16.

The blows were coming fast and heavy. Each stab I caught on my shield rattled my arm, numbing it further. My spear arm was on fire, the repeated motions of stabbing and sending another of the fishmen to their demise taking their toll. Sweat trickled down my scalp and into my eyes as I moved constantly. It was a dance, to keep the continuous press of foes manageable.

They were not quick foes, slow of foot and lacking imagination with their blows. A headlong rush with a single powerful thrust. In the beginning of the fight I may have had the speed to dodge; now though, as the minutes dragged on, it was impossible. All I could do was deflect the heavy blow with my shield, my spear flashing out to find their vulnerable throats. Over and over.

The first of the mountain refugees, a couple of middle aged men and younger women, had begun to aid us. Their short javelins were a poor matchup to the longer tridents of the fishmen, but they still held their ground. Brave though foolish. One of their number already lay bleeding on the increasingly muddy ground. I couldn’t spare any attention to see if the woman was alive or dead. More and more of the refugees were flowing past us, hopefully taking up a defensive position on the wall to help against the horde.

The kill energy was a fire beneath my skin, every fallen foe increasing the heat. I was lightheaded, breathing in great gasping heaves as I dispatched the last of the newest wave of enemy. The field in front of me was filled with corpses, I had long lost count of their number. I risked glancing over to see Bobby, and three others who had joined her, fighting fiercely. I looked away before I fell to the urge to help them; they had it well in hand and I needed to focus on my own side.

Only the slowest of the mountain survivors were left, we just had to hold for less than a minute. They were staggering past us, red faced from exertion, sweat stained from their sprint. The oldest and fattest of the group, the ones I was going to be forced to rely on. There was a bitter thought that passed by as I stared at their wrinkled faces and saggy jowls. Dan had a bunch of fighters in the prime of their lives, and I was stuck working with the bottom of the barrel.

“Get ready to pull back. Fighting retreat into the fort,” I managed to gasp out. I don’t know if Bobby and her helpers heard me, but my two did. One of them bent down checking the still woman. She shook her head slowly, tears sliding down her face as she rose from the corpse. Another fell to the tutorial.

I looked back in time to see the newest problem. It wasn’t another fishman that rounded the corner. It was a squad of them, and they were different. These were covered throat to feet in the coral armor, only their heads exposed. Their tridents were crafted of a dull bronze metal and they moved together in a formation. They stopped fifteen feet away and slowly slid to face us, eight vs three. Then the ninth came around the corner.

Not a fishman. Humanoid, a green tint to its skin, black orbs for eyes. It lacked hair, its rubbery skin giving a faint luminescence as it approached. No trident in its hands, rather, a long sword of viridian. It had a black breastplate, with shin and forearm armor, its biceps and thighs exposed. I looked down to see webbed feet, though it seemed to walk easier than the fishmen did. In its other hand was a conch shell, likely the mournful horn we had heard earlier. I took it all in with a glance, quickly calculating our chances.

We were fucked.

“Bobby! I need you! Everyone back to the gates,” I screamed, already backing up. If the last few people didn't make it, well, it sucked to be them. I wasn’t going to be cut apart by what was looking like an advanced enemy. If the fishmen were mobs, plentiful enemies meant to wear down a fighting force, then these guys were the knockout blow. Elites meant to kill those who hadn’t been ready or caught outside of the gates. My mind flashed to Luke and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was also being caught outside of the walls tonight by these elites.

“We can’t leave them,” a woman in her thirties whispered in horror. She had joined me and had been the one to confirm the death of the younger woman. She was backing up and away from the new foes even as she said we couldn’t leave. I decided to ignore her, backing up slowly with my shield up, eyes never leaving them as they started to move forward. They built up speed, cutting the distance in moments. The woman who had protested us leaving turned and ran back to the gates without looking. If I wasn’t sure I’d die if I did the same, I would have fled with her.

“BOBBY!”

“Here.” Bobby came flying by; her hair streaming behind her, hammer already falling in a long arc targeting the end of the line. The fishman dodged, letting the hammer dig a furrow in the earth . I had never seen one of them dodge before. I was moving before I knew it, leaping to place myself between the two as Bobby stumbled. I barely made it, the trident lashing out in a blur, my shield splintering as the trident cut through it. Two of the tines were above my arm, one was pushing through it. The pain hit moments later, a scream of rage and pain ripping free from me.

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I pulled my shield free, blood flowing as the tine tore its way through my arm. The adrenaline raging through me made me ignore the pain. My spear was already splitting the air, targeting the fishman’s soft skull. The distance was too short for it to dodge, the spearhead punched through a bulging eye with a squelch. The fishman straightened, muscles seizing before its knees folded and it collapsed to the ground. I pulled my spear free and looked up to see disaster.

Our four helpers who had remained were being slaughtered. Their short javelins and hand axes were no match for the armored fish. Two were already laying silent on the ground while the last two backpedaled toward the gate as fast as possible, blood staining their clothes. Bobby had engaged the next of the fishman elites, her hammer slamming into it in short controlled blows. Her earlier error was already corrected, she fought with a controlled fury, mauling the fishman into a paste. It still left seven on two as the leader spun its sword around in a burst of speed, beheading both of the retreating refugees.

