Gost watched Krosa reluctantly leave the battle, grateful that she had not tried to argue with him about it. Someday, she would be a powerful green mage who would be able to take down the entire horde that now faced them with a waive of her mind, but she was not there yet. He nodded to Pepehi, who shouted at the remaining hunters to disengage and scatter into the woods. They obeyed, sprinting to the back wall and fading into the darkness. Gost focused his attention to the beasts in front of them. The narrow space the creatures attacked through gave him and Pepehi an advantage, preventing the numbers of the horde from overwhelming them from all sides.
The big man at his side was panting with effort, clearly not used to fighting extended battles. Gost thought about trying to get him to retreat, but knew that it would be wasted breath. Surprisingly, the horde in front of them had not pushed through the gap, despite having the numbers. Not to mention whatever had made that roar. The hairs on his neck had raised at the sound, and he felt a creeping sensation of doubt at his ability to handle whatever had made that noise. Would be nice to have that damn wizard around right now, he thought as he thrust his short sword into the wolf-creature that had tried to circle to his left and attack his hamstring. He used the momentum from the thrust to swing around and drive his dagger into the skull of the deer that had been attempting to distract him from the wolf’s approach, cursing as a small horn that had grown from the deer’s face drove into his forearm, drawing blood.
He was covered in wounds at this point, having been bitten, stabbed, and of course thrown through a wall. That had been an experience he didn’t care to repeat any time soon, although he supposed it was preferable to being torn apart by the mad creatures that now swarmed the wall. Pushing aside the corpse of the deer, he nearly lost the pace of battle as the roar sounded again, closer now. Much closer. His new opponent, once a small bear who would have been much more inclined to hide from a human than attack one, hesitated as well, mutated head turning slightly to look behind it. Gost took advantage of the distraction, stabbing out with both blades into the bear, seeking and finding both its heart and the great vein in the neck. At least the vitals are still in pretty much the same spots, no matter what else has happened to them. This grateful thought was overridden by an increase in the noise outside the wall. The snarling, snapping, howling sounds of the horde were now joined by yelps, roars, and the wet sound of meat being parted. Loud thumping sounds could be heard, and even felt, as if something heavy was being slammed into the ground, over and over. A short distance away, a tree shuddered as something impacted its trunk, and the crackle of dismantled undergrowth followed shortly after.
The beasts in front of them began to back away, as whatever had imposed itself on the battle had an effect. At the far edge of the clearing, Gost thought he saw the glint of metal, rising and falling among the creatures that still swarmed there. Pepehi tugged at his shoulder. “Quick man, let’s get the hell out of here while they’re distracted by whatever that is out there!” Gost felt himself begin to turn towards the woods, to safety, but something in him would not let him leave the battlefield while a potential ally was still beset. “Go, I’ll catch up. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” He clapped the giant woodsman on the back encouragingly, and Pepehi frowned. “You know your business, and none know it better. I hope we meet again, makuahine’aka” With that, the leader of the ragged band of hunters jogged towards the back wall, picking up the still form of one of the fallen on his way and throwing him over his shoulder. Gost didn’t know if the hunter was alive or not, but he doubted the burden would slow the large man down much either way.
Turning back to the clearing, he made a quick assessment of the scene, then ran out among the horde, stabbing and slashing as he went. Another earth-shaking roar vibrated across the fight, making his ears ring as he answered with his own battle cry. “SANGUIS FERRO!” Shouting the traditional war-cry of the melee combatants of the Order, he put action to words as he danced through the fray. Blood mixed with sweat as he fought, close calls with stabbing antlers and gnashing teeth that got a little too close. Occasionally, he would catch glimpses of the struggle at the other end of the clearing, as something huge wreaked havoc on the beasts there.
Minutes passed like hours, no more than ten since Gost had left the wall but his arms were thrumming with the strain and he was drawing in air in great lungfuls. More beasts had come streaming out of the forest, drawn to the site by the din of war that echoed through the valley. Good, the more of them are here with us, the fewer there are in the forest. He nearly changed his mind as a dashing stag nearly impaled him on its way by, sounding its bugling call mixed with a gurgling roar that had no business coming from the animal it had once been. In the camp behind him, fire erupted as the buildings were torn apart by the creatures rampaging there, looking for any remaining defenders. The light illuminated the field of battle, the once pleasant mountain meadow now a morass of torn earth soaked in blood. As he twisted and turned, leaping and rolling to avoid the snapping jaws of death that surrounded him, he could now see his strange ally, fighting on the other side of the horde. It wore a hodgepodge of strange armor, like the poor hedge knight who had gotten dressed in the dark. But it was larger than any hedge knight, larger than any person Gost had ever seen.
It towered over the fiends around it, swinging a double-bladed battle axe scaled to its imposing size in one hand, and using the other to grab and punch its foes. Smaller creatures were lifted and hurled into the fray, or tossed against trees with crushing force, and larger ones were sliced through by the axe with ruthless precision. Despite its size and obvious strength, it was being pushed hard by the mob. Its armor seemed to be saving it from the worst of the damage, but it was still taking crashing blows from twisted paws, jaws like a blacksmith’s vice crushing down at any opportunity. Blood ran freely from between the joints on the armor, mixing with the gore bursting from the fallen creatures that lay at its feet.
