-÷-

Ameliese winced as she heard a heavy impact on the roof above, knowing it signaled the end of yet another of her valiant gremlins. The unfortunate irony of the golem manufactory being too unstable to put golem defenders atop it was in no way amusing to the apprentice alchemist.

She knew she should be up above, fighting - and dying - with the gremlins, but she wasn't at the bottom of her combat-magic classes by choice. Fear clouded her brilliant mind like a handful of saltpetre in a flask of vitriol. In a lab, where variables could be controlled and reactions precisely predicted, she was possessed of firm hand and steady mind. The chaos of the field of battle undid her as completely as any alchemical rendering process.

The warning sigil had come unexpectedly, but unlike most of the town's occupants Ameliese was at least awake to receive it. She had prayed without conviction for it to be some sort of terrible error until the first harried screams seeped through the ventilation ducts.

Blood turning to ice in her veins, she had haphazardly applied protective wards to her drab apprentice's robes as she frantically locked any windows and skylights that could grant access to an infiltrator. She was too panicked to feel ashamed of herself as her gremlins assembled without her and made their way to the rooftop.

Another thud served to deepen her anxiety. As one of the largest structures in Skyreach the alchemical lab had a large, but not inexhaustible pool of gremlin defenders. Theodorus' gargoyles were supposed to provide the first line of protection for the valuable building, but for all the good they must have been doing it seemed that harpies were still able to slip by them to get at the shooters.

Then she heard what she had most feared, a shattering skylight and a sample of the cacaphony outside. They were in.

-÷-

Haart swaggered over to a shuttered window, peering up out of a broken slat at the night sky.

The Percolating Pint, Skyreach's sole wet establishment, was a mess of eclectic Bracadan architechture. The roofs were too low and the corridors too winding for his swarthy Erathian footmen to navigate comfortably, and unlike the damnable wizards his men didn't have warming magic to compensate for the lack of insulation.

At least, he mused, its strange construction lent itself perfectly to defense. A small rooftop observation deck had room for a handful of his marksmen to shoot from, and a number of elaborate balconies provided firing ports for the rest. His pikes were spread among the marksmen, ready to fend off the fearsome Nighon bird-women if they descended to fight.

Haart had be traveling to Skyreach for years, and he would be damned if he let the Pint fall victim to the violence.

"My Lord!" came an urgent call down the stairwell. The sound of footsteps grew as the source of the voice descended.

"You have news?"

"The harpies are withdrawing from this district, my Lord."

"Dispense with the formalities, Cadric. We are in battle."

"Of course, my apologies sir." Haart glared at him. "We've not suffered any casualties, though the gremlins around us surely have."

"Do you believe we've driven them off?"

"It's hard to say without Cuthbert's sight to show their true numbers. This felt more deliberate than a retreat should, if I may offer my intuition."

"It is why you're the head of my scouts, man! Do we have any idea where they're going?"

"They were headed counterclockwise around the astronomy tower when they weren't going straight up."

Haart's brow furrowed with concern.

"The golem factory. I should have guessed. It's the only reason I would send a strike against this town, it is not as though it guards a vital border passage or an abundance of mines."

Cadric's eyes widened. Bracada was among Erathia's closest allies, and he knew well what a blow to their golem production would do to their strategic flexibility.

"We have to try and stop them, don't we?"

"I'd rather not risk our lives, but yes, Cad."

The scout nodded grimly.

"I'll assemble the men."

-÷-

Gannulus picked his way through eerily-empty streets. The attackers had wreaked terrible havoc on the areas that did not have golems to bolster their gremlin defenders.

Here and there his little group would weave around a taller structure whose base was littered with slain shooters interspersed with an occasional harpy corpse. The mage did not like how light a toll the militia had apparently taken on the attackers.

"Shoddy response." the mage muttered under his breath.

"I begged them for more drill time, and this is what their refusal has bought."

It drew particular ire that for all the diminutive robed forms scattering the ground, he had yet to spot a fallen mage. The little gremlins formed the backbone of Bracadan society, yet the College would happily sacrifice their entire labour pool to spare the lives of a few more of their own.

