There was just barely enough daylight left in the sky for Videric to make out the fortress in the distance. He spared it one look before answering the unasked question that hung in the air.

“I am here to join the assault!”

The army, small and ragged though it was, was still big enough that a sole new arrival wasn’t its sole focus. Still, he had a fair amount of attention. His red hair, clearly visible in the torchlight, stood out sharply in these lands, and so did his accent.

“Are you?” one man replied in an unwelcoming voice. “And who are you to get involved in this battle of grudges?”

Videric was tempted to focus on the man, to argue back. But he was here with a purpose, and so denied himself the indulgence. Instead, he addressed the dozens who were watching him as a group.

“I am a man with a grudge of my own. And I will satisfy it with the blood that cowers behind those walls! Furthermore, I am a seasoned warrior.”

He slapped one meaty hand on his chest, rattling his maille shirt.

“This armour is much-tested. And my sword is wet with blood from many beings, from many lands. I have travelled far from my homeland, and I have done so by fighting my way. I am Videric of the Varusians, and I will be a blessing to you at that wall.”

“You are indeed far from home,” said the first female voice he’d heard from this band.

The men parted, and she walked into the light between two torches. She was perhaps thirty, with the big mass of curly hair so typical for local women. She had a sword on her hip, but wore no armour and carried no shield, and Videric suspected it was more of a status symbol than a weapon.

“I have heard of the Varusians. The people who destroyed what remained of the Roseti Empire. It is said they are a vicious warrior people. A barbarian people.”

“Some call us that,” Videric replied, unbothered by the description. “And some say the same of these very lands.”

“These lands are blessed!” a man interjected hotly, but the woman’s raised hand silenced him.

“They were,” she said. “And they shall be so again. Once a foul weed is extracted, and a king is crowned!”

He wasn’t quite sure if the passion in that last sentence was genuine or performative, but either way it did stoke the passions of those who heard it.

“You know my name,” Videric said. “Chieftess, or priestess, or whatever you-”

“I am Kallhia!” she told him. “And I carry the future of our people! My husband was to be king, to unite a fractured tribe. Now the role falls to the heir growing in my belly. Until then, I shall be regent. And our first task, our first mandate, is VENGEANCE!”

“VENGEANCE!” most of the army shouted in unison. It was a well-practised cry.

“The vile sorcerer behind those walls has done our people many a hurt, and tonight is the night he pays for it!” Kallhia went on. “Here he is trapped, with the last of his men! He has razed his last village, raided his last caravan, poisoned his last well and profaned against the gods for the last time!”

Videric simply nodded. It made no difference to him who, if anyone, ended up dominating a land that had been riven by chaos for a generation. There were surely others with dreams of lordship for themselves or their children, and enough men at arms to make an attempt. But for now, he and this Kallhia had a common goal.

“Now you know my purpose,” she said. “Our purpose. What is yours?”

“Kubrash the sorcerer has indeed made many enemies,” Videric told her. “I am one of them. A caravan he struck at was headed by Meelo of Urta. Meelo hired me to guard a previous caravan of his. We spent weeks together, time enough for me to call him friend. And now he is dead. I was told Kubrash’s main force had been defeated, and was being driven to this ancient fort. I am here to wreak vengeance upon him.”

“So you are not some mercenary?”

“Not tonight,” Videric told her. “Tonight I am simply here for myself.”

“Then we needn’t concern one another,” she said, and turned back to her men. “Add your sword to the attack, if you wish.”

With that, much of the interest in him faded. This little army of perhaps four hundred people looked somewhat eclectic, after all. Some looked like experienced warriors, some did not. Most had the physical features dominant in the region, but some did not. This was an age of migrations and chaos. And of men like Kubrash making enemies of every kind.

Videric looked back at the fortress, rapidly vanishing into the blackness, as Kallhia spoke to her troops. She had fire and determination, but pushed it all out just a little too fast for him to feel it was entirely genuine. Her future hinged on an unborn child, after all, and on holding together a force in the name of a dead man. For all that such things were the subject of poems and stirring tales, in reality Videric had found people all over cared more for the future.

Chieftess Kallhia, if that was her title, needed a potent victory. And this very night was probably her only chance of getting it. Many of the men were fearful, and had farms and flocks to get back to. Kubrash was known to have Annian mercenaries with him, and who better to defend a fort than perhaps the world’s greatest archers? But an archer was worth little in darkness, hence the plan for a night-time attack. But the night had dangers of its own.

