunderous, and her hands still smelt of seared metal. But with one last glance at Valen, she exhaled slowly to steady herself, pointed the Salamander towards the field, and pulled the trigger.
Fury in flickering blue howled from the end of her barrel, and the flash didn't spare her eyes. She turned away and blinked as her vision returned, surprised to see Valen was standing at the edge of the wall, watching the Gloamtaken.
"They stopped when you fired," Valen said, pointing down at the mob. "They've noticed us, which is good. We can't make it back to the top of the stairwell in time, so any Gloamtaken we draw our way is good. If we draw just a few, we'll cut them down and head after the others. If we draw a lot of them, then we did it right and hopefully the kids will make it."
"You're planning to fight all of them?" Gwendolyn asked. Voicing the question put a nervous shake in her hands, which made the Salamander rattle.
"Listen," Valen said, and he put his hand over hers, setting the tremor. "Those kids have to make it. My people will protect them, but there's only so much three soldiers can do. All they have to improve their odds are the two of us. So we do what we can for them."
Valen let go of her hand, and took a pouch off his belt. "If you can't make a stand here, run for the next Causeway. It's about twelve miles along the wall. I can't guarantee the soldiers at the next wall won't have evacuated by the time you make it. But if you want to stay, reload that gun in your hands and let's try another shot."
Gwendolyn's hands decided for her. Even as she was thinking of how quickly she could make the ten miles to the next causeway, her right hand had pulled the latch up, and was shifting back to the trigger.
"Good answer," Valen said. He held out the pouch, offering it to her. "Empty the shots into your pockets, you have the only Salamander right now. Then put one into the rifle and get it ready to fire."
Gwendoly took the thick pouch and dumped it into her coat pocket. She spent a moment shifting some of them to the other side of her coat to even out the weight, before she handed the pouch back.
"Be careful while you do that," Valen warned her. "The shells can explode if you break the casing."
Gwendolyn nodded, took one shell out of her pocket, and loaded it. "Next, sir?"
"Count five battlement stones from the watchtower. Aim your weapon for it, fire at will," Valen said.
Gwen aimed down the weapon's sights for the first time in her life, only faintly understanding the basic idea. After a moment, she let out a slow breath and pulled the trigger.
The roar and the flash were so violent she couldn't see her shot it, but as the puff of smoke cleared she could see a fist-sized hole bored into the stone so deeply that no light hit the end.
"Good," Valen said. "Now reload."
She began again, pulling the latch and opening the barrel. The spent casing seared her fingers as she picked it out of the gun and tossed it aside, but she didn't stop as she replaced it with another shot and closed the latch.
"Aim at the same spot," Valen said, "And fire."
She tried, but the next shot impacted about a hand's breadth to the left.
"Reload, and fire again," Valen ordered, slightly louder than before.
Latch, open, removing casing, place shell, check the fit, close. Gwendolyn let each instruction roar in her thoughts, emphasizing each one until the weapon was ready to fire again. She then pointed the rifle at the same target, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
She didn't flinch as the Salamander in her hand howled. There was another hole bored into the stone, between the others. She was smiling as the smoke cleared, and she looked to Valen for any sign of approval.
"Reload," Valen said. She looked up to see his back was turned, watching the Gloamtaken as the took the top of the stairwell, and began to mass on the Causeway.
"Spit and ash, they're up. What do we do now?"
"Reload!" Valen barked.
Startled, Gwendolyn opened the Salamander and had her fingers on the spent shell before her thoughts caught up with her again. She loaded the rifle, and glanced back up at the causeway just as she closed her weapon.
"Aim and fire," Valen said forcefully. Gwendolyn focused on her target, aimed, and fired again.
"Reload," Valen said, a heartbeat after the light of her last shot faded.
"Aim and fire," Valen said, as she closed the rifle.
"Reload," was all Gwendolyn heard, as much imagining the order as hearing it. Her hands obeyed, even as the panic of knowing those creatures were coming began to rise up in her thoughts and seize her in panic.
"Fire!" Valen shouted, his voice cutting through her fear. She pulled the trigger, and heard him tell her to reload before he actually spoke the order.
She pulled the trigger again, reloaded, fired again, and reloaded. Even as the terror ate at her thoughts and smothered everything else in her head, she kept repeating the motions.
Load.
Aim.
Fire.
Reload.
"Hold!" Valen bellowed, and his voice derailed the tenuous grip Gwendolyn had on her courage. She screamed once, a short and raspy cry, and nearly dropped her Salamander.
When she looked at Valen, she saw the corporal was grinning, lazily leaning against the battlements with his arms crossed. "Good work, soldier."
"Good work? What the burning hell was that?"
"That was you sticking to your job while you panicked," Valen said, his voice slow, steady, and soothing. "It means I know you won't freeze up when we go fight them in a minute."
"Fight them? You think we can take those odds?" Gwendolyn asked.
"We'll be fine," Valen replied, and her heart lurched when she heard him say it. It felt like a promise, an assurance, and a simple truth. "Now, your job is to stay about twelve feet behind me. I'll hit them first with my sword. Your job is to keep them from getting around me. If they get around my side behind my sword, shoot it in the chest. But if they get right behind me, use this."
Valen drew the knife from his belt, and handed it to her hilt first. "Salamander shot can penetrate up to a foot of stone, or three feet of flesh. So if one gets directly behind me, do not shoot it. Stab it in the chest."