Gannulus knew first hand how important gremlins were to the day-to-day operations that kept their defense force running and their economy exporting goods. The little creatures reproduced quickly, but they would scarcely have the numbers to conduct repairs around Skyreach, let alone to staff the workshops in the days ahead.

Despite their bravery and loyalty, they were neither strong nor resourceful enough to shoulder the defense of a town alone. A handful of mages spread through their ranks would have been a force multiplyer that prevented a great deal of carnage.

Unfortunately, it appeared most of Gannulus' colleagues and students would prefer to lock themselves safely indoors and leave the gremlins to their fate.

An urgent tug at his robes interrupts his fuming.

"Sir! Danger!"

He whirls to see a silver-feathered veteran poised over Smig's supine form. His other minder is already swinging its studded flail at the bird-woman but she effortlessly wards off its attacks with a claw as she slides a blade into her struggling prey.

She withdraws her dagger and leaps into the air simultaneously with one furious wingbeat. She snatches the other minder by the head and her talons pierce its thin green skin as she snaps the valiant little gremlin's neck.

She hurls her blade at Gannulus as he looks on helplessly, and he barely turns it aside with a flourish of his focus. It clangs off the cobblestone behind him as he directs a vengeful blast of energy at its owner.

He hears a wingmate's feathers ruffling behind him as it slows to strike him and he catches it within inches of his back, smashing it to the ground. He finishes it with another blast, and yet more harpies wheel down from the chaos above to threaten the isolated mage.

The street strobes with light has he channels his power into a salvo of flares. The predatory avians sense his vulnerability and brave his assault for a chance to take a Bracadan mage out of the fight. Several sisters drop from the sky trailing burning feathers and ash, but before long one has made it through the gauntlet.

She flares her wings and her blade clashes against Gannulus' focus. His free hand grasps a wing and she shrieks as he yanks her aside to fire more shots over her shoulder. She thrusts upwards with her long knife, and it is turned away by the wards in his robe. He smashes her with the focus, breaking her back, and discards her limp form only to be accosted by two more of her wingmates.

One folds over his knee when he catches her muscled belly with a vicious upthrust, just as the trio are bowled over by yet another newcomer. Razor talons and Nighon steel tear at his robes, and his focus clatters to the cobblestone. Muscle memory born from thousands of hours of combat training drives his hands like clockwork as they jab and weave at the deadly tangle of limbs. Harpies continue to pile on, and two more are slain before his arms are seized tightly, bones creaking from the cruel pressure of the harpies' grasp.

I should have brought the golem he thinks resignedly as his ankles are likewise seized and a scaly talon begins to wrap around his neck. I hope Ammie is safe

Then he feels a jerk as one of the harpies holding an arm releases him. He hears a gurgling cry through the press of feathers and flesh, and his neck is released as well. The harpy holding it slumps overtop of him and he feels a pooling wet warmth on his robe. A growing roar overtakes the sound of the melee and the ball of writhing combatants leaves him flat on the cobblestone to hastily retreat.

He heaves the harpy's corpse off of himself quickly enough to see an advancing wall of Erathian pikes, battlecry rumbling in their throats. Backing them is a disciplined line of marksmen picking off the sisters who take to wing. A handsome blond man whose drab cloak and tabard do little to hide the quality of his weapons and armour stands with a smaller knot of pikes guarding the archers.

The slaughter is immediate, the churn of retreating bodies unable to take flight quickly enough to escape the press of wicked steel points. The few that manage to get off the ground are brought down by a stream of feathered bolts to fall atop their sisters.

The handsome man strides up to the supine mage as one of the footmen proffers a helping hand. Gannulus grasps it tightly and is pulled to his feet.

"Methinks if we knew you mages could fight like that we would try harder to recruit you to our armies."

The man's voice is confident, smooth.

"Methinks if more of us could Nighon would not be so eager to go to battle with us." comes the mage's shaky reply.

The man guffaws bluffly and offers a callused hand.

"Ha! That was quick for a man who was just making his final prayers. The name is Haart."

The mage shakes it and feels the man's enthusiasm all the way to his shoulder.

"Gannulus. I appreciate your sense of timing."

He bends to retrieve his focus as the man replies.