“Night is the time of evil!” insisted a man who seemed to have some influence among his comrades. “Of darkness and devilry! And now we are to attack a sorcerer in his element? The man sits there, scheming and working spells! How dangerous is a trapped beast? And what of a beast that can call upon demons?”

There was a muted muttering of agreement, and Kallhia was too far away to overhear it, or intervene with stirring words. One man spoke of strange lights from the innermost part of the fort, and of an evil feeling in the air itself.

Personally, Videric felt nothing but the usual air of fear and tension and budding violence that preceded any battle. But his gaze was fixed on the fortress. It was, by all accounts, too old for anyone to be certain of who had built it. It stood on a cliff that jutted out of a long, tall wall before a plain, so it could only be assaulted from one direction. There was an outer wall, from behind which one could faintly see the glow of fires. A short distance behind it was an inner wall. And at the back of all that the cliff rose higher, and on top of it was a structure of some sort.

And yes. He caught a glimpse of an odd, cold light.

“I can tell you this about sorcerers,” Videric said, gaining some attention with his suddenness. “They are men, and they bleed like any other. I slew my first sorcerer before I even left my homeland.”

“You talk quite big, outlander!” one man said, with an air of high-strung belligerence.

Videric’s youthful temper had cooled slightly on his travels. So he just reacted with a wolfish grin, and a short response.

“If you do not believe me, then watch me on that wall.”

Kallhia did a bit more strolling among her troops, speaking more words of inspiration and encouragement. Videric did not pay attention, until it came to actual battle plans. Those had already been discussed, evidently, and so it was just a quick reminder.

And then the moment arrived. All was in place, and everything had been said. No one deserted, just yet, and once the momentum got started, no one did.

The time before nightfall had been spent on sending men to the south, where trees actually grew, and come back with usable wood. A small group carried a simple ram, while several others carried crudely cobbled together ramps and ladders.

“And quietly now,” Kallhia reminded her force one last time, from somewhere in the back. “Quiet as you can.”

It made sense. Videric could not know if the defenders expected a night-time attack, but clearly they wished to err on the side of caution. Silhouettes could be seen on the wall, faint ghosts in the light of the unseen fires. The army would not reach the outer wall unnoticed, or take the gate by stealth, but the closer they got before an alarm was raised, the better.

Videric cringed a little as they went. These men were not accustomed to quiet raids; their armour rattled, their belts and straps slapped about, and they stumbled under the weight of their burdens. He supposed it was a natural result of these rather barren lands. The locals had not been shaped by the dark forests of the far north-west, where hiding and sneaking were always an option, and one embraced by all tribes with any sense.

Still, there was eagerness. Kubrash had earned dreadful hatred with his depredations, and what the men lacked in subtlety they made up for with bloodlust. Videric just hoped it would hold out once the bloodshed actually started. For he could not take this fortress by himself.

The battle plan was quite simple: A chunk of the army detached and continued the careful march on the wall. The rest held back a little, ready to rush in once the battle commenced. Hopefully, that would let them get even closer without being discovered. Videric, of course, joined the forward team.

It was a moonless night, and he could not really see his temporary comrades. They were just sounds, a feeling, a knowledge that he was part of a large, slow-moving beast that would soon explode into violence. All he could really see was the glow from the fort’s hidden fires, and the figures that occasionally passed in front of it.

They sure looked like ordinary men. If Kubrash indeed consorted with demons, they were not his first line of defence.

It started with them; a stillness of the fire-lit silhouettes; men straining their ears to hear potential danger. Then there were voices among them, raised in growing alarm. The great, invisible beast around Videric started moving faster, a leaderless reaction to the ongoing reaction on top of the wall.

And with that it was only moments before the defenders knew they were under attack. And the night-time battle began.

I have come for you, you cur, Videric thought.

As the men on the wall began shouting alarms, the army broke into a run, and finally the rage was let loose. The men screamed, some with words and others with simple force. It wasn’t even a matter of boosting their own courage. This was a night of bloody retribution, and those on the inside were to know it.

Videric held his shield up, and one of the first torches thrown bounced off it. There were also rocks; the crude, simple staple of siege battles. It started as a light trickle; evidence of the night-time attack indeed having come as a surprise. Both hails built in intensity, as more defenders reacted and got to work.

Most of the torches were thrown in a high arc from the ground on the other side. The light from them was dim, but enough for the defenders to actually aim their rocks a little. Videric saw a hit on a helmet. He wasn’t sure what it did to the skull underneath, but the man wearing it did go down. And then came javelins.

