Merlin

“You’re sure this is it?” Merlin asked.

Crussus nodded. “I am. Varroc is in there.”

The government building was made of the same stone as the city walls were. It rose four stories into the air, with battlements on each corner for guards to keep an eye out. So far, they hadn’t seen anyone up there, but they kept a careful watch out just in case.

“They must be holed up inside. Those doors won’t hold against kierstone,” Torq said.

Crussus nodded. “Then we charge. Ready Merlin?”

Merlin nodded. He hefted the sword in his hands above his head. Crussus had decided Merlin was less likely to poke any friendly eyes out this way. At his signal, the men charged the building. Merlin fell in with the charging crowd.

Crussus outpaced them. He dragged his sword against the ground until it sparked and caught fire. He lifted the blade and brought it crashing down against the door.

It exploded inward.

The resistance soldiers charged in on either side of him. The clash of steel rang out. Merlin stopped and looked up. Somewhere in this building, Varroc was waiting. It was time to see this through. To his right, he saw someone running down the street.

One of their one.

“Achai?” Merlin said, realizing who it was. “Achai!” he called out. But the crowd swept him away. It was too late to go after Achai now. Merlin hoped he knew what he was doing.

Only a handful of men had been left to guard the lower floors. After a quick sweep, they pushed upwards.

The next two floors were the same. Only a few guards were stationed there. Many of them fled at the sight of the approaching force. They didn’t have it in them to die meaningless deaths.

Finally, they reached the stairwell to the fourth floor. The fleeing soldiers had gathered there. Twenty or so men of Varroc’s men against almost sixty members of the resistance. The hopelessness in their eyes was palpable.

Merlin, Godo, Crussus, and Torq now stood at the head of the crowd. Their priority was Varroc. By now, Sullivan should’ve taken most of the city gates to ensure Varroc wouldn’t receive reinforcements.

Crussus readied himself to charge, but Merlin held out a hand. There had been enough bloodshed. These men needed to pay for their crimes, but how many of their own fighters would he lose to capture them? Cornered men were dangerous. He needed to get to Varroc and end this.

He lifted his hands to the sky. “Emerald Hex Elemental!” he shouted. A large hex formed, with massive flames dancing along it. He’d almost opted for a void hex, but he didn’t want to scare the men so much they wouldn’t surrender. “This fight is over. Surrender, and we’ll spare you for now. You’ll be given fair trials. Refuse, and I’ll burn you alive. Choose quickly,” Merlin said, feigning a yawn.

“Why should we believe you?” one man asked, eyeing the hex.

“Because I—”

Godo stepped forward, holding his hands out toward the men. “Godo is good businessman. Best businessman. You know this, yes? You have done good business with Godo, know Godo always keeps his word. Trust Godo.”

Varroc’s men exchanged looks with one another. A few of them still seemed reluctant, but several of the men put their swords down. More and more of the men lost the heart to fight as their numbers dwindled. They surrendered.

Crussus seized the opportunity before anyone could change their minds. He hurried forward and started barking orders. After restraining their new hostages, they pushed up the stairs. Godo stayed behind with a small force of men to keep an eye on the prisoners.

Varroc waited on the rooftop with a small force of his own. These men were rugged and better trained than those that had just surrendered. Varroc likely hadn’t anticipated the others to do much more than waste time. This was his real last stand. These were the men he wanted around him when he was fighting for his life.

For every one of Varroc’s men, Merlin had two.

“Well shit. You brought all these people to play with me?” Varroc asked, a devious grin on his face. As always, the man was shirtless, and his long hair flowed in the breeze. The moon had settled in the night sky just behind him, providing an eerie backdrop for the final fight.

Merlin could feel eyes drilling into the back of his head. He knew they all had a role in this rebellion. Somehow, his role had become one of leadership. He couldn’t back down from the responsibilities that came with that now.

“Varroc, it’s over. You’re outmatched. You’ve lost control of the city. Lay your sword down,” Merlin said. He didn’t make an offer to spare his life. They were well past that now and all parties involved knew it.

For Varroc, there could be no mercy.

“Well, that’s silly. Why would I do that? I’ve been looking forward to this.” Varroc grinned at him. “You think you’ve beaten me because you have a few extra slaves on your side? Because you slaughtered weaklings in the streets? My men are soldiers. They’ve been through hell already. You’re nothing compared to that.”

Crussus lifted his blade and pointed it toward Varroc. “You forget yourself. There are soldiers amongst us as well. Or have you forgotten whose blade it was your friends saved you from all those years ago?”

Varroc laughed. “Soldiers? What, like those weaklings I cut down in the first rebellion? What was that name of that one? He died crying out for his friend, who was too focused on saving a little boy. It started with an R. It’s just so hard to remember the name of every fly you swat out of the air.”

Crussus roared and ran forward.

Merlin reached out to grab him, but it was too late.

“Hurry lad! He’ll need our help!” Torq cried out.

Merlin nodded. He pointed his sword forward, and their soldiers charged.