"After the performance you gave it would have been a great shame to let those foul harpies put you down. Speaking of timing, we'd better get moving. We can speak as we go. I fear the harpies aim to disable the golem factory. Only strategic asset and all that."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Gannulus' brow knits in concern as he keeps pace with the man. He decides against mentioning the astronomy tower.

"I had noted their withdrawal from the artisans' district, but the militia response has been so disorganized that I could learn no more of their plans."

"We were in the market district when the attack began. After they were driven off from there, we followed as best we could."

"It heartens me to hear that some parts of town have withstood the slaughter."

"Aye, and I'd like to think my men played some part in that."

"I am sure they did, I doubt the harpies were expecting Erathian steel to meet their descent."

The man grins at Gannulus, and he sees a nearby footman straighten with pride.

"Let's hope we can continue to catch them off guard. How long do you think we have before they can disable the factory?"

The mage thinks for a moment.

"To halt production for a few weeks would hardly take long, but if they intend to do more damage than that it would take a long time, or a very knowledgeable sapper."

"By all indication the strike force is comprised entirely of harpies, who are known more for their cunning than their engineering."

"I would still rather get there in time to save the alchemists and their gremlins. The factory itself is unable to be defended by golems."

"Bit of an oversight, that."

"It is intended that the gargoyles of the college are to serve as its defenders, but even they cannot hope to hold out against these numbers indefinitely."

"Right then. Double time, men!"

-÷-

Ameliese shrunk even lower in the darkness behind the workstation that concealed her, trembling with fear and trying not to make a sound.

The harpies had thoroughly taken the factory now. The infiltrators who came in through the breached skylight had made their way to the roof from inside and ambushed the defenders. Now they stalked the halls looking for her.

Suddenly a croaking voice rang out from the laboratory floor.

"I can smell your fear, little worm. Come out now and I'll make your death completely painless."

She cupped a shaking hand over her mouth so as not to scream. Her forearm brushed a glass beaker and it rang out faintly as its base settled. Her guts turned to ice. The gremlins hadn't cleaned their workstations. The harpy chuckled darkly in her vulture-call voice.

"Well that doesn't count at all, stupid mage. My offer's expired. This is going to be fun."

Her arm burned with fear.

Wait

Acid from the beaker was burning her arm. She conjured a faint magelight, trying to shield it from view with her body.

The harpy's wings swept tools and bottles off of lab tables, and Ameliese tracked the avian's progress by the clattering, shattering racket in her wake.

She desperately scanned the racks of the workstation.

There

Oil of vitriol. She grabbed the crystal flask and popped the cork. She looked up into the twisted, hateful features of a grinning harpy.

The alchemist flinched away with a yelp. The bird-woman seized her free hand with a scaly talon.

"Not so fast, worm. I'm going to make you bleed."

Ameliese summoned all of her courage and tossed the contents of the flask directly into the harpy's face. The avian released her hand reflexively and howled in pain.

Heart racing, Ameliese ran to another workstation and began throwing components into a beaker. The concoction began to foam, and she threw a rubber seal across the mouth. She shook it furiously and threw it at the feet of the harpy.

The blast knocked her flat, and tore one of the screeching avian's legs from its body. The pained noises bled together into a keening wail. The alchemist's stomach churned with nauseous guilt as she struggled to her feet.

"I'm sorry!" she cried anxiously as she palmed another flask of vitriol and fled the darkened lab.

She grasped the doorway tightly, glancing wildly up and down the corridor.

She guessed that the harpies would not post a sentry to guard the roof hatch. True flight was incredibly difficult magic, done only by wizards of far greater power than even the greatest minds of Skyreach. Besides Theodorus' rare and expensive gargoyles there were no other flyers to be found in town.

She darted to the end of the hallway, slipped into a service duct intended for gremlins, and wriggled her way around the sounds of a harpy patrol. She thanked the stars for the first time for granting her such a small frame given the physical demands of alchemy. She bolted up a flight of stairs, ducked back into the gremlin accessway.

Dart through an open space with all haste, wait breathlessly to confirm she remained undetected, creep through the claustrophobic confines of another narrow passage, repeat. The cycle of constant adrenaline rush kept her hands shaking long after the fear was subsumed by the singlemindedness of her flight. At last she made her way up the winding guts of the factory to the roof access hatch.