Videric kept his shield up, as most others did. It provided some cover to the men bearing the ramps, and the ram was being carried to the gate, protected by a roof of interlocked shields. Once this dawned on the defenders, that group became the main focus of their missiles. Still, a javelin did lodge itself in Videric’s shield,

“I am glad to be acknowledged!” he shouted as he plucked it out, even though he doubted anyone paid heed to his humour.

He tossed the javelin back, at the man he believed had thrown it. He couldn’t tell if the dark figure wore armour or not, but the hit did knock him down.

The group managing the awkward, hastily built ramp finally got it against the wall, and some sling-bullets from the ground deterred the men who sought to dislodge it.

Videric had kept his fire under control, leaving room for his wits in order to survive the missiles. Now, as he drew his sword and hopped up onto the ramp, he let it loose.

The wall was only about two man-heights, and the charge was short. Spears greeted him, but he swung his shield to clear the way, and struck with his sword. It split an unprotected skull, and with that there was one less spear jabbing at him. He swung to the side, breaking a shield and unbalancing the man that held it, and Videric moved a step closer.

The ramp was wide enough for two men to walk abreast, and Videric was now joined by another man on his right, a stout fellow with a large helmet and a long-handled axe. That one split another shield and batted spears from the other side.

Videric swung again and again. He did not land deathblows, but his foes had no opening to strike back at him, and yet another shield was badly damaged. As someone died on his right and more warriors came up the ramp, Videric pressed on. Someone at his back thrust a long spear past him and into a defender’s chest. That one was wearing a quilted vest, but flinched at the hit, and that provided the opening Videric needed.

Using his shield as a weapon, he pushed in against the throng of men on the walkway. Their long weapons became a liability, and Videric pushed his sword past the interlocked shields and into flesh. He put one foot on top of the first man he’d slain, and heard the rest of the attacking army come in charging. There were three other ramps, three other matches of desperate pushing and stabbing. And with all that, no one had time to deter the ram team. Through all the screaming and the breaking and the clashing of metal, its regular booms heralded the downfall of the fortress.

The defenders knew that, of course, and fought with the strength of desperate men. More of them came up onto the wall from below, bolstering and pressing forward their already-engaged comrades.

There was no finesse, no more strategy or thought. There was pushing, straining, screaming, and blow after blow travelling up Videric’s arms and rattling the rest of his body. Blood sprinkled through the air, spewed from wounds and thrown by weapons.

Weapons broke, shields broke, armour was split and wounds piled up. Videric’s foes had ever less strength to throw at him, and as he slew men and made ever more space for himself things only got worse for them.

The gate burst open, and with it went the last of the defenders’ fighting spirit. The main force of the army pushed through, hindered only by their own packed crush and the relative smallness of the doorway. The remaining defenders on the wall broke, but had little space or opportunity to actually flee. Videric rammed one man with his shield and sent him flying off, and slashed another one in the back before he could make it to the stairs. Out of desperation, most simply jumped. Some broke a leg or two on the landing, some did not and continued running.

Videric dropped his shield down to the ground, then hung from the wall by one hand before dropping down in a safer way. He snatched the shield back up, wary of the Annian archers, and struck down a man who was trying to get back up. Only then did he have a moment to take in what lay ahead.

The defenders had kept three bonfires burning, and in their light he saw the inner wall. It was a bit taller than the outer one, and had a larger gate. And though it looked no less ancient and crude, it sported simple battlements.

The mob of broken defenders ran straight into a closed and barred gate. No doubt they pleaded to be let in, but the noise was lost in the din of rage and death, and did them no good. They were dead men, and everyone knew it.

Videric couldn’t get at them, as the bloody final stand began. The attacking army quickly all but filled the modest courtyard and had the men completely hemmed in between one wall of stone, and another of shields and jabbing weapons. Just getting at it all would have been a battle on its own, and Videric was ultimately not here for mindless slaughter.

No. He had a goal. And to reach it, and to honour a promise to a dead friend, he had to stay alive. And so he held back, reined in his battle fever, and was one of the first to spot the archers.

“ARCHERS!” he shouted, for the sake of being a proper comrade in arms. “ARCHERS!”

Perhaps a few others had noticed as well, and were doing their own shouting. But it was every bit as lost as the voices of the final few defenders up against that gate. The Annians started loosing their arrows, and only after a few hits did the army, as a group, start to take notice.