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A mighty sweeping blow with the axe cleared a space around the monstrous warrior, and it took the opportunity to leap over the corpses stacked behind it, building momentum as it thundered toward the tree line, blade swinging, now wielded with both great hands. Gost watched as the remaining fiends took the tactical retreat as weakness, and they turned to follow. He spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned. He was used to being the center of attention but he was willing to yield the spotlight to another in the current circumstances. Their distraction was his gain, and he would reap the benefits of their inattention gladly. Drawing in a deep breath he leapt forward, following the pack of monsters as they pursued the mysterious knight into the woods. That strange apparition was weaving through trees, using them to protect its back and break up the pack of monsters it fought, while simultaneously drawing them away from the camp. Gost’s admiration for the strange warrior made his heart thrum in his chest as his blades found purchase in hearts and hamstrings, the beat thunderous in his ears.
He lost sight of the armored figure as it fully entered the forest, the light from the burning camp only penetrating a short distance into the gloom. At a full sprint, he took down several more of the twisted creatures, before the battle outpaced him, and the crashing fray finally faded into the distance. Dropping to one knee, he focused on his breathing, checking his body for major wounds or injuries that might have been ignore in the heat of battle. He heard the screeching and gurgling cries of the wounded beasts behind him, and knew his work for the night was not yet done. In the distance, a final defiant roar shook the air on the mountainside, and he shuddered slightly. Rising to his feet, he gripped his blades firmly and returned to the meadow to finish off the wounded beasts. Once he was sure they would not trouble the countryside again, he would begin his search for Krosa. He offered a prayer to the respective gods of soldiers and drunks, and walked back into the light of the burning camp.
****
Dyrik looked up from his book as the bell over his door rang to announce a visitor. Taking a long pull from his coffee he rose to his feet and smiled in greeting. His smile quickly faded at the grim appearance of the man standing in his doorway. His nerves tingled as the slight sense of worry he’d been feeling came thundering to the front of his mind. Stepping forward, he grabbed the blood-soaked shoulders of the man in front of him and asked, “Pepehi, what’s happened?
*****
Hours later, Dyrik switched horses without stopping. He’d brought several mounts, all saddled, all sturdy mountain stock that could handle the journey without flagging. He had heard the tale from Pepehi and left immediately. The giant woodsman had offered to come with him, but they both knew the man was in no shape to return. He had been covered in wounds, and had come out of the forest carrying two severely injured hunters who were now recovering with the town healer. After dropping them there, Pepehi had come straight to Dyrik’s bookstore, ignoring his own grievous fatigue and loss of blood. The wizard wasted no time after hearing of the battle in the meadow, stretching his senses to see if he could detect his missing friends. He got enough of a location that he did not believe he would need a guide, and had set out immediately.
Riding through the night, switching mounts as they got tired, he made much better time than Pepehi had, much less the rambling path that Gost and Krosa had taken. He reached the meadow as the sun was about to set, nearly four days after the night of the battle. The remains of the huts and cabins still smoldered, but the corpses had been piled at one end of the meadow, and fresh graves had been dug at the other. Next to the pile of corpses, a figure was piling wood as if to make a large fire. As Dyrik rode up, Gost looked up from his wood pile and smiled wearily. “Oh good, you’re here. That will make burning these bastards a lot easier. What took you so long?”
“Pepehi was slow, had to carry two people.”
“Ah, he was only carrying one the last time I saw him. No wonder.” Gost paused before he answered the question that had not been asked. “She’s gone. I followed her tracks into the forest, but they curved towards the castle. I picked them up seven times, and seven times, I found myself back where I started. The curse took her, and it spit me out. Guess…Guess i’m not tender enough for it just yet.” He laughed bitterly. “I sent her away from the fight to keep her safe, Dy, I sent her into that forest in the dark, with nothing to light the way. I sent her, and I lost her.” He looked up at his friend, the faint scars on his face twisting as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I failed her Dy, I failed you both. I’m sorry.”
The wizard jumped down from his horse, striding over to bedraggled warrior, who showed no signs of weakness despite being covered in gruesome cuts and holes, some still oozing dark blood as he moved. Dyrik didn’t slow his pace as he punched Gost hard in the face, knocking him back a step. “There, now that’s out of the way we can get back to work. Feel better, or do I need to hit you again?”
Blood dripped from Gost’s face as he answered. “You always know just how to cheer me up. Time for plan B?”
The bloody warrior grabbed the reins of the horses and led them away as the air around his friend began to warp and twist, his eyes glowing in the soft twilight. A soft whisper came from between the lips of the pyromancer. “Time for plan B. Burn it all.” Any other words that might have been spoken were drowned in the roar of the pile of twisted corpses bursting into flames. Gost felt the air move across his face, drying the rapidly clotting blood there as it was sucked into the fire. As the bodies were consumed, Dyrik lifted his arms in the air, and pointed them both in the direction of the castle. The thunderclap of trees exploding as a wall of fire raced towards the curse nearly deafened Gost, and it took everything he had to hold the horses as they tried to flee the heat.
Miles away, the villagers of Provints were drawn from their homes by the rumbling sounds echoing through the valley on a cloudless night. They watched in helpless fear as in the distance, a mountain burned.