"Right, don't shoot the crazy corporal who thinks we can cut our way through a hundred Gloamtaken," Gwendolyn said as she took the knife. She looked back at the advancing mob, and asked again, "Do you really think we can make it through?"
Valen was looking over at the oncoming mass of creatures, and shook his head. "I only count forty-one. I do like the way you embellish, though. When we tell the story to those kids we should use your number."
"Ash-stained prick."
"Let's go, soldier," Valen ordered, and Gwendolyn followed.
Somehow, her terror didn't keep her from following the corporal along the wall. It didn't hold her in place as they reached the causeway. And it didn't knock her to her knees when she saw the mob of corpses block the path ahead. To her own surprise, when Valen drew his sword and kept walking towards them, she fell in step behind him and grinned.
"Remember," Valen said, his pace relaxed and unhurried. Like he was taking a stroll. "An open wound in the lungs."
Then the first members of that dead mob charged, and Valen turned to meet them. He dashed forward and leapt in the air, his sword nothing but a flash of firelight as it cut through the air. The tip bit into the creature's chest, and he twisted with his arm bent, ramming his other shoulder into the creature and shoving it back into the mob.
Valen's shove pushed him back, just out of the next one's reach. Firelight flickered again as his sword came down, under the arm, and sliced the creature in the side.
Gwendolyn had expected the corporal to get a few of them before the brought him down. The First wasn't a surprise. The second was expected. Even the third, as Valen sidestepped one and it collapsed at his feet, wasn't beyond her expectations.
The next four were a different story. His sword was a blur, swift as light reflecting off a train window, and the Gloamtaken in front of him fell like wheat to a scythe. A lunge Gwendolyn's eyes couldn't follow, a slash folded in with a quick step to one side, a sweep to cut one that somehow ended as a thrust in another. Valen's sword was as astonishing, in its own way, as the Golem still waiting behind the hole in the wall.
She gave up counting as somehow, impossibly, the entire mob was pushed back. Gwendolyn turned to her right just as one of the creatures pushed itself to the side, and tried to get around the reach of Valen's reach. She raised her Salamander, gave herself just a moment to aim, and fired before she could overthink it.
"Reload," Valen said, his voice magnificently and absurdly calm as he cut down another creature.
Gwendolyn's hands went to work, and she snapped the new shot into place before the spent casing struck the ground. She turned to the other side, fired at one, and was surprised to see two go down.
She reloaded as she stepped backward, matching Valen's slow retreat as the mob surged forward again. Her concern rose for a moment, but only long enough to see the creatures stumble as they stepped on and tripped over their own fallen. And each stumble was a mistake Valen's sword made them pay for.
She shot another. And another. Her fingertips carried the acidic smell of burnt flesh and singed nail. The barrel was so hot she had to wrap her hand inside her sleeve to aim the salamander. Every breath tasted like metal. Her sight was spattered with the scars from the flash of the shots.
Two of the creatures flanked Valen, one from each side. Not yet finished reloading, the creature dashed at her and grabbed at the rifle, snapping it shut with a disturbing crackle that she hadn't heard before. With another creature coming at her from behind, she pressed the gun into the Gloamtaken's chest, twisted it to the side and managed to point the barrel at the other one. She stepped back, and held the gun as far away from her as she could before she pulled the trigger.
There were two flashes of light, and the Gloamtaken holding her salamander collapsed to the ground. The other one staggered, a hole in its stomach, but it only paused for a moment until it regained its footing and charged again.
Gwendolyn drew her knife and launched herself at it, grappling with the creature and stabbing it again and again until she fell on top of it. She jammed the blade into its chest, feeling muscles give and ribs crack beneath her blows as she struck over and over.
A tap on her shoulder startled her, and she whirled about, knife landing forward. A hand shot out and caught her wrist, pulling her arm to the side and holding it here. She looked up to see Valen, a smile on his face, holding his free hand out. "Please don't stab me."
"Spit," Gwendolyn panted, falling to her knees and not caring that she landed on one of the corpses. "Spit and ash. Sorry sir."
"Take a moment to catch your breath," Valen said, as he stepped away to inspect something behind her.
Gwendolyn headed in air until her breathing slow, and the trembling in her hands stopped. "We aren't dead," she said. "We did it."
"We did. Where's my gun?" Valen asked.
"Oh. Under the tall one, to your left," Gwendolyn managed to say, as she pushed herself to her feet.
"Odd place for a rifle," Valen mused, as he rolled the corpse over and pried the salamander loose. He didn't even pick it up fully before he frowned, and tossed it back to the ground.
"What's wrong?" Gwendolyn asked.
"The springs are fused to the hammer, and the latch has welded over the deformed barrel. It's now just a metal stick."
"Sorry sir."
"It saved your life, didn't it?"
"It did."
"Then I'll defer your disciplinary action until after the invasion. You can dig latrines with Mildred. Let's get going. At a jog, if you're up for it."
"I dislike you, sir," Gwendolyn said.
"Would it be mad of me to ask you out to the theatre? After all this passes?"
Gwendolyn considered for a moment. "No, not at all. But isn't there something in the uniform code about fraternizing with the people under your command?
"Then I might have to dig ditches with you and Mildred. I've done worse for less."
Gwendolyn couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she ran after the corporal.