Every man who had a shield raised it, leading to a halfway decent tortoise formation. But halfway decent wasn’t good enough against Annians, it seemed. Though the rain slowed, arrows still found their way through gaps. The archers were every bit as good as the stories said; accurate and quick in equal measure. Someone among the attackers shouted for bows to be brought, and the call was picked up until it became a chant. Meanwhile, the butchery by the gate was slowed but not stopped. The few remaining trapped men were wounded and exhausted, and a slow forward push ground them down. And then the process of bringing the ram forward began.

It was all going about as well as Videric had dared hope. He focused on simply keeping his shield up as he gradually made his way sideways. He had come here with something of a plan, and it looked like he might get to implement it. As he had been told, the two defensive walls only had a front. The sides of the cliff were defended only by the high drop and unscalable face.

He had not come here to simply be one small part of the task of slaying Kubrash. This was a personal matter. So, after thinking it over for a few moments, while the ram was forced through the tight crush of warriors, Videric decided to go for it. He hung the shield onto his back using a cord, then swung his legs over the edge, hung by his hands, and began going sideways towards the inner wall.

There was next to nothing for his feet to find purchase on; the wall was as sheer and unscalable as he’d been told, and so his arms had to do most of the work. Fortunately, he’d long since conditioned them to this. When not fighting, hunting or spewing money at the various distractions cities offered, he climbed.

He was hidden from the fires, which made him, with his rear dangling over a drop no man could survive, the safest person around for the moment. The thought caused a little grin before fluttering back out of his mind.

The battle raged on as he reached the inner wall. Rocks were dropped, torches were thrown again and the archers took advantage of the increased light. It sounded like the defenders were lodging timbers against the other side of the gate, and that the few bowmen among the attackers were now letting loose against the Annians, which surely slowed the latter’s efforts.

In short, the defenders had plenty on their minds. Just as Videric preferred it.

He reached the inner wall; a crude superior to the outer one, that had nevertheless endured ages without ever being broken down by men or the elements.

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

It cost Videric the convenient edge he’d been making use of, and the rocks he put his hands on were worn smooth. He also could not actually see what he was doing, and so had to just feel around and hope he was finding the good handholds.

This would be an embarrassing end, should his fingers slip. Out of sight, undiscovered and forgotten, and with not even an enemy to blame. But he did not slip. He made it around the wall, and continued on his way. A handful of fires burned on this side, spread over a far larger area than the yard between the two walls, and it was in their scant light that he saw the remaining defenders.

The attackers had them thoroughly outnumbered. Once the gate was breached, all that would be left would be another hemmed-in slaughter. But that assumed that this would continue to be a normal battle, of men against men and steel against steel.

Some cabins and tents obstructed Videric’s view of the raised tip of this cliff, but he could see, at irregular intervals, flashes of that strange, cold light.

Kubrash meant to unleash something, and if he was going to succeed at all it would have to be soon. Videric sped up his traversal, as the ram’s blows continued to toll doom for the defenders, bowstrings twanged, and men screamed.

Then he stopped, as he heard footsteps draw close.

“Madness!” a man gasped. “Madness! What is Kubrash doing? Why is he not out here?!”

“Go ask him yourself!” another man replied. It sounded like they were carrying a burden towards the gate.

“I will not go anywhere near that!” the first man told him. “He has doomed us, and now he means to damn us as well!”

“Go yell your fierce words into his face!”

Videric’s hand slipped. It was a momentary fumble, immediately corrected, but it did make a noise. And despite the din of battle, these men were close enough to hear it.

“What was that?!” asked the first one, and there was the sound of something hitting the ground.

“It was nothing, get back and help us!”

But the first man had more faith in his senses, and walked towards the edge. Videric held very still, tensed, in the manner of a viper waiting to strike.

“It was something,” the man said, as Videric could glimpse his outline a few steps to his left. “It was…”

He stepped closer, and Videric opted not to put his faith in the darkness. He shot his hand out, caught the man’s ankle, and yanked. As the man screamed his way to the valley floor down below, Videric put his arms up on the ledge and clambered up. He was on his feet just as the other was drawing his sword, and Videric smashed into him before he could raise it.

The man fell, and Videric immediately followed with a brutal stomp to the head. But there was a third man, who had remained silent until now. He let out a warning scream and pulled an axe from his belt. He was outside of immediate smashing range, and so Videric snatched the dropped sword off the ground.

The man let out another full-throated cry for help, and stepped back. Videric went at him, batted the axe aside, and delivered a killing blow.

Videric dropped the sword and drew his own, as he looked every which way for danger and listened for cries about infiltration. But well away from the fires, and with a small army to distract everyone, this little clash had gone unnoticed.

