The bizarre event unfolded before the audience. The angelic beings of golden light, unheeded by the attention they received advanced towards the feral rage-gripped Celerim. Their ethereal blades passed without any resistance through the physical form of the high-elf. The Justiciar collapsed leaving no trace of his former vigour.

Zelaphiel slowly rose back on his feet and with a determinate stride neared the unconscious Justiciar. He clasped the hilt of his longsword with a strong grip and lifted. The sharp blade flickered twice. Zelaphiel sternly raised his longsword above his head. A clear attempt to strike the inert senseless form of Celerim.

The Paladin Champion stopped himself midway as forms stirred inside the portals and the first emerged.

The beast stepped out of the portal. Sturdy paws of a size that dwarfed the mount of Ottomar and covered in dark thick fur, strode in. Powerful thews, undisguised by the thick matted fur, twitched as the beast moved. The maw of a hound, except wide enough to split the skull of an adult orc, drooled with foul translucent spittle. It considered its strange surrounding for a moment before, its eyes narrowed on the Paladin Champion. An alien intelligence roamed behind those yellow eyes and guided its action. Soon, the second hellhound stepped in from the portal.

As if governed by a single consciousness, the reflections of the angelic warriors proceeded towards the hellhounds in unison.

“Paladins, to me,” screamed Zelaphiel, “Stay true to your oath.”

The third creature rushed through. Featherless Corvidae form supported on scaled bipedal legs that ended in three jagged claws and a beaked face with bright crimson ophidian eyes, the creature was an amalgam of reptilian and avian features. While the underbelly and lower neck were covered in hard ebony scales, bright vibrant plumes of golden, purple and lapis, grew scattered on its upper body. Instead of wings, small limbs with leathery appendages attached it to the rest of its body. Were it not for the dagger-like sharp claws on its frontal limbs and cold reptilian eyes, every other part of the creature betrayed its malice. Its reptilian tail cracked on the ground to announce its arrival.

“Bloodtracker,” shouted Zelaphiel, followed with, “Polearms, now.”

*****

After a futile sweep of my surroundings for a suitable weapon, I turned towards Savvas, “Please tell me that you still carry your twin girls, with you?”

An intense dark mood that I had not witnessed for decades appeared on Savvas’s face. The drow nervously fidgeted his precious pistols on his hips.

“Now might be a good time to banish them?” I requested the silent Syrune.

The mage’s blank expression revealed more than their silence.

“I take it that you would require more time?” My voice trembled.

Long black hair fell in waves as the mage shook their head.

“Different,” the scholar uttered with hesitation, “I could not find the anchor.”

“Understood, you need more time then,” I spoke loudly to no one in particular, “Grab Colby. We get to a higher grounds, Savvas you with me.”

Our immediate aim after exiting the skybox was the dais. Elevated higher than the rest, it was the obvious choice of location to survey from. Baron Beoric struggled futilely against an enraged Lady Stormaire. He barked orders at the befuddled Captain Hilam whose countenance bore more signs of stupefaction.

Her eyes fell on me and held her attention for a narrow fleeting moment.

“Rylonvirah, save Celerim,” she screamed, “You have fought summoned Cornugon and Erinyes outside Sarenthill. You should know how to fight them.”

Baron Beoric cast a glance on me and then on Captain Hilam. Something unspoken went between him and his Captain.

“Captain Hilam, provide any support that Commander Rylonvirah needs,” said the Baron, “I declare an emergency.”

“Send two riders two Westerleygates and Sarenthill. Request reinforcement.” Another portal opened as if in response to my orders.

“Do not engage. Let the paladins do it,” I scanned the surroundings for more portals, “Order your men to escort the townspeople.”

Encased in an armour of unknown material, the distinct form of an Erinyes Matriarch soared from one of the portals. The face of a young girl deformed by avian features, feathers supplanting her hairline and temples, clawed limbs immured with light gauntlets along with riveted lames and a jagged crude trident held in her clawed arms, more a sign of power than practicality, led the rest of lesser brood. Soon, the rest of the Erinyes followed.

Now they have aerial support. Things are never easy. I snarled.

“Change of orders,” I barked to Captain Hilam, “Get everyone inside the Lord’s manor, if needed, hole yourself inside the cellar. They have.....” Still silence on the grounds broke my words.

Clad in a crude and callous obsidian armour filled with thin fissures running across and a rough craggy ebony blade held with a stony grip, the figure stood unflinchingly like a statue. A cloud of ash and smoke undulated from the figure hiding its evident form. The figure considered the area for a moment and then settled on Zelaphiel with an expression. Even, encased in the sightless helmet and disguised through the ash and smoke, the expression too human, too elven and too well daemonic to be recognised. Contempt.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The eight reflections of the angelic warrior advanced towards the daemonic knight. The knight scoffed at their presence. His focus, undivided on Zelaphiel. The paladin champion barked more orders. Hatred marred his handsome visage. Without any warning and with slow strides gradually increasing in momentum, the daemonic knight ran towards the unconscious Celerim.

*****

“Syrune, can you send the knight back?” I asked.

“The perturbations are almost harmonic,” the mage answered with bewilderment, “it is the phase, it is almost not...”

“Plain words,” I growled.

“I cannot, not immediately,” apologised Syrune.

Approximately forty raised polearms rushed through. Held by high-elven paladins in their gleaming armour covered by a cerulean blue surcoat, the polearms quickly assembled behind their commander. Most of them, relatively young by elven standards. Their young eyes vehemently open and nestled inside their conical helmets. None of them any older than my own daughter, would barely make it through the day and even those who would, will still be scarred.

The fact that they are not much older than my daughter and still duty-bound, they wadded towards their own inevitable doom, multiplied the pangs of regret in me.

