An enormous cacophony of pounding footsteps and throaty shouts filled the street as Surelin ran behind the charging troops. Through the confused mass of moving bodies she spotted Alen’s massive form on the far side of the river, bursting out of the southern house alongside his troops. The tinny crunch of clashing metal rang out again and again from the direction of the bridge, but with such a mass of people in the way she couldn’t catch so much as a glimpse of what was going on.
“Drive them onto the bridge!!!” Len bellowed from beside her.
A mingled roar filled the air while the press of sword-armed bodies suddenly slowed to a trot. Whatever resistance the mercenaries were putting up at the bridge seemed to at least be successful enough to slow the assault down.
Being unable to see what was happening caused an intense wave of anxiety within Surelin, and she looked about at the soldiers around her. All were intensely focused on the fight occurring ahead of them, some shouting encouragement to their friends up at the front, others simply shouting. She soon began to experience a new, unfamiliar feeling, one that was strange but entirely welcome. It was as if she and the soldiers had been joined together by invisible bonds, wonderful in their intensity and empowering in their fierceness.
They would do whatever I told them to do in this moment.
Essaerae suddenly appeared from the mass of bodies, pushing past the troops towards Surelin. She was panting heavily once she finally entered speaking distance.
“We’re winning,” she said breathlessly. “But we’ve lost some people. There’s about eight of them cornered on the bridge. We’re having difficulty with their pikes.”
Surelin was stunned. We’ve already lost people?
“Who did we lose?” Celaena asked.
“I can’t give you names yet, but it looks like the twins lost people, too.”
“Tell the mercenaries to surrender,” Surelin said abruptly. “I’ll personally guarantee their safety.”
Essaerae gave her a troubled look. “...I’ll try.”
She moved off, pushing past the troops back towards the bridge.
“It’s very troubling that they’re holding out,” said Len. “We outnumber them three to one, and they must know they can’t escape….they’re strangely determined for mercenaries.”
“What do you mean?” Surelin asked, alarmed.
“...Ah, nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m most likely overthinking it.”
The worry which remained on Len’s face left Surelin feeling ill at ease. Before she could press him, calls for surrender began to ring out over the din.
“Throw down your arms!!!” “Surrender!!!” “Give up, you shits!!!”
The response from the mercenaries was instant and not terribly surprising.
“Come get ‘em!!!” “Fuck off, slaves!!!” “Eat shit!!!”
“Maybe we won’t be taking any prisoners after all,” Celaena mused.
“We can’t remain here for much longer,” said Len. “Celaena, you must go forward and te—”
He halted mid word, turning about to face a sudden noisy clamor echoing from behind. Surelin turned as well, and saw at least a dozen mercenaries sprinting up the street towards them, closing fast. Even more were spilling out of an alleyway from further down the street, only thirty or fourty feet away.
“Ambush!!!” Celaena screamed.
The closest soldiers to Celaena turned about to face the new threat, just in time to intercept the charge. The mercenaries didn’t bother with slowing down to swing their weapons, they simply crashed into the line of mostly unprepared soldiers at full speed, knocking many of them backwards with the sheer momentum of their charge.
Len placed himself in front of Surelin just in time to intercept a charging mercenary, and was thrown off balance by the collision. He was knocked backwards into her, and they both fell to the ground. The back of Surelin’s head collided hard with the cobblestone, and a terrifying flash of black-red shot across her vision. Her breath left her body, and a tremendous, pulsating pain began to radiate from her right elbow.
Before she could attempt to get out from underneath Len, one of the mercenaries fell on top of them, a younger man with black hair and a gaunt face, and his fall smashed Surelin against the cobblestone once again, pinning her legs beneath their combined weight. She had no breath left to scream as Len tried to bring his sword to bear. The mercenary grabbed Len’s hand and they began to struggle for the sword, both grunting with effort to gain control of the weapon.
As she watched them wrestle, Surelin realized her own sword was still clutched in her left hand. Before she could contemplate using it, the mercenary began to win the struggle, pushing the blade against Len’s failing resistance down towards his neck.
She had no time to think. Len was going to die if she didn’t do something immediately. She grasped the handle of her sword tightly, and lifted it off the ground as swiftly as she could, sending the point flying towards the mercenary’s neck. It penetrated the chainmail there and sank deep, causing an immediate spurt of warm blood to splash across Surelin’s face.
The mercenary released the sword and rolled off of Len, screaming in agony and clutching at his wound. Len immediately leapt to his feet and reached down to pull Surelin back to hers.
People were fighting in all directions around them. A tremendous din of shouting and clashing swords filled Surelin’s ears, and the air smelled sharply of sweat and blood. The whole world seemed to have shrunk down until it was only a street, filled to the brim with war and blood and death. The feeling of connection she’d had with the soldiers moments earlier was completely gone, replaced by a sense of terrible aloneness. At that moment everyone around her was fighting for their own lives, totally absorbed by the dire necessities involved with trying to kill the other person before they themselves were killed. It was perfect, terrifying chaos, and Surelin felt tiny in comparison to such a dreadful universe of battle.