The one survivor of the trio was trying to sit up, mumbling confusedly as he felt around for his sword. Videric darted up to him and gave him a replacement, through the chest. Then he darted the other way, towards the end of the cliff. The tents provided cover from what little firelight still reached him, and over their tops Videric could still see that light.

It did not behave as he knew light to do. It was as if lanterns were being covered and uncovered at impossible speeds, and the beams did not travel at the proper speeds. Sometimes they were little more than suggestions that his mind only barely registered, and sometimes it was as if they hung in the air, a moment after the source had vanished again. And as he finally had a full, close view of the cliff-on-a-cliff, he saw that they didn’t actually illuminate their surroundings.

He sneered. There were many reasons to dislike wicked magic, such as its supposed power to inflict far worse than mere death on someone. But his personal greatest hatred was for the sheer unpredictability. There was a seemingly unlimited number of tricks that could be pulled out of dark places where mortal men had no business, and there was never any telling which one a wretch with a tainted soul would resort to.

But he could not call himself brave if he only faced challenges he knew he could beat. So he took a deep, strengthening breath, and continued on.

He could just barely make out a ladder that had been set up. The plateau up above was almost as high as the inner wall, and a quick touch of the cliff-face confirmed it to be as close to smooth as rock ever got. So he simply had to risk the predictable route.

Videric climbed, and decided to favour stealth over speed. Then he saw how much the shoddy ladder shook against the cliff edge, heard a man’s voice up above, and shifted over to speed.

“Back to the gate!” the man told him. “Back!”

Two braziers had been set up on the plateau, and neither was right by the ladder. So Videric had time enough to fully ascend and stand up before suspicion dawned. He punched the man in the throat, and the meaty, satisfying hit silenced any further pointless commentary. He then yanked on the man, sending him past Videric and over the edge.

He knew there were more men up here, but for the moment he was yet to be noticed, and he used that moment to kick the ladder. It fell backwards like a felled tree. If defenders at the gate broke and tried for a last stand up here, at least there would be a slight delay.

And then he WAS noticed.

Someone shouted in some exotic language, feet moved and armour rattled. Silhouettes passed in front of the burning fires, and the strange lights that came from the sole building up on this cliff. Videric drew his sword and held it with both hands. He only barely saw the first man that came at him, but glimpsed a spear shaft and let that guide his moment to sidestep. His return chop met metal armour, and instead of being slashed open his target simply fell down.

Two more men came, and one waited for the instant needed to have the full backing of the man behind him. Videric darted about, seeking an opening, while the two men, both with shields, sought to deny him one.

He was guided more by hearing than sight, as he evaded strikes. Twice his sword met a shield, once it bonked a helmet, and three times he rapidly shifted about as the man tried to get at him from different directions.

It made sense that someone like Kubrash would have his best warriors with him, in the final holdout, rather than at the wall where they would do the most common good. These men were quick and brave and strong, but perhaps not so clever. Or perhaps the incoming doom, and their master’s foulness, had worn away at their wits. For they did not notice Videric herding them into standing directly between him and one of the braziers. Thus he saw them far better than they saw him, and that was the edge he needed.

As the gate broke and Kubrash babbled strange profanities and pleadings and promises, Videric shrugged the shield off his shoulder and into his left hand. Then he flung it. It was in no way designed for the purpose, but the range was short and his arm was strong. The shield struck the man on the left in the face, or the front of the helmet, rather, and Videric lunged at the other one. Momentarily unprotected by his comrade, the one on the right tried to save himself with his shield.

Videric surprised him with a kick instead of a slash, and knocked him into the burning brazier. It was big enough for a man to trip and fall into like a small tub, and while he bounced back out, shrieking, Videric turned on the other one.

The hit to the head had slowed his movements, and one blow opened his defences, and a second one opened his throat. Videric turned back on the other one, and to the man’s credit he was coming right back at Videric with a furious, pain-driven assault.

Videric met his strike with a two-handed swing. His sword was a strange thing, looted from a strange tomb. A mystery from a long-gone age, it made him uneasy at times, but had yet to surprise him with any curses or other fell magics. One of its most notable features was that the metal simply didn’t seem to break.

His opponent’s sword was made of plain and simple iron, and so the force of two powerful blows meeting was enough to shatter the blade. Videric’s blow continued, into the man’s shoulder, with enough force to pierce his armour. He immediately ripped it out and chopped him across the neck as well.

The third man was struggling to get up, but he could wait for a few moments. It was all the time Videric needed to put the sword through that damned sorcerer.