A silver-feathered harpy strutted out of a side door, triumph plain on her horrid face.

"There you are. I was beginning to grow worried that you'd hurt yourself. That you'd gone and gotten stuck in one of those little passages you're so fond of crawling through. That would have been an awful shame."

Ameliese managed to keep her limbs steady, though her voice trembled.

"J-just let me pass. I don't want to hurt you."

"How very soft of you. Well I want to hurt you, mage. More than I want a lot of things."

The avian advanced slowly, and Ameliese backed away. The hand hidden in her robes uncorked its flask of powerful acid.

"I'm n-not going to stop you from whatever you're doing in here, there are too many of you."

"Aye, far too many. But I'm not going to let you pass, because I need you to come with me. To open the laboratory's skylight. Do that for us and we'll only hurt you a little before you die. If you refuse we'll all take our time enjoying your death."

The harpy's rasping, croaking voice sent ancient terror signals up the alchemist's spine, but she held her ground.

"What could you possibly want that for? You've already taken the building. I won't let you lead me down there to be tortured."

"Then I shall drag you there MYSELF!"

The bird-woman's piercing cry froze Ameliese for a half-second as her mind fought for control of her terror-stricken limbs, which was more than enough time for the hateful being to close the gap between them. Wicked talons grated against her shoddy wards, shearing through the fabric of her robes and dragging several deep gashes across her arm.

Acid from the flask slopped onto her hand and underclothes. She shrieked as the exposed skin began to burn fiercely, and she knew it was only a few moments until her clothes soaked through. The pain and fear nearly undid her, but she lost herself again in the singlemindedness of escape and survival.

It is simply pulling the water from my hand as it reacts with my skin. The burns are treatable, if I manage to survive. The pain is temporary, but the consequences of this failure will be eternal.

She summoned every shred of magical power within herself, and she poured it all into a slowing spell. Laughably simple compared to destructive magics, but still an immense test of Ameliese's frayed nerves.

The alchemist could see it take hold of the avian. A sudden forceful slowness overcame her sinuous frame, as though she swam in molasses. Her baleful glare took on an air of confusion as she fought to raise another swiping talon against Ameliese.

The harpy was too slow. Ameliese withdrew her sizzling hand from within her robes and plunged it through the harpy's jagged teeth and into her throat, open mouth pointed downwards. Strips of skin were shorn from her knuckles, and the bird-woman clamped her jaws shut on the mage's slender limb.

Ameliese cried out in pain, but the sound was drowned by the gurgling wail fighting its way around her arm and out of the harpy's throat. Its horrid fangs held tight to the alchemist's forearm, and more of her skin and sinew began to peel away as it wrenched its head away from her reflexively.

She staggered and fell back, her arm a tattered mess of lacerated flesh. The harpy reared up in front of her, talon cocked back to rake across her exposed throat.

The killing blow never came. Something inside the harpy's twisted frame finally gave way, and its coiled muscles went slack. It slumped to the side, a bubbling sigh escaping its bloody maw. The hateful light in its eyes dimmed as they lost focus on the world around it. One final, dying shudder wracked its feathered form.

Ameliese crawled away from it, clinging for dear life as she dragged herself up the roof access ladder with one good hand.

Her skin was burning under her clothes, but she kept them on for fear of dying by exposure to the frigid mountain air. Her ruined hand screamed at her, and somehow she ignored it as she forced herself onward, one handhold at a time.

Then she was through the hatch. The sounds of chaos and violence still filled the air, though they seemed to have subsided some during her desperate flight.

To her immense relief the rooftop was deserted. She slithered behind a ventilation duct that hid her from view of the hatch.

A gust of wind bit into her robes. She tried a warming spell, only to learn that slowing the harpy inside really had taken every last drop of her magical reserves.

It was then that the pain and fear finally overtook her. Tears blurred her vision, and she shook with pent-up tension as her slight frame was wracked by silent, heaving sobs.

She paid it no mind when the mighty sound of the grand skylight's hefty mechanism grinding to life shook the roof.

-÷-