Even outnumbered, Varroc’s men were like a wall. No matter how hard they pressed forward, the resistance was being held back. Crussus had cut down two of them, fighting his way toward Varroc, but was being held back now. Merlin hurried to help him, but an explosion erupted behind them. Resistance fighters screamed as the giant mass of green fire spread through their ranks. Merlin saw the source. A single snatcher with blood-red eyes stood atop one of the battlements. He spotted Merlin staring at him. Merlin grimaced and hurried forward.

The snatcher smiled and stepped back out of sight.

Merlin forced his way through the crowd. He couldn’t let the snatcher rain down fire from above. He had to stop him. No matter what it took. There was a door at the bottom of the battlement. It had been left open. Merlin hurried inside and up the spiral staircase in its center. A few moments later, he was standing on the roof of the tower overlooking the battle. Neither side could gain an advantage. But his men were falling faster than Varroc’s.

This wasn’t good.

He turned his attention to the snatcher. It stared at him with those eerie eyes. The battlement had been stocked with supplies. There were rocks for guards to throw down into the streets to deter invaders. Several crates of them tethered together by a now loosened rope. But why hadn’t they used any of it? Merlin and the others had made it up here with relative ease.

“You’re the one who conjured the hex that started all this, are you not?” the snatcher asked.

How did it possibly know that? Merlin reached into his pocket slowly. “And if I am?” he asked it.

The snatcher turned and looked in the direction of the dungeon. When it turned back to Merlin, there was a slight frown on its face. “Still nothing. I wonder if I kill you and put an end to all this if it will speak to me again. It’s so quiet in my head. I can’t stand it.”

Merlin shook his head. “What are you talking about?” he asked. His fingers wrapped around what he was searching for. He slowly crouched and slipped his other hand into his boot.

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The snatcher knew he was up to something. It didn’t respond with words. Instead, it fired a green ball of fire directly toward him. Merlin jumped out of the way just in time. The fireball shot past him and hit the rear wall of the battlement. Merlin turned and saw the scorch marks on the wall behind him. If he had been any slower…

“That was really rude, you know?” Merlin asked. He threw up a hex. “Hazel Hex Heal!”

The snatcher turned its head in confusion. The hex appeared right in front of its face.

Merlin rushed toward it. He dropped what he was holding in one hand and threw the glass vial in the other down as well. It shattered. If everything went well…

The snatcher waved the hex away and saw him approaching. It didn’t have enough time to conjure a larger attack; it sent a concentrated blast of green flames directly at Merlin’s chest.

A direct hit. Merlin grunted as the flames hit his body, but he pressed forward. He screamed at the top of his lungs, charging like a madman. If he could only just…

His foot slipped, and he fell directly into the snatcher along the wall’s edge.

Varroc

“Captain! Look!” a man screamed.

Atop the tower, a green ball of fire shot out. The snatcher was supposed to be providing support from up there. It was the whole reason Varroc had made his last stand here. What was that red-eyed idiot doing?

He tightened a fist. He pointed toward the tower. “Go see what’s going—” He paused.

Another burst of fire. A man screamed. The swordsmen on both sides were distracted. Everyone was aware of the commotion now.

“Whose up there?” Crussus called out as he cut down one of Varroc’s men.

Torq, the blacksmith, answered. “I saw Merlin go up there! Tried to follow but got cut off!”

“Up there?” Varroc said aloud. He turned to look just in time to see it.

The battle ground to a halt as the silhouettes of two men plunged off the tower. Varroc gritted his teeth. “That idiot managed to take out a snatcher?”

“Merlin!” Crussus screamed.

Varroc turned toward him. This was it. They may have lost their ranged support, but he could see it in the eyes of their enemies. This loss had destroyed their morale. “Cut them down!” he roared. His men fought with renewed vigor.

This was it. He would put these dogs down.

His eyes locked in on Crussus. He’d been avoiding the man at first, letting him tire out on grunts. But he’d seen that look before. When he cut down Ren. He smirked. Of course, he remembered the man’s name. If Brel and Philomena hadn’t shown up, the man would’ve killed him.

Crussus saw him coming and lifted his own blade. The remnants of anger were still there, lurking in his eyes, but those remnants were clouded now. The unmistakable, overwhelming presence of sorrow was making a comeback. Varroc would welcome it with a bloody blade through the knight’s face.

Crussus was still fast. But not as fast. Not as strong. Even hard labor hadn’t kept him in the state his knight conditioning had.

Their blades clashed, over and over. Varroc almost managed to cut him down a few times. But though his physical prowess had weakened, Crussus was still ever the swordsman he used to be.

It was so damn annoying.

“Just die!” Varroc screamed, releasing a flurry of powerful blows.

Crussus met each one in quick succession.

Varroc feigned an opening to bait Crussus.

To his surprise, the Knight of Tantaloo took the bait. He’d gotten too eager to end this fight.

Varroc smiled. He parried his opponent’s blade and kicked Crussus in the chest. He hurried forward to plunge his sword into the man’s heart.

A hex appeared just in front of his face.