The evil lights shone out of small windows, ventilation openings, and holes in the ancient roof. As Videric ran for the door, he thought he heard a voice within, quite distinct from Kubrash’s. The sorcerer responded.

“Yes!” he said with desperation. “Yes, slay and ravage all you want! Just spare ME! That is the deal! Enter! ENTER!”

Something changed for the worse. Videric felt it, in some deep, simple part of himself that understood things the mind did not. Perhaps it was his very soul, sensing something antithetical to its nature.

Either way, the flat, wooden roof of the house burst apart. It flew away as a cloud of small sticks, blown up by a pair of enormous wings. Two glowing dots that Videric realised were eyes poked over the edge of the roof, and the firelight shone faintly on a set of sharp teeth.

Kubrash, indeed, consorted with demons.

Paws or hands or something along those lines gripped the top of the wall, and the thing leapt over. What landed on the other side with a great thump was taller than any man, hunched, bipedal, and Videric thought it might have some sort of mane. That was all he could tell about it, in the very scant light, before it charged.

He couldn’t actually see the front limb coming down in a swipe, but the thing’s intentions were clear enough. Videric chose a moment to evade, as far away as he could in a two-step bound, and he felt a great blow pass through the air. That surviving warrior was just now getting to his feet, and the sight of the horror filled his limbs with fresh strength.

The man cried out as the demon reached for him. He swung at it, to no effect, and was then lifted up and torn open, before being thrown back down with bone-shattering force.

The monster turned back on Videric, with a strong whoosh of its wings. Kubrash was within reach, cowering within those four walls. It would take moments to reach him. But the demon reached Videric in even fewer moments.

He struck, but swiping claws met his blade, and inhuman strength knocked it wide with a loud clang. The other arm reached for him. Videric sidestepped and readied another attack, but one of the wings slapped into him, with the strength needed to bear such a beast through the air.

It was Videric himself who flew, but he managed a half-decent roll as he landed. It softened some of the impact, and ended with him on his knees. That was what saved his life as the demon struck at him again. Videric was able to get up and hop away, then tried to get a thrust in at its side.

A paw closed around the blade, with strength Videric could not match, and yanked as the other one swiped at him. He could only save himself by releasing the sword and hopping backwards. It took him over the edge, right where the ladder had been, and his fingers caught it as his body dropped. He heard the sword clatter as the demon discarded it, and then he was looking up into those cold, evil little lights. And now he could only save himself by releasing the edge and dropping down.

Claws bit into the rock where his head had been, and he managed to land without breaking his legs. He looked back for a moment, at the dissolving defence at the inner wall. Some of Kubrash’s men were already breaking, running away before they could get tied up in the fighting that was engulfing their comrades.

The haze of battle had dulled them to everything else that was happening, Videric supposed, and their first sight of the demon was when it swooped down on them. Even with an enemy army at their back, the men stopped and cried out.

Videric might have smiled, if not for the sound of Kubrash chanting up on that cliff. If it was an earthly language at all, then it was from no place Videric knew of. But he understood the tone perfectly well. The man was desperate to save himself, and foregoing any and all caution.

The only sorcerer Videric had bothered speaking to had insisted that his was a graceful and precise craft, that drawing on power was in fact easy, but that preserving one’s body and soul in the process was where skill came in.

And up there was Kubrash, screaming for raw power.

The demon, not as visible in the light of the fires as it should have been, tore into the men it had knocked down. It was an uncomplicated business of grabbing, ripping, squeezing, clawing. Every touch against a mortal man inflicted a terrible wound, and the thing created around itself a circle of blood and gore.

Well, that was their reward for throwing their lot in with Kubrash. As they savoured it, Videric picked up the ladder he’d knocked down earlier, and placed it back against the cliff. The man he’d thrown down first was right there, and so was his sword. Videric snatched it up, as behind him the demon and men alike killed men. Then he climbed.

Halfway up, he finally saw Kubrash. He was in front of the house, only barely illuminated, and cast his arms about wildly in an odd, beseeching manner. The sky above the cliff moved in rhythm with it, and so did the odd energies Videric felt against his skin and his soul alike. Again, that deep, instinctive part of him warned against something his mere senses could not. And as Kubrash’s efforts reached some sort of climax, Videric heeded it.

He was nearly at the top when he leapt away from the ladder. What came down from the sky and instant later did not look or sound like lightning, but it behaved like one. There was a flash of that cold, dead light, a loud hiss, and the ladder was utterly destroyed.

Videric twisted in the air, and again he managed to land with his feet beneath him. The roof of one of the houses shortened his drop, and cracked but held as he fell backwards onto it.