Before she could even attempt to gain some measure of control over the situation, something that sounded like a stack of tin dinner plates being violently jostled about drew her attention. Two mercenaries were sprinting towards her from the direction of the bridge, avoiding other fighters as they ran. The strange noise came from the hussar’s plate armor jostling as he ran—the same one Surelin had seen standing on the bridge earlier. He’d already spotted Surelin and was heading straight towards her, sword in hand as he ran.
Once again, Len stepped in front of Surelin, and managed to gain the attention of the hussar’s companion by lunging at him. The hussar completely ignored Len, however, sidestepping them both to swing his sword at Surelin, roaring at the top of his lungs.
Surelin reacted on instinct, parrying his blade just in time, but the hussar was undeterred. He swiftly brought his sword up into the Roof guard, and in response Surelin adopted the Fool’s guard. He lunged while launching a downwards attack, obviously trying to increase his momentum in order to prevent her from parrying his strike. Surelin leapt backwards to avoid his blade, colliding with a mercenary who’d been fighting just behind her. The man turned about to take a swing at her, which she barely managed to deflect.
The hussar pressed her, and she leapt out of the way once again, trying to get away from both of her assailants. It was then that Belyn appeared, charging into the mercenary Surelin had just collided with and knocking him to the ground. She was only vaguely aware of this development as the hussar once again occupied all her attention.
He swung at her from the Roof guard again and again, trying to leverage his greater height to his advantage by standing almost outside of Surelin’s range. She switched to the Window guard and held her ground, parrying all of his blows, now refusing to give up a single inch of space while matching blow for blow. His momentum was soon spent, and after parrying another swing Surelin launched into the attack, following up her parry with a swift slash directed at his chest.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The tip of her blade scratched fruitlessly against his armor, finding no purchase, but even though the strike was unsuccessful Surelin had clearly gained the advantage. She began to press the hussar from the Window guard, grunting with effort with every swing. Sweat began to sting at her eyes, and her hand began to turn numb from the blows absorbed through her sword, but she stubbornly refused to give up the initiative. The hussar was enraged at how the fight had turned against him, and began to scream with anger after each deflection and parry.
It was then that Celaena appeared, launching herself in a flying tackle at the hussar. She’d clearly been trying to send him to the ground, but despite stumbling he somehow managed to remain on his feet. Celaena clung to him, locking his sword arm into place and making it impossible for him to level a swing at her. Surelin looked on helplessly, unable to attack the hussar with Celaena attached to him, but it quickly didn’t matter. A dagger appeared in Celaena’s hand, and she drove it up into the hussar’s exposed, armorless armpit, shouting with effort.
The hussar screamed with rage and agony as she stabbed him again and again, and after only a few moments he fell, dropping his sword. Celaena pursued him to the ground, stabbing him several more times in the opposite armpit until he finally went still. Once it was done she regained her feet and stared at Surelin, still holding the bloodied dagger in her hand, panting heavily.
Before Surelin could even react to this, the mercenaries began to break and run. Only a handful of the two dozen or so that’d been in the initial charge remained. They fled back towards the alleyway they’d come from, and Len’s voice soon rang out over the din, sharp and triumphant.
“Let them flee!!! Let them flee!!! Victory is ours!!!”
A tremendous cheer rent the air, and the troops who were still on their feet lifted their swords in a salute to the heavens. Beneath the cheer, wounded from both sides also cried out, begging for help or for mercy. Bodies and crawling wounded littered the street, their blood mixing together and forming red pools on the cobble all around them.
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Celaena was so insistent on treating Surelin’s wounds that she eventually had no choice but to acquiesce. She searched for a spot on the ground near the bridge that wasn’t stained with blood—a very difficult task—and sat down cross-legged after eventually finding one, an exhausted sigh exploding from her lips. She was bone tired, and sore in virtually every part of her body. Celaena knelt down behind her, and began to dab at the wound on the back of her head with a kerchief.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “But Silas needs to take a look at it once we get back.”
“Okay. To be honest my right elbow hurts much more than my head.”
“Is it broken, do you think?”
Surelin lifted it, bending it too and fro. There was pain, but it wasn’t unbearable.
“...I don’t think so. Maybe.” She paused. “Thank you for saving me, Celaena.”
“You didn’t need much saving, ma’am. He was losing.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They both fell silent. Surelin looked about at the carnage on the street before her while Celaena continued to dab at her wound. The act of sitting finally allowed Surelin a fragile sense of calm.
I killed someone, she realized. But I had to. He was going to kill Len. I had no choice in that position.
Cries of pain and for help still filled the air, and Surelin was alarmed at how quickly she'd almost become used to it. Some of the troops who’d been lucky enough to not become one of the wounded were tending as best they could to the ones who had, ignoring the same pleas from the wounded enemy. More than a few troops were looting the dead mercenaries, hunching down over their prone corpses to rifle through their pockets.