I shook myself off those distracting thoughts. There are lives to save. I could not avail myself of the freedom of pondering in the middle of a crisis.

“Captain Hilam, please assign a contingent of your men to protect the mage,” I gave another order to the wearied Captain, “those who summoned these creatures might try to stop the mage.”

The man barked more orders at someone in the crowd.

The incorporeal soldiers summoned by Zelaphiel moved in to intercept the unnamed daemonic Knight. Surrounded, the knight pierced through his opponents with sightless gaze obscured by smoke. The tenebrous helmet flickered behind the cloud of ash. The summoned angelic reflections thrust their longswords in unison. The knight deflected with a wide sweep of his ebony blade. They swung their swords again in sweeping arcs. The ash covered knight moved with unnatural precision. The incorporeal blades passed harmlessly through the formless smoke.

Anger seeped through their glow defined faces. Rage at the defiance of the ash knight. Primal hatred filled the immanence summoned, at the presence of their natural nemesis. Their blades swung with abandoned recklessness. In unpredictable movements, they danced around the knight and rained their glowing blades with fury. The Knight of ash and smoke fought like the eye of a storm, ephemeral yet persistent. He stood his ground, deflecting all blows and delivering some in return.

*****

More portals spawned only to be surrounded by paladins of the order of Latent Divinity and their squires. Zelaphiel must have brought hundreds to parade his might, yet I am all the more thankful for the pompous fool.

Without a direct path to the unconscious Celerim, I let my gaze fill in the bloodthirsty view unfolding around. At a distance, Sir Darnell fell with a heavy thud, having taken a direct kick from a Bloodtracker. Lord Caelum and Lord Inell moved in to protect the vulnerable Sir Darnell. All of their retinues have abandoned their courtly grace and now wielded crude wooden clobbers. Even the minstrels of Sir Darnell held broken wooden planks, waiting for instructions from their Lords.

The festival ground was almost devoid of townspeople. Here and there a few stragglers were being ushered by Captain Hilam’s men. The Paladins struggled against their monstrous opponents but their training held steadfastly and they managed to keep their formation intact. Every time one of them fell lifeless, their fervour rekindled.

Only Ottomar and Merowyn seemed to fare better, working in tandem against a huge Hellhound. The huge bear of a man taunted the Hellhound and kept its attention focused while Merowyn stuck blows with uncanny precision aided by a group of young initiates of the Order. The paladin initiates held their spears, pointed towards the hellhound while their fear and commitment mingled grim in their faces.

“Captain Hilam, you should head to the Lord’s manor,” I said, “Oversee the defences in the cellar.”

“But,” stammered the man, “it would be days before relief comes from Sarenthill and Westerleygates, that is if Captain Jorrel is in a position.”

“Your men are not trained for this. We don’t know how many more portals will spawn,” I said grimly, “Better to be defensive and wait for reinforcement.”

“But the Paladins...” He left his words unfinished.

“Will die,” I completed the statement, “Sarenthill or Westerleygates, the reinforcements will not reach in time. But there is hope.”

Therrin appeared from somewhere dragging a bundle. He threw a battered sword and a rapier. I caught them both and handed the rapier to Savvas. So the rogue stuck through. I might have gained a valuable member after all.

“If Celerim can fly towards Ellisinore, he might bring a contingent of mounted gryphon riders,” I declared, “and that dimwit of a Paladin Champion is trying to kill your only chance of survival.”

Rekindled with a spark of hope, Captain Hilam took his leave immediately with Therrin at his heels.

“Syrune, take Colby and follow Master Proudwick. Safety lies there,” I ordered the miserable Mage who still stood perplexed at their own inadequacy.

“Savvas,” my nephew twitched at the mention of his name, “it is you and me. let us get Celerim back.”

Savvas beamed a wide smile with hope at my words.

*****

Two hellhounds, a bloodtracker and Zelaphiel with his immanence summoned along with the knight of ash and smoke lay between us and the unconscious Celerim.

“We cannot cut through,” I said to Savvas.

“Maybe Merowyn and Ottomar could help,” Savvas pointed in the direction of the two.

The hellhound they engaged bore a long cut across its face rendering the use of its left eye impossible. Evidently a clear strike from Merowyn. Its hindlegs bore multiple puncture wounds prohibiting it from swiping with the front paw. Another nasty gash ran along its forelimb, further reducing its mobility.

“They are doing fine,” added Savvas.

At a distance, Merrick approached the motionless Celerim with his swords drawn.

“Savvas, get your pistol ready,” I urged.

With slow and unsteady steps Merrick closed the distance between himself and the collapsed form of Celerim.

“Take your shot,” A wave of panic gripped me and held me in its thrall.

“At the Paladin Champion or at the Eldritch Knight?” asked Savvas.

“At Merrick,” I screamed.

Merrick said something to the senseless Justiciar. His voice drowned in the blood-curdling screams around. He kicked the unconscious Celerim in the shoulders. Once. Then twice. With bloodshot eyes, the man considered the ramshackled sword in his hand and the cold high-elf before him.

“Please, I beg you,” Anxiety erupted in me, “shoot Merrick.”

“Aunt Rillie, You are not making any sense,” shouted Savvas.

Merrick considered Celerim for a few more moments and then threw his battered sword to shatter. He wiped the dust and sweat from his weary face and then bent over to heave the unconscious Justiciar. In his present condition, the man found the slender elf surprisingly heavy and settled to dragging the unconscious elf to safety. Away from the fight.

With a confrontation that I had not seen in centuries with my nephew, Savvas said, “Aunt Rillie, when this is over, You and Me, we are going to have a talk,” And for once, he was the adult.

And just like fate itself dictated a cruel joke, Merrick’s last well of strength gave out and he collapsed.