For a breath or two Videric thought he might have been deafened, but he still heard the demon and its victims. It was simply the rest of the battle that had gone quiet for the moment. And that foul snake up on the cliff still chanted. Still the sky above behaved strangely, and Videric rolled sideways for his life. Another not-lightning struck, and destroyed the roof as Videric dropped down from it.

Once again he managed a landing that left him fighting fit, though the hits were piling up. And the demon was coming his way.

Rather, it was chasing fleeing men who had nowhere to go but towards him. And Videric himself had nowhere to go either. He got up, let out a frustrated breath, and waited for the foul thing to reach him.

It caught a man, digging its claws into his back, and then flinging him over its shoulder. It caught another, and brought this one to its mouth for a bite to the throat. Then it flung that one away as well. For the third and final one, it pounced, like the cat parts of it resembled. Its paws came down on the man’s shoulders and bore him down under crushing weight. Then it dragged both sets all the way down his torso, tearing through muscle and bone.

Videric lunged, and aimed a thrust of his stolen sword at one of the glowing eyes. The demon tilted its head slightly, and the sword instead sliced along the side of the face. Videric ducked under the swipe that came at him, and struck at the head again with all his might.

The sword bent, and still the demon did not bleed. It was an annoying tendency of things not of this world, to not be harmed by it even though they themselves could do harm. Videric rather felt like it was a form of arrogance.

He evaded yet another attack from the damned thing, and made some space as he worked to bend the sword back to the best of his ability. But the demon was fast. Whatever Kubrash had brought forth was no lesser one of its kind

Videric zigged, then zagged. Near as he could tell, his only advantage against the beast was being quicker to turn, and so he kept himself alive a few moments more. He made for the house that Kubrashs’s magic had struck, and felt the demon on his heels as he dove through the doorway. The inside stank of strangeness, but he paid that no heed; just hopped to the side as a long, horrid arm came through the doorway to clutch at him.

He had hoped for just this. For now he had the moment he needed to jump up and put one foot on a windowsill. From there he launched himself up, through the vanished roof, and over the edge.

He added his weight to his strength, in a mighty downwards stab at the demon’s back. And the blade bit.

The demon reared up with an angry grunt. Videric kept his grip on the hilt, and pushed. The demon then bent forward and yanked him off the ground. Then the thing started beating its wings.

It lifted them both up in the air with shocking speed. By the time Videric could think to simply let go of the hilt, the drop was already too high. So he held on.

The monster took him up, up, into the air that swirled with strangeness called forth by Kubrash. A glance down, at the rapidly shrinking cliff and its little fires and swarm of battling men, churned Videric’s stomach, and he looked away. The demon turned and twisted in the air, seeking to dislodge him, but he kept one hand on the lodged sword and one in the thing’s odd mane. It reached back for him, but was too bulky for the task, and could only scratch him slightly with the tips of its claws.

Videric kicked with his knees, hoping to hit a kidney or a lung, though he didn’t know if this creature even had those. He pushed into the hilt, hoping to send it deeper. The monster grunted with increasing frustration, and went into ever wilder dives and twists to dislodge him and throw him to his death.

Below him in every direction were the darkened plains, where hardly a fire burned, and above him was the unnatural sky. And in between were he and the demon, grappling, clawing and struggling in mid-air.

A particularly sharp twist, coming right after another one like it, tore the sword free from the thing’s back. The demon glided with its back to the ground and Videric dangled below it, with only a flimsy grip on the mane to preserve his life.

He dropped the sword and pulled himself up for another fistful of the mane, then kicked at the base of one wing. It stopped the flapping for an instant, and the demon tumbled through the air for a heart-stopping moment that nevertheless allowed Videric to get onto its back again.

The demon’s flight gave him a forced view of the cliff, and with it a sense of just how high up he was, held by nothing but a beast he needed to kill.

He looked for a windpipe to squeeze, as the demon regained control of its flying. After some fruitless searching through the fur, or whatever this was, he instead drew his dagger. He stabbed at the head, the neck, the upper back, the face. It felt like stabbing a soft tree, or some unbelievably thick and tough leather. But it did anger the creature even further.

He tried getting at the eyes again, but one of the grasping paws very nearly got him when he reached that far, so he continued to try to get through the mane.

“Just die like you should, you indecent bastard!” Videric snarled.

Instead of dying, the demon shifted itself in the air once more and swooped down. Videric had to cease the stabbing for the sake of holding on. The demon was bringing the two of them level with the cliffs, and Videric saw its intentions: He was to be scraped off, like so much dung on a sandal.