That aloneness during the battle was the absolute worst thing I’ve ever experienced, she thought. How many times did Gideon have to go through something like that?
His standoffishness had always been intensely confusing and frustrating for her. She’d never been sure if she’d done something in order to provoke that kind of response from him, but now she felt like she understood where it’d really come from.
I can see how any person could withdraw from the world after experiencing something like that.
Len and Zebina then appeared on the bridge in the corner of Surelin’s eye, walking across from the far side in silence. She watched them approach, and once they were in range Zebina knelt down to take a look at her wound.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Len asked worriedly.
“I’ll be okay. Do you have a report on casualties?”
“Seven dead, triple that wounded,” Zebina replied. “Alen is among the dead. About five of the wounded will never fight again.”
A terrible sinking feeling struck Surelin, and she squeezed her eyes shut to prevent tears from leaking out.
“How did this happen?” she asked.
“They must’ve known the attack was coming,” said Len. “There is clearly an information leak somewhere.”
Celaena scoffed. “If they knew we were coming then why didn’t they bring more forces?”
“They sent about twenty-five from the west and twenty-five from the east,” Zebina replied. “That means they knew we’d be attacking from both sides.”
“We brought seventy-five to overwhelm the fifteen mercs we thought were here,” Celaena continued angrily. “If they knew about the attack then why didn’t they send enough mercs to ensure victory?”
“Perhaps their information was imperfect,” Len offered.
“Maybe,” Zebina said. "Or maybe they thought we'd give up immediately."
Surelin opened her eyes and rose to her feet, suppressing another sigh.
“I want our dead and wounded to be evacuated immediately. Did we take any prisoners?”
Len nodded. “We can take our pick from the wounded they left behind.”
“Then take your pick, marshal. It’s time for us to leave.”
“See to it, Zebina,” Len said.
Zebina nodded, and moved off to start issuing orders. Len took a step closer to Surelin and spoke underneath his breath.
“There’s an issue across the bridge you might be able to help us resolve, ma’am.”
Surelin gave him a perplexed look. “What issue?”
“It’s Maia. She’s…well. I think it’d be best for you to see for yourself.”
She looked between Len and Celaena, and after a moment’s hesitation set off for the bridge, crossing it quickly.
It was instantly clear what Len had been talking about once she reached the far side. All across the street lay bloodied bodies, mirroring the scene on the east side of the bridge. Maia sat on the ground by a particularly large corpse, staring at it motionlessly with her knees drawn up to her chest. Surelin approached her cautiously, dreading to see what she already knew to be true.
Alen’s corpse had several bloody stab wounds across the chest, including a prominent one in his heart. His eyes and mouth were closed, and the expression on his face was surprisingly peaceful.
Len’s quiet voice appeared from behind Surelin, startling her.
“They said that during the ambush he fought like a demon, disregarding his own safety to save his soldiers. He was cornered and struck down.”
Surelin stared at Alen’s corpse, her eyes tracing the bloody wounds in his chest.
This is all my fault.
She felt tears coming on, but then fiercely shook her head, suddenly and angrily rejecting her own feelings.
No! I absolutely will not cry! Not anymore, and never again! That’s not what Maia or Alen or anyone else needs from me!
After taking a moment to calm herself, Surelin knelt down beside Maia.
“He fought well. His troops are alive because of him.”
Maia didn’t react. Surelin reached out to take Alen’s hand in her own. His skin was still fairly warm.
“He was a good man. Kali will definitely take him into her heart.”
At that, Maia turned her head to look at Surelin. After a few moments of eye contact she looked back to Alen’s corpse, and sat up to move his head aside. She extracted a small knife from her pocket and carefully cut off his hair knot.
“You never knew freedom,” she whispered. “But when She delivers us I’ll bury this, so that you can share in it.”
She pulled a kerchief from her pocket and carefully wrapped Alen’s hair inside it, folding it several times. After placing it into her pocket she stood up, facing Len.
“Where am I needed?”
“We’re getting ready to leave,” he said. “Please help Zebina organize the stretchers for our wounded.”
Maia nodded once and started for the bridge. Surelin watched her cross it, feeling an intense sense of guilt.
“That was what she needed to hear, ma’am,” Len said. “Thank you.”
Surelin looked up at him, giving the barest of nods, then looked back to Alen’s corpse.
I’m sorry, she thought. But I can’t let this get in my way. If the only road to freedom is one lined with corpses, then so be it.
“I’ll try my best so that Maia can taste freedom,” she said, whispering. “You have my word.”
With that, Surelin stood back up and crossed back to the east side of the bridge, following after Maia. Many of the troops were already at work placing the wounded on stretchers. A few more had gathered up some of the wounded mercenaries and were wrapping blindfolds across their eyes.
She looked around at the scene for only a moment before stepping in to help carry one of the wounded on a stretcher. It was very heavy, but she didn’t mind.