Now the fishmen were between us and the gate. Situation reversed. Bobby backed up, standing side by side with me as two of the elites waited by the gates and the other five rushed into the fort. That was haphazardly defended. It would be a slaughter if those elites fell on the defenders while they were busy manning the scorpions.

“I’ll make a space, finish them.” Not my best plan, but it was all I had. I lurched forward, and threw my spear with all my might. I hadn’t practiced this, the spear wasn’t balanced for throwing. We were still only twelve feet apart. The strength behind the throw punched straight through the one on the right’s chest armor. It died with a warbling, watery groan. I was slamming aside its partner's blow, deflecting it rather than taking it head on again. More wood was sheared off, a strap breaking on my arm as my shoulder screamed in protest.

I spun into it, lowering my shoulder to hit the fishman in the chest. It’s armor was like coral, razor sharp as it sheared through my jumpsuit even as we crashed into the gate. I was rolling away instantly, only distantly aware of the new wounds. Bobby’s hammer was already splattering the fishman, its head explosively dissolving under the blow. My face got covered in…stuff. Things I wasn’t going to think about.

I staggered up, my left arm hanging limp and my right shredded and bleeding freely. I undid the straps to the shield, letting the battered wood fall to the ground with a dull thud. I pulled the hand axe free. A rage was burning in me, the pain fading as I stalked forward. Every other thought was gone, only the heat of the kills remained burning me from within. I surveyed the courtyard looking for my foes.

Another of the elites lay still on the ground, a crossbow bolt sticking out from its eye. The remaining six were locked in a fight at the first gate leading to the ramp. They had managed to close it before the fishmen had stormed through the fort. Miguel was leading the fight, dueling the leader in the center of the courtyard while a clump of mountain refugees tried to keep the elites back.

Miguel was using Dash constantly to stay ahead of the deadly blade. Using the entirety of the courtyard for their duel, they raced back and forth, kicking up plumes of snow. The clang of metal on metal was a continuous rattle as sparks showered around them every time Miguel's short sword struck the longblade. Only by using his skill was Miguel able to stay ahead of the leader, several scratches on the leaders armor showing where Miguel's blade had tried to end him.

I lumbered forward, a stumbling run that with every step threatened my precarious balance. My left arm was useless, my right holding only a small axe. I was still going to kill this armored commander. It was a certainty in my heart. As soon as I saw him inside my fort. Fighting my people. He was fated to fall to me.

The snow was powdery, muffling my steps. My ragged breathing held quiet for a moment, lost in the cacophony of battle. Miguel kept the commander from turning around, staying just in front of him. Leaving the commander’s back to me. The axe rose and fell in a blur, wind whistling as steel split air.

The commander swerved, my axe embedding itself into its right shoulder instead of it head. My momentum caused us to tangle, our limbs intertwining as we went spilling to the ground together. The commander was slippery as an eel, sliding out from under me right before we landed. It was nearly as tall as me, with shoulders just as broad and a definite heft to its body. It writhed and rolled, bounding to its feet after only a moment. I had no chance to grab it, hold their limbs and immobilize it.

Miguel gave it no time to breathe, his short sword slashing for its throat even as it staggered up. Its sword twitched and redirected Miguel’s strike, sparks shooting forth like falling stars as Miguel’s sword carved a furrow across its breastplate. It kept falling back, trying to create space to wield its longsword. Miguel wasn’t giving it room, keeping up a flurry of blows as they spun in circles.

It was a struggle to get to my feet, to start moving toward them again. The commander’s right arm was moving slower than before, my blow wounding it even through its armor. Its eyes were locked on us as it skipped backward, toward the gate. Toward Bobby who was waiting, hammer in hand. It didn’t see the blow coming, it couldn’t have. It still moved, twisting violently to the side letting the hammer scrape its left arm as the fatal blow slammed into the ground.

We formed a triangle around it, all of us slowing down. Bobby and I both sported wounds and Miguel was swaying on his feet as the skill blowback seemed to be hitting. The commander had wounds to both arms and was penned in, cut off from its men. The rage was almost alive in me, an urge to crush this thing beneath my boots. To savage it, to break it, to feel flesh pulp, to feel bone break underneath my fist. We started to move toward it slowly, shrinking the distance.

It turned to face me, moving in a burst of speed. A simple lunge, moving so fast I could barely comprehend what was happening. I looked down, a sword wedged in my gut. I tore my eyes from that blue sword being painted red, and locked eyes with it. The black orbs reflected the light from the fires in the courtyard. There was no emotion there, no sense of triumph, just the reflection of swaying flames. I grabbed the hilt of the sword. Pain was consuming me. Icy pain that made my limbs tremble and weaken. Something hot was trickling over my lips, salty and iron liquid filled my mouth. Blood. My blood.

I spat the blood into its eyes, even as it tried to tug its sword free. My grip was wet and slippery, yet I squeezed as hard as possible. My right arm raised up, my small axe in the air above my head. Blinking my blood from its eyes, it looked up just in time for me to watch the reflection of silver steel cutting down. To see those black orb grow dull as its blue blood rolled free and down to mix with my own crimson blood in the dirt.

The rage faded. I faded away.