Instead, he tensed, awaited the perfect moment, and jumped. Once again skills learned through boyhood escapades saved him. He knew how to tumble and roll, and roll he did, across bare stone. It was a painful journey that bruised, cut, rattled and confused. But nothing broke. He came to a stop up against that one house on the cliff’s high point, battered and dizzy, but whole.

Videric supported himself against the wall as he got up, but he could not afford to catch his breath. He walked around the corner and spotted Kubrash. The sorcerer had stripped down to the waist, and the glow of the one undisturbed brazier shone on the blood he’d shed from his own torso, in offering to lower powers.

Videric stepped away from the wall, but stumbled, and the man heard him. A gaunt, prematurely-aged face turned his way, then sneered in alarm.

“You die this night, cur,” Videric growled with all the menace in his heart, as he took an unsteady step towards his target.

“I… THINK… NOT!” Kubrash shouted back.

He had a knife in his hand and a sword at his hip, but rather than use either he bolted in the opposite direction. Videric did not give chase. For he heard, faintly, through the din of the battle, the whooshing of wings. He did not bother looking up. It would be a waste of precious moments, and he had few to spare.

He demanded focus and coordination of his body, and jogged inelegantly to where he’d first clashed with the demon. There was little light there, so he relied more on his moving feet than his eyes. It was his left foot that found his dropped sword.

He snatched it up, did a quick flourish to test the state of his arm, and then let his ears tell him when to dive.

The demon’s claws missed him, but its taloned feet touched on the rocky cliff, and with a shower of sparks it brought itself to a stop. Then it turned to face him

They charged each other.

The sword was a strange old thing, taken from a strange place. And its other most notable feature was to cut things that otherwise could not be cut. And so, as they passed each other, Videric opened up a deep gash in the demon’s chest.

The monster roared with the shock of sudden pain, but it still could not turn as quickly as he. Videric slashed through one wing, severing the membrane. He slashed it in the side, and in the back, inflicting wounds that would have slain a mortal man outright.

It finally managed to twist enough to face him, and tried grabbing at the blade again. But this time they were closer to the fires, and Videric saw it coming. He nimbly dipped the sword out of the way, then brought it up and down. The demon’s paw was cut almost clean through, and was left dangling by a strip.

Now the monster shrieked, and began falling back. It swiped with its intact arm, but Videric stepped back, then forth, and cut it in the shoulder. It swiped again, and Videric ducked under it, and cut into the leg.

Now the thing limped desperately, away from Videric’s sweeping blade as he drove it before him. It did not notice the cliff edge until its good leg went over it, and dragged the rest of the beast along with it.

The good paw caught on the edge, above the great drop below. Those two points of evil light looked up, and Videric raised his sword.

“You should have stayed at home,” he told it, then cut the remaining paw apart.

With a cry of rage and pain and perhaps fear, the demon dropped out of sight, flapping one wing uselessly.

Videric did not savour his victory, because it was not his yet. He turned, and again he felt that strange, sickening sense of energies being gathered against him. He threw himself into a roll, and again perfect timing saved him, as a blast from the sky struck the ground behind him. He moved seamlessly back into a run, and spotted Kubrash.

The man finally had his sword out. For all the good it would do him. Videric gave him no more time to work his wickedness. He just charged, and swung.

The man tried to fight back, in the manner of a cornered rat. But his body looked ravaged and tainted. His dallying with things not meant to be dallied with had worn him out, and it was only Videric’s fatigue that let the whole thing last more than an instant.

Inevitably, Videric’s blade cut down into Kubrash’s shoulder, and the sword fell from the man’s grip. A punch to the face then silenced his scream and sent him onto his back.

“Meelo of Urta died in one of your raids,” Videric told him, as he put one foot on the sorcerer’s chest. “I am here to avenge him. THAT is why you die tonight. Now, to Katassu with you, cur.”

He plunged the sword into Kubrash’s throat. Then he left him to his death throes, as he went to look down at the battle.

With sorcery removed from the board, it was going as could be expected. With both walls breached, a large advantage in numbers, and the archers unable to ply their trade, it was a larger version of the slaughter by the gate. Kubrash’s few remaining men were hemmed in, with their backs against the cliff and enemies in every other direction.

Videric saw no reason to join in. He had done what he had come to do.

“Well, Meelo,” he said as he turned to look at the dead sorcerer. “You are avenged, if that means something to you. It does to me.”

He let out a sigh. Overall, this had been a fine evening’s work.