“What the?” Varroc swatted at it and jumped back. He looked around. They appeared all over. Just in front of the faces of his men. Crussus rolled to his feet. Varroc squeezed his fist. He’d been so damn close to ending this!

“On the tower!” someone shouted.

What? No one should be up there now. Varroc turned to look.

There that idiot was.

Merlin.

He stood atop the rooftop wall of the tower. He was only wearing a single boot. Something danced in the wind on the outer wall of the tower. It flailed in the breeze.

His other shoe was attached to a rope. There was some kind of odd hair like substance connected to it. “What?” Varroc asked.

Through Merlin's burnt clothing Varroc could make out something metallic, it almost looked like...

"Hah! I told the lad some kierstone armor would come in handy!" Torq laughed.

The sounds of blades against flesh. The resistance was taking advantage of the newly created blind-spots. Varroc shook his head. He’d never seen a technique like this. Using hexes to blind opponents instead of attacking with magic? It was ridiculously stupid. Who would even think to do that?

“Fall back!” Varroc cried. But as he took a step, he realized the only thing behind him was a long drop into the city streets. “Shit.” He’d lost a lot of men to that surprise attack.

Whatever morale the resistance had lost before had returned now. No, it had doubled.

His men backed away, forming a half circle around Varroc. They were surrounded now. They held the resistance back, but just barely.

“Captain!” someone called from behind.

“What?” Varroc leaned over the edge again and saw a man leaning out of a window on the floor below. His eyes shot open. It was one of Philomena’s men. Varroc sheathed his sword and looked up. He reached up and grabbed a spear one of the resistance members was jabbing toward his men. He pulled the spear and the man into the half-circle.

Both went over the wall. Only one still had Varroc holding on. He lowered the dull end of the spear so Philomena’s soldier could grab on to it. He gathered his strength and pulled the spear up, with the man still attached.

Below, the resistance fighter splattered satisfying on the ground. “What news?” Varroc asked. “Has Philo returned to the city?”

The soldier swallowed. “I only just barely made it through the gates before they captured it. Captain…” The man paused.

Varroc shook him. “What?” he demanded.

“Philomena was captured by a member of Coelacanth. They allowed me to escape so that I could let you know.”

All the surrounding sounds faded. He knew swords were clashing and men were screaming. He knew fires, both natural and unnatural, burned in the distance. But the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat.

Coelacanth. How did they—no. It didn’t matter how they found them. They’d taken Philomena.

He unsheathed a dagger and aimed it straight for the soldier’s gut.

But a moment before the tip pierced the man’s flesh, Varroc paused.

When did I…when did I start killing my own men?

He’d become powerful because of one simple belief.

Loyalty to your own.

So, when had he started killing the men who were loyal to him in return? It hit him like a speeding arrow from a finely crafted bow.

This place had changed him. Sange had changed him.

He dropped the dagger. The metallic blade danced along the stone rooftop and drew the attention of his men.

“Stop,” Varroc said softly.

No one knew what he meant.

“Stop!” Varroc yelled.

This time, the fighting came to a halt. His men backed off, drawing in closer. There was no reason to waste any more lives. That didn’t mean Varroc had given up. He was still a gambling man.

“Merlin!” he called out. Varroc looked toward the tower, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m here, Varroc,” Merlin called back. The resistance soldiers parted as Merlin approached. He must have rejoined the fight after using his weird hex strategy.

Varroc’s men parted as well, so the leaders of each side could speak directly. Everyone watched the exchange. In the background, tired men huffed in great breaths, and swords rested against the ground. Both sides were exhausted from the fighting.

Varroc raised a brow. He risked a glance over his shoulder. If he was a floor or two lower, he could make the jump easily. But this high? That was extreme, even for him. Best-case scenario, he’d break both his legs. He thought of Brel. He could call for him. In all those years they’d fought together, not once had Brel ever failed to heed his call. No matter where they were and what they were doing. When he called his right-hand man, that tough bastard always showed up.

But something held him back. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t want to call his friend into an impossible situation. He didn’t want to call Brel to his death.

He’d try a different technique. He was a gambling man, after all.

“Let’s settle this like men. Leader to leader. Sword to sword,” Varroc said.

Merlin scoffed. “And why exactly would I do that? We have the upper hand.”

Varroc smirked. “That’s just the way of things. It’s how these things go. When two generals meet on the battlefield like this, the rules are simple. They fight to the death; the winner takes all. Neither of us has any say. It’s just fate.”

Merlin laughed. He laughed hard. He’d found what Varroc had said endlessly amusing.

Varroc gritted his teeth. What was so damn funny?

Merlin composed himself. There was a look in his eyes. Varroc recognized it. It was the same look Merlin had given him when they’d first brought the man and his baby companion into Sange.

Merlin stared right at Varroc. “Fate, huh? Maybe you’re new around here. So, I’ll let you know something about Sange. Here, I can do anything I want.”

Merlin held his hands out, and the resistance charged.

Varroc eye’s shot open. That was the thing about gambling. It didn’t always pay off.